Tis the season!

It was the best of the times, it was the worst of times. Yes, it's Christmas.

Well it’s nearly Christmas. A time for us to come together with the people we don't always see and also a time to spend money on stupid shit no one needs and go to the pub more times than physically and emotionally needed. Yes I sound like the Grinch. I've had a complicated history with Christmas. 

I used to love it. Our family would get together every year and my nan and grandad would fill up the dining table with high cholesterol inducing amounts of food from Cash and Carry (they used to run a pub and kept their membership). He used to make his own sloe gin that he would force on us and one year I got whiplash from dancing too intensely with my cousin to Smells Like Teen Spirit. (Kurt turning in his grave at the thought of me headbanging at my Nan’s house).

In the early fun days, my sister (who was about 11) decided she wanted to save her pocket money and buy Xmas gifts with no help from anyone and we obviously let her. This led to a moment that I now think about weekly: she bought my Nan and Grandad some chocolate body paint. The way my Grandad tore the last shred of paper off to reveal a little paintbrush attached to the gift and read out the words “chocolate body paint”. To which my mum and I screamed laughing and my mum shouted “you'll need a fucking roller, not a paint brush”. My Nan was a large chested woman. My sister couldn't understand why everyone was laughing and proceeded to give a demonstration of how to use it, licking it off of her arm. 

When my Dad died, things changed a bit and the family felt a bit discombobulated. My Grandad died a few months after and all of a sudden things just stopped being so fun. We took Nanna (Dads mum) with us every Xmas, but one time she came to Xmas dinner with a UTI (unknown to us) and kept spitting her dinner into her handbag at the table until we called an ambulance. Although it was funny once we worked out it was just the UTI making her do mad stuff, it still wasn't reaching the heights of the whiplash and body paint years. 

After that year we swiftly stopped spending Xmas together for various reasons. People moved away and got partners. It was all a bit more fractured. 

Then in 2018 I became very very ill with chronic vestibular migraine, PPPD and complex PTSD. This then threw a whole new set of complications in the xmas mix. When you're disabled or chronically ill, life changes a lot. You can't plan ahead like you used to, you can't daydream about what you might get up to, because often it doesn't come into fruition and you're left feeling deflated and down. The Xmas period, which I used to love, felt like it had been thoroughly beaten out of me. The dead Dad, the sick in the handbag, the disability. The disability felt like the final nail in the coffin for fun Xmas. 

Weirdly though, the last few Xmas’ I’ve had have been absolutely wonderful. Last year we had a waifs and strays Xmas where all our friends stayed in London and we had a big old party at our house, which was great because I was quite poorly that year and I was so grateful to have all of my friends around me. During lockdown we went to Ally Pally with a group of friends and drank cheap prosecco and ate sandwiches. 

I think what I'm trying to say is that, I think we have a set idea of what Xmas should be, but that idea really adheres to tradition and ableism. Even my most lefty friends (and myself) for a long time couldn't imagine a Xmas that wasn't spent with family, eating a dry AF turkey. It's funny how we just get ourselves into unquestioned patterns. 

With Xmas drawing closer I'm faced with anxiety around whether I'll make it back to my family this year. I've hardly seen any of them all year and I haven't yet met my nephew. I really long, for the first time in a long time, to go home and have that traditional Xmas and I fear that I won't get it, because my illness has been so shitty this year and continues to kick my ass physically and emotionally. I'm sure if Sam and I stay in London for Xmas, it would also be lovely. I can force him to watch the Eastenders special and we can eat a curry. But it has been a lot of just Sam and I this year and I'm sure we would both like a bit of variety. Even if that is everyone arguing about whether the Queen killed Diana or not. 

Chopping and changing comes with the territory when you're ill. Never making solid plans, cancelling everything last minute, and asking for adjustments and it's so wonderful when people understand and so awful when they don't. It's given me a lot to think about this year and so when you're tucking into your dry AF turkey with your family, give a little thought to the people who didn't get to enjoy the plans they made. We still have fun, just a different kind of fun.