As I am writing this, it ‘s the eve before the eve before Christmas. In other words, it’s December 23rd. We had our last Taiji class of the year at noon, and my teacher was the only one who showed up in person. There were six of us Zooming in, which was strange. It’s usually five or six people in person and two or three of us on Zoom. I assume it’s because it’s the holidays, but I’m not sure.
During the break, people were talking about what they were doing for Christmas. One couple were making cookies all day today, and another woman talked about how she was going to be cooking after class as well.
Last week, another classmate had a party to go to after class. Online, everyone is steeped in Christmas. I have had a few people ask me what I’m doing, which did not bother me. I don’t celerbate Christmas, but I did not bristle at being asked, either.
I have in yeras past. I don’t celebrate and it can get annoying after awhile when everyone assumes you do. “What are you doing for Christmas?” becme the bane of my existence.
Side note: My mother is very wedded to traditions. This is an issue with us because I am most empthatically not. We have had this argument all my life–whether tradition is good or bad. She once said in exasperation that just becasue something was traditional, it didn’t mean it was bad.
I immediately retorted that just because something was traditional, it didn’t mean it was good, either. She was not happy with that, but she couldn’t really argue. My point was that it should not be automatic either way. Yes, I side-eyed doing something just because it was said to be tradition, but that was because a lot of nasty stuff has been done in the name of tradition.
For example. Many people complain about all the things they have to do for christmas. The cooking and the baking and the decorating, not to mention putting up the tree, sending out cards, and wrapping presents. It is a lot.
One of my classmates (who was not in class this week) was complaining last week about how overwhelmed she was with the holiday activities and all she had to do. This was not unusual. She was usually freaked out over all she had to do. She reminded me of my mother in that she made things way harder than they needed to be. Or rather, she held herself to a standard that then made her lose her mind when she actually had to do the work.
I don’t have time for this, honestly. I have never had time for it, to be fair, but I used to feel guilty about not going. Because faaaaamily.
My mother calls me on my birthday every year and goes on and on about how it (and presumably my brother’s) was the most important day of her life. Which is just a story she is telling heself. It’s not true. Just as it’s not true when she says that my brother and I are first in her heart.
It drives me mad that she lies about it. It’s one thing that it’s true–that she does not put my brother and me first. That’s something I’ve accepted by now. Does it hurt? Yeah. But it is, as the kids say, what it is.
But the fact that she’s so weak, she can’t face it so she has to lie about it–that’s what angers me. I know why she’s doing it (self-preservation), but that doesn’t make it any better. She’s gaslighting me and trying to get me to agree to the gaslighting. Which I won’t.
Anyway, back when I was recalcitrant and surly, I would sass her when she called to remininsce about my birthday. I didn’t care about it (I still don’t), and I did not want to hear about her revisionist history. When she started talking about me being born, I would try to cut her off and tell her I didn’t care. That would greatly upset her, and she would start crying. She would maunder on and on about how important it was to her–which, ok? Good for her?
It made it quite clear that the whole rigmarole was for her as everything was. It was about how it made HER feel as a mother. It had nothing to do with ME as the baby being born. I was just a prop in her story. She was the main character, and I was but a silent NPC.
Except I refused to comply. I tried my best to be a good girl for the first eighteen or so years of my life. I was desperately unhappy the whole time, but I tried my damnedest to be what my mother wanted me to be. And what society wanted me to be.
And I just wanted to die.
Back to my birthday. I’ve learned to just let my mother go on and on about my birth and what it meant to her. I protested in my mind, but I did not say anything out loud. Then, I just accepted when she wished me a happy birthday as I internally roll my eyes.
This was the story of my life. It did not matter to my parents if I wanted something or not, if they wanted it for me, then it was going to happen. My mother did not listen to what I actually said or cared about what I actually wanted. I was not a real person to her.
About a decade ago,she guilted me into going to Taiwan to visit them (along with my brother and my nibling). I did not want to go. I knew it would be a bad idea to go. But I was weak back then and could not put my foot down. I ended up wanting to kill myself the whole trip. That’s when I knew that I could not do a family trip again.
Now, however, I don’t actually have to do anything with family if I don’t choose to. Yes, my mother will probably call me on Christmas Day (and with my brother and his family there, I may have to talk to everyone), but that’s fine.
I’ve made my peace with it. I actually am feeling warmly this holiday season towards my loved ones. That’s good enough for me.