A Partridge in a PAIR Tree

I love Christmas. I always have. Its an excuse to give gifts to those I love most. The world turns a little slower, people are a little kinder, and the hush that falls over the Earth with the first blanket of snow will always be magical.

 Almost every little hometown in our area had some sort of festival. Pumpkin festival in the fall, Cherry festival in the summer, Turkey festival in spring. But growing up in East Peoria, we got the Festival of Lights. 

The entire town would transform. There were Christmas lights on every light pole, the parade filled with shimmering lighted floats, and a giant lighted wreath made from a farris wheel fame perched on the highest hilltop. Folepi's Forest boasted dozens of trees to walk through, all decorated by school kids and community groups, and a drive through Winter Wonderland (which won ABC's "Light Fight" competition last year) were winter staples growing up.

My family always gathered on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. We would snack on appetizers all evening and decorate Christmas cookies. The following day we would open gifts and eat together as a family. The atmosphere was always warm with laughter and conversation. Me and Ali, Mom and Dad, my Aunt and Uncle, my Grammy and Pa, everyone paired off, but still together as a group. 

Everyone was part of their own matched set. Then Ali fell in love with Nate, and he became part of the family. He's awesome and I was happy for them so it didn't bother me that I suddenly found myself booted from my matched set. Besides, everyone in my family had found love young, I'd find that same happiness too. I was sure of it. I was still in my teens. I could be patient.

So I waited. 

....

And waited.

.....

And waited.

By the time I was 25 I was wrestling with myself. My two nieces had become their own matched set. I adore them and am so glad to be in their lives. But my sister, my mom, and both my grandmas had been married with kids by this point in their lives. I dealt with (and to some extent still deal with) thoughts of "What's wrong with me?" "Why does nobody want me?" "There must be something fundamentally broken in me that everyone else can see. Something that renders me un-loveable."

Then I met my now ex-husband. He talked about how every Christmas they'd gather at his Nannie's house. How they decorated gingerbread houses every year. How his parents, though divorced would set aside their grievances and their little corner of the world would be perfect for a little while. 

How it played out was radically different. Unfortunately Christmas falls right in the middle of what DV survivors have dubbed "narc season". From about Halloween to New Year there's a shift in many narcissistic abusers. This time of year is full of gatherings with friends and family and abusers need you to assist or at least cooperate in their performance. 

They are performers, and these gatherings are their stage. They need to be confident in their control, so there tends to be an uptick in abusive behavior. In my case this looked like a period of peace. In the weeks leading up to Christmas he would love bomb me constantly. Of course at the time, it just felt like him loving me.

The respect, the thoughtfulness, the kindness that I had spent months begging and bargaining for were suddenly second nature. I wasn't asking too much, and he was perfectly capable. He would kiss me goodbye in the morning, and call on his way home from work.  He would offer to grab us supper so I didn't have to worry about cooking when I got home from closing at work. He could be everything I ever saw in him and more. I was too thrilled to question why. I was just happy to be on the arm of the man I knew he could be. But unfortunately it was always short lived.

Our second Christmas together stands out as the clearest example. We couldn't go back to IL for Christmas. We had just been down earlier in the month to finalize plans and have my final dress fitting before the wedding mid January. I cried a bit as we pulled out of my parent's driveway, knowing I would be away from my family on Christmas. He comforted me, promising me it would still be a wonderful Christmas.

It was not.

The atmosphere was stiff, almost business like. Everyone was talking across one another about their own plans, and the gifts they expected to recieve. The focus was just to get through dinner so they could get to the gifts. 

It made me uncomfortable and a bit sad seeing such a sharp contrast. I was in the middle of an event that I was used to being joyful and at ease. I tried desperately to make conversation, pointing the topic to his nephew and saying how excited I was that he was old enough to understand gifts this year. I tried to push my then husband into the spotlight that he loved so much, bringing up his recent maid cafe performance. In that moment I would have given anything to try to make this group of people feel like the loving supportive family I had been promised was awaiting me if I only moved to be with him. The night only continued to devolve from there.

Somehow in the shuffle of opening gifts one of his mom's gifts (a pair of slippers) had gone missing. I knew how it would play out in my family. Everyone would pitch in. Ali would be online looking if a replacement could be ordered. Nate and Brad would be joking as we looked around the room, keeping things light. Grammy and Angie would be bickering, both insisting they be the one to go dumpster diving in an attempt to find them. My dad would insist that everyone just relax and he would buy a replacement tomorrow. My Pa would insist that he be the one to buy a replacement. The rest of us would be retracing steps, methodically organizing everyone's gifts, and picking up trash as we went. 

