I find some irony in the fact I almost religiously kept a journal from about age 13 until I was about 21 or 22. Nothing fancy, a series of spiral-bound notebooks. I would write down dreams I had, things that went on during the day, my thoughts, any feelings I had…anything was fodder for my writing. I wrote so much that I developed a knot or a callus on the top knuckle of my right middle finger (I’m a righty). I don’t write by hand much anymore, but that knuckle still has a small knot.

The irony comes in when I sit down at the keyboard now to write. Sometimes nothing comes. Was I simply overflowing with more thoughts when I was younger? I doubt that. Maybe I made writing more of a priority. I can remember so many nights in college-after classes and partying and probably a shower, I’d still sit up and write about something that happened that day or night. Maybe that is the 1990s equivalent of drunken Facebooking. Except, THAT writing wasn’t public. Probably a good thing…

It’s almost Christmas. I can take it or leave it. I am mostly estranged from my family of origin, so any ‘traditions’ are long gone.  My partner’s family has made so many (in my opinion) unreasonable demands of us, both financial and otherwise, that any remaining warm thoughts I had about this season were pretty much kicked in the nuts.  I started working on a piece of writing about all of this, but I have not been back to it in a couple weeks. It’s a weird situation, and hard to explain. I deal with my family of origin if and when I want to.  They have caused me so much pain since my youth that I keep them at arm’s length now. Truthfully, I don’t trust them either. Not my parents, not my sibling-none of them.

What can one objectively say about their family, anyway? Everything you say is heavily colored by your own experience with them, and there is no objectivity there. I had an interesting conversation with an old friend recently that reinforced what I always thought about my mother.  She is a cold woman. A cold person. I don’t think she wanted to have children, but felt like she had to or was ‘supposed’ to. I think by the time I was 10 or 12, she was over the whole ‘motherhood’ thing. Anyway, my old friend mentioned to her own mother that she and I met for dinner. Her mother naturally asked about my parents, and my friend responded that I was estranged from them by my choice. My friend’s mother then told her daughter-my friend-that she always felt my mother was cold. That my mother had never taken any real interest in her own children, nor her children’s friends. She felt badly for my situation, but that she could understand how I felt. My friend showed me the text exchange between she and her mother, and I was, among other things, relieved.

This is exactly how I felt about my mother. EXACTLY. And I gained another bit of relief about my decision. Because it is not always easy. There is still a part of me that wants their approval or something. I have to remind myself that it isn’t going to happen. I am 46 and I do not need their approval.

Still…

I see friends and aquaintances talking about family parties and such, and I do feel a little wistful. And strange…I can’t put a finger on this strange feeling. Maybe because I don’t understand the experience of looking forward to seeing family-or I don’t remember it. There was a time when I looked forward to seeing cousins and aunts and uncles…but no more. It is all too awkward anymore, for me anyway.

Although I feel like I am on the outside looking in, I do not need or want sympathy. I generally do not talk about this part of my life, and usually deflect questions about what I’m doing for the holidays. My experience is that people think they should offer condolences. They shouldn’t. I’m not sorry. I’m doing what I need to stay emotionally healthy.

My partner is also not close to his family of origin. Instead of spending the holidays with me, he works. I have the type of job that is closed for holidays. He works, he says, so that people with families can be with their families.

Um…dude, *I* am your family. What about me?

And there’s the kick in the nuts…I spend the holidays alone. My partner works, and I stay home. Sometimes it’s ok, and sometimes it sucks major ass. There isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. The few times I went to a friend’s; I got flack because my partner didn’t get a holiday meal. Dude…really. Take a day off then and stop making me feel guilty.

I chose feeling lonely over feeling guilty…and now I wonder how the other choice would feel…