“Your Christmas dinners are not a priority to your family,” my therapist told me.
It was January 2023, and I had spent the last 50 minutes complaining to her that most of my small extended family had not shown up for Christmas dinner again. Cancellations started arriving the morning of the gathering, after my husband had pushed the turkey in the oven and started preparing the sides, after I had finished the pies and set the table for 12. Five people down. What was most frustrating was that it happened every year.
Someone was sick, or the roads were bad, or it was -40 and too cold to travel. The reasons were valid, but my husband and I put a lot of work into the day, and for almost half of my family to cancel was hurtful and frustrating. When December arrived, my anxiety would rise and my eye twitched. I dreaded this month. Not for the first time, I dreamed of taking a trip instead.
According to a 2022 American Psychiatric Association study, 31% of adults said they expected to feel more stressed in the 2022 holiday season compared to 2021. The greatest cause of holiday stress, Civic Science found, is buying gifts (46%), but if you add up the next four causes — spending time with relatives (15%); hosting (11%); traveling (10%); and cooking/baking (9%) — they equal 45%. Almost half of us are stressed about some aspect of holiday dinners. Are the rest of us escaping to a beach somewhere?
Asking another family to host dinner wouldn’t work for us. My mom and stepmom had died a few years previous and my dad and stepdad had become bachelors and would not host dinner on their own. Plus, I lived midway between everyone — a two-hour drive away from my parents in one direction and my brother and his family in the other. And truthfully, I didn’t want to spend four hours in a car either.
If I asked people to bring potluck dishes to lessen our workload, we’d still be in the same situation but with lopsided food: I would be stuck with a 15-pound turkey and no sides, or eating only mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie, the turkey roasting two hours away in someone else’s oven.
“I’m not suggesting your family doesn’t love you, but we all make choices, and your Christmas dinner does not appear to be their priority,” my therapist said. “It sounds like this is a priority for you. If you want to continue, maybe you need to protect yourself.” She suggested I make a reservation at a restaurant. If everyone bailed, I only need cancel the reservation. When I suggested this to my husband, he asked, “will we have to pay for everyone?”
A restaurant reservation didn’t feel personal enough either. I doubted conversations would happen if we were spread out on a long table — there could be no mingling this way — and I worried the restaurant would be too loud to hear each other talk. There would be the additional discomfort of deciding how we would pay/split the bill. It was an impersonal answer to an event I still wanted to remain personal.
Priya Parker says in “The Art of Gathering: How We Meet and Why It Matters,” “When we do gather, we too often use a template of gathering (what we assume a gathering should look like) to substitute for our thinking. The art of gathering begins with purpose: When should we gather? And why?”
I needed to shake up this holiday and find another way to come together with my family. My leading emotion had become resentment and I didn’t want to feel that way anymore. I’d long ago made Christmas Day a lazy day at home with my husband and two boys. I’d awaken to the sound of kids loud-whispering to each other and stomping down the stairs to root in their stockings while my husband and I took our time starting the day. Breakfast was cinnamon buns with cream cheese frosting and we lounged in our pajamas until at least 2 while we drank coffee and watched old movies.
“We could have Christmas in July — a BBQ,” my husband suggested. “That way, they won’t cancel because of the weather. If they don’t show, we can freeze the extra burgers and toss less salad.”
Our gathering didn’t have to happen in December. Christmas held no religious significance for us. Our kids were young adults now, and we’d stopped giving gifts outside of our nuclear family. I love my extended family and I wanted to gather with them, but I couldn’t keep putting in all this work, just for it to be a letdown.
Summer passed in a flurry of weekends that were either busy or spent away from home and before I knew it, it was autumn. I’d lost the summer, but I still had time. I made the call.
This year, our Christmas dinner happened on the afternoon of Oct. 1. The warm, sunny day was 14 C (57 F) and the fluorescent yellow poplar leaves fluttered against the lucent prairie sky. Dozens of birds covered the ground and filled a mock apple tree, picking at bugs and seeds, like it was a second spring. In our neighbor’s oleaster tree, a squirrel snatched fruit, and a round of discarded silver leaves formed on our lawn.
My husband started smoking a brisket at 7 a.m. Roasted rosemary potatoes, root vegetables and sautéed Brussels sprout slaw with bacon accompanied the main. I made packaged stuffing for the kids. I extended the table, snapped out the table cloth, and set 12 places. The decorations were minimal — candles and greenery — because I wanted simplicity. For dessert, I made a chocolate beet cake and my sister-in-law brought a puffed-rice and marshmallow treat with candy stuffing in the shape of a turkey.
Everyone showed up — not one cancellation. As they arrived, they said how they appreciated the change of date. Travel was uncomplicated, and they also struggled with a December too full to enjoy everything on the calendar. Second helpings and empty plates showed their approval of the meal. The awkward conversations still happened, but there were laughs and new stories to hear too. It was the holiday dinner I had searched for. Best was knowing that come December, I didn’t have to worry about them not showing up, and they didn’t have to worry about four hours of travel in the winter. I hope it’s the start of a new tradition.
Laura Ollerenshaw is a writer from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. She has an MA in Creative and Critical Writing from the University of Gloucestershire. Her writing has appeared in Explore, WestWord, and Brevity’s Nonfiction Blog. She is writing a memoir about slowing down and building a cabin in the Canadian Rockies. You can find her at https://lauraollerenshaw.ca.
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