I was expecting a similar reaction from his family. Instead they started screaming, name calling, and finger pointing. They yelled about not receiving the gifts they wanted. About how the choices of their family had ruined their lives. About how they were disappointed by all others in the same room. How this was obviously everyone else's fault. 

I slipped outside and made my way to the dumpster. As I was searching for something to stand on to boost myself to better reach in the dumpster, I had a disturbing moment of clarity. It felt a bit like when you drive home after work, and as you pull in, realize you have no recollection of the actual journey back.

I was marrying into this in two and a half weeks. How did I get here? Was this what Christmas would look like for the rest of my life? I tried to rouse myself, shake it off. I knew they weren't my family but maybe nobody had shown them what family can do if they work together? That had to be it. Right? Right. 

I found the slippers and made the treck back through the icy slush to the house. I was intentionally loud coming through the door hoping to interrupt the argument. I handed the slippers over saying "all good now!" His mom thanked me but promptly followed it with "You know this never would have happened if..."  

I dissociated through the rest of the evening, functioning solely on auto pilot.

Fast forward 2 years

I had made the choice to stay in NC. My cancer treatments had finished a year prior. I had just started the divorce process. I had only been here for four months and was trying desperately to pull myself together.

My care team during treatment was wonderful, but somewhere in the haze of medication, treatments, therapies, blood draws and vital readings you start to feel less than human. You're a last name and birthdate, a low potassium number, a port flush. You do what's required to stay alive while barely experiencing life. 

You are infantalized by it. I had gone from lifting preschoolers above my head, while balancing in a bounce house, to surgery, to getting winded from sitting upright for a few minutes, all in under a month. I lost the ability to care for myself. I couldn't feed myself, wash myself, or dress myself without extensive assistance. I had to relearn each and every skill. 

I was still questioning who I was after cancer. Trying to process that at 27 I had to fight for my life. Seeing what that meant to me at 29. Knowing I wasn't the person I was before the diagnosis but being entirely unaquainted with the person who moved in to my body when the "old me" vacated. 

My body still felt strange to me. I lost a substantial amount of weight in a very short time. I was covered in scars. The mobility in my neck was greatly affected. I could only eat through a tube. It was difficult for others to understand my speech. I felt betrayed by my own body.

My husband, who I loved with everything in me, had decided his comfort was more important than my life. While I thought my love for him was unconditional and irrevocable, it had become increasingly apparent that his was anything but. It replayed in my head over and over. He didn't care if I had insurance. He didn't care if I lived or died. I felt duped. I felt like the moment you realize you're falling, reaching for a tether, only for your hand to find no purchase as it closes in on itself. I wanted so desperately to not feel anything for him anymore.

As everyone sat down to Christmas dinner it all came crashing down around me. There was MY Christmas dinner. The same thing I have for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day. Two boxes of feeding tube formula. My place had been set at the end of the table between my nieces.

"Breaking up their matched set because you failed to keep yours"

"Placed with the children because cancer has infantalized you"

"If only you knew what made you un-loveable maybe you could fix it"

"If you had tried harder maybe you'd have a loving husband to talk with you during the meal" 

"You're too damaged for anyoneto wantas the other part of their matched set." 

These and a vast number of other terrible thoughts ran through my mind. I understand they have no real bearing, but in the moment it was suffocating.

I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe. I was gulping down air but my ribs refused to expand. I could feel the pinpricks of eminent tears behindmy eyes. I slid on my shoes and mumbled something about needing to check on Grace. 

I went back to my house and broke down. I was back to being the odd man out. I wasn't supposed to have to face Christmas alone again. I was worse off than before I ever met him. 

After a bit, Mom and Ali came by to check on me. They comforted and teased me into feeling well enough to rejoin the family. 

As Christmas rolled around this year I still ran into some hang-ups. I don't miss HIM specifically anymore but I do still mourn the things that should have been. I should've had a partner to set up a tree together. I should've had someone holding my hand in the car on the way to family's houses. Should've had someone to wake up with a kiss and a "Merry Christmas!". Even writing this now, I understand that they were never more than beautiful dreams. They weren't big dreams but they were dear to me.

I was back and forth if I would even bother with a tree because the thought of setting it up alone felt like an abandoned amusement park. Something that was supposed to be lively and joyful, now eerily empty. But I did. I cried a little, but I did.

I won't say I'm in a perfect spot. I'm not. I'm still working through a lot. I'm still breaking down what my mind and body went through. But I'm doing a little better everyday. I'm happy to be with my family. I'm thrilled to be back as a fixture in my niece's lives. I have amazing neighbors who have become friends. Even as I write this my 70+lb pitbull, the dog I always wanted, is asleep in my lap and snoring happily.

I'm learning to be alright with who I am now, even if I'm no longer part of a pair.

Merry Christmas everyone ❤