The holidays can be a chaotic time for “normal” people; but for those of us with social anxiety and mental health afflictions they can be downright excruciating.

My son and I, for instance, are perfectly happy spending them alone in our own homes — safely tucked away in our comfort zones. My mother and my husband, on the other hand, prefer to spend their time surrounded by family, which can be tough when your family members prefer to be left alone to their own devices.

In my immediate family (i.e. the one I was born into), we used to spend every holiday together; but, after my younger brother died we kind of splintered apart and abandoned those traditions. Partly because he was the heart of the family, and partly — I think — because we started being more honest about the way we individually felt.

My baby brother, Hunter, much prefers to spend his free time alone in the wild. Camping and hiking and enjoying the wildlife. Family drama bores him to tears, and arguing downright pisses him off. (Two things that cannot be avoided when we all congregate in one room.) This year for Christmas, he’ll be exploring the Chiricahua Mountains in Southeastern Arizona — happily solo.

When I asked my son what he was up to, he said that he’d be “chillin.” Again, an activity he prefers to do alone.

My parents will be up in Flagstaff with my nephew, who is visiting from Oregon.

My husband will be spending Christmas day with his family in Green Valley; and he has asked me to accompany him. I prefer to avoid these gatherings… and I’ll tell you why.

There’s One in Every Family

My brother-in-law is a royal pain in the ass, and he hosts nearly every family event for my husband’s clan. Marco’s arrogant, ignorant, and sometimes downright rude. He’s a misogynist, homophobic, and a Trump supporter. Basically, he stands for everything that I oppose. He’s also been known to make off-hand remarks about my alcoholism, despite the fact that I’ve been sober for nearly eight years.

To say I can’t stand the man is a kind understatement. Spending time in his home — or anywhere near him — makes the hair on my arms stand up and my jaw tighten. I’m truly ready to flee after a couple of hours in his company. Whereas if my husband goes alone he can comfortably spend hour upon hour visiting with his family. Thus, I prefer to allow Wayne the freedom to do that.

However, my husband doesn’t like the idea of me spending the holidays alone; and, in recent years, if I choose not to go with him he often stays here with me — and I end up feeling guilty for keeping him from his family. They, in turn, make comments to him about the fact that he’s not coming to visit as he normally would. Adding to my guilt and putting stress on our relationship. It’s a lose-lose situation all around.

Perspective?

Hunter and my son, Corbin, are currently in a cold war. They haven’t spoken to each other in God knows how long, and refuse to be in the same room with one another. They’re angry with each other for two totally different reasons — ones I don’t entirely understand — and refuse to apologize for their respective wrong-doings.

Both are stubborn. Both think they’re right. And both have a lot in common personality-wise.

A couple of weeks ago, Ma tried to get them both to come to dinner by not telling them that she’d invited the other. When Corbin pulled into the parking lot and saw Hunter, he quickly turned around and went home.

Afterwards, I lamented to my husband that they were both acting like toddlers and my uncles (who haven’t spoken to or seen each other in decades over petty feuds). “If they’d just grow up and apologize, and move forward from this crap, we could all get along! Why do they act this way?!” I cried.

And Wayne turned to me and said, “You mean like you and my brother?”

Stunned for a moment, I said, “Well shit… touché.”

Sometimes Being Grown is Hard to Do

I will say this for my husband’s family: With the exception of his brother, I won the in-law lottery. Every other member of my extended clan is a true gem, and I miss out on a lot by excluding myself from the family get-togethers because of Marco.

I have a young niece that I adore, and two grandnieces and a grandnephew that are just beyond precious. And I haven’t seen them in over a year because of my Marco avoidance. I went all-out shopping for them this holiday season and if I don’t go tomorrow I’ll miss out on seeing the joy on their faces when they open the presents I chose with such care for each of them. 😔

I won’t get to enjoy whatever new gourmet dish my sister-in-law has whipped up (Her mac-and-cheese is out of this world! And I hate mac-and-cheese.) or be amazed by my niece’s truly delicious baked goods.

I’ll also miss out on all the family gossip, because Wayne sucks at remembering and relaying it all. 😂

Thus, I committed to going this year. Last week, with great trepidation and a fuck-ton of anxiety, I promised my husband that I would spend Christmas day with him and his family. (Despite the fact that Marco doesn’t make turkey or ham or roast, but prime rib for dinner — who does that?! 🙄)

I will also avoid the temptation to start shit with my brother-in-law by walking into his home and saying, “Hey Marco, given the clusterfuck that Trump’s first year in office has been, would you still have voted for him you stupid-ass bing-bong?” (I did admit to Wayne that I really wanted to do this.)

Crazy Manifests Itself in Many Ways

My anxiety has a tendency to manifest itself in physical ways. Often, when I’m faced with a scenario that I really don’t want to have to deal with (Wayne’s family, my family, large social gatherings of any kind) I find myself falling ill in the days leading up to it. And today I feel sick as all hell.

I’m achy, congested, and have a cough that won’t quit. I don’t have a fever though; and that tells me that it’s probably my anxiety whipping my body into a protective frenzy. “We don’t want to go! Let’s be sick!”

So my goal today is to rest and relax. To try and calm my nervous system in any way that I can.

I absolutely refuse to let my husband down tomorrow. I will be there for him — come hell or high water.

I’ll let you know how it goes… (Pray for me.)