There I was, crying my eyes out. Once again, I had found myself isolated from the party. It was another evening spent following my toddler from room to room while the rest of the adults socialized elsewhere. Although the house was full of people, it was one of the loneliest moments I’ve ever experienced. The disappointment and burnout from the past few days felt simply crushing.
What brought me here? The endless celebrations for Jesus’s birthday should have been nothing but joyful. But instead, I felt drained and even more defeated than all the other moments I’d spent as a lonely stay-at-home mom. Because for four days now, I had made sure my two children and I were all perfectly presentable, and on time, buckled in the car, with a hot appetizer in hand. But I knew that every time I left my driveway, I was simply off to follow my 15-month-old around someone else’s house. The expectation was that we would show up, and there would be no compassion for how hard it was for me.
Four nights of parties, but I never had a full meal. Never did I get to sit and enjoy an adult conversation or even drink a glass of wine. Although the pies looked incredible, the baby drool and snot all over my plate crushed the desire to try them. But, ever the people-pleaser, I still showed up. I made sure to check all the relational boxes that year. I lacked the courage then to simply say, “No thank you.”
Until that final evening, when I couldn’t stop weeping. In that state of exhaustion and emotional defeat, my body craved the physical release of tears so badly. And as I cried, I grieved the unmet expectation that a family member—any family member—would have stepped up for a few minutes and helped me. After all, wasn’t it so important to them that my family showed up? Didn’t they need my kids there to celebrate Christmas properly?
My husband finally found me on the sad Christmas night. “What’s wrong?” he asked with genuine concern. I was glad he had finally noticed, but truly disappointed it had taken so long. I replied through weeping gasps, “I should have just stayed home.”
But this year, I’m listening to that intuition even though my son is older, safer on stairs, and a little less busy. This year, we will be doing what is best for us, which will mean declining a few invitations.
The past year has come with a lot of changes for me—mainly, letting go of what others expect of me. And when I look back on last Christmas, I feel so sad for myself. Sad for the stressed version of me who felt incapable of saying no, or standing up for what was best for me.
I know now that I never had to go to every event. Or, I could have negotiated something that would have worked better for us. I never needed to spend my Christmas in tears.
Ultimately, I want my kids to remember a joyful mom at Christmas. I don’t want to send the message that Christmas is about rushing around from house to house, fitting in as many parties as possible, and it definitely shouldn’t be about making everyone happy at your own expense. But they’ll never learn this if I don’t model it first. If I don’t show them it’s okay to say no sometimes and prioritize your own peace.
I know not everyone will be happy with me this Christmas. I may even be labeled “difficult” or “selfish,” but I’ve learned over the past year that taking care of myself is anything but selfish, and other people’s perceptions of me are not mine to manage. So, they can think what they want. But I know that having a happier mommy this Christmas will be the best thing for everyone.
by Ellie Hunja 
by Laura Bailey 
