Melancholy during the holidays
and an argument for faith (and Prozac)
Celebrations, rituals and ceremonies can sometimes cause feelings of being let down. We expect the long awaited day to be just as exciting and magical as it was in childhood, or as we hoped it would be in our childhood fantasies fueled by films and stories that tell the tales of other, happier, luckier and/or wealthier people.
The experience and the opportunity to observe and participate in the rituals of holidays can be highlights of our years AND they can magnify our pain. The intensity of a holiday can remind us of what we currently lack: health, sobriety, a partner, a supportive family, sufficient material goods, a lost loved one, job security, housing and/or food security, a sense of purpose… In this way, the glitter of celebrations can feel cruel to those who are in pain.
And, holidays can be viewed in a larger context of an eternal round of events; we circle back to the comforting and joyful parts of life even though times of darkness and cold can feel permanent when we are in them. We can focus on the fact that everything returns; the challenge will eventually end, the joy will eventually return and on and on. One season turns into the next and then the next until we start where we began. What does it mean to see a changing season but now with the perspective that comes from being a year older and wiser? How does our relationship to a religious or civic holiday change as we grow and progress? Can we use these days to connect with family or community? Can we render service or offer gratitude for the sacrifices or others? Can we meditate on our solitude? Can our abilities to handle the complexities of adulthood increase?
As a preteen in Calgary, reunited with my large extended family one Christmas Eve, a sense of deep loneliness and isolation overcame me in the midst of a crowd of relatives. Strange thoughts came to my mind about how perhaps if I was more “deserving” of belonging or more “worthy” of it, I would feel accepted and connected. I was ashamed to acknowledge my desire for safety and love which was in fact freely offered by my exceptional family, though I pretended at times that I didn’t need or want it. I felt embarrassed and foolish for having oppressive thoughts on what was “supposed” to be a joyful night. I had not yet internalized the truth that worth is inherent and cannot be bestowed or taken away by anyone; that we are not our thoughts.
Religious imagery of the Judaeo-Christian story of creation helps me make sense of this memory. When Eve and then Adam ate fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, they were cast out of the garden of Eden into a world where all of their needs were no longer spontaneously met. Each of us experience this at different times in our lives when we leave our own “gardens” of childhood and awaken to the challenges of life as maturing individuals. Tragically, some people are kicked out of their garden prematurely. All of us eventually must leave. This transition can be excruciating, many of us feel ashamed of our “nakedness”, our raw emotions and inexperience; I certainly did.
Tonight I baked gingerbread cookies with my husband and two young sons. The boys cut out their own shapes and decorated the cookies. We lit candles and sang a few Christmas carols and then my husband took over with bedtime duties. Brushing teeth, getting water bottles, pajamas and stories.
The ache and loneliness I felt so many years ago returned when my boys went upstairs, but I am now able to contextualize the feelings within a greater whole. Life is a circle with seasons of warmth and cold, fear and love, loneliness and belonging. A quiet sense of melancholy can sometimes be the best we have to offer, our widow’s mite, all we have and not enough. But we can meditate on the knowledge that after the winter solstice comes, there is an incremental increase in daylight until Spring unfolds. This deep knowing, is the essence of faith.
(And selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors can also help.)