Even though retailers have been pimping the holidays since, oh, June, I finally caught the bug this weekend. It usually hits me around this time each year; there is something about Thanksgiving week that really brings home the fact that the holidays are around the corner.
Given the countless dysfunctional holidays of my youth, many may assume that the first sign of seasonal cheer would send me running for the hills. Quite the opposite, in fact, as I have somehow managed to maintain a positive outlook on the holidays and typically utilize the last six weeks of the year to celebrate those who have played a significant role in my life. Admittedly, as the years go on and I distance myself from the dysfunction, this list has become increasingly dominated by those with whom I do not share DNA.
I have my wonderfully grounded maternal grandmother to thank for the preservation of my holiday spirit despite a frequently tumultuous childhood. This year marks ten years since she passed, but my aunt (we're close in age and were raised almost like siblings) and I remain committed to celebrating the holidays the way she would have wanted us to: with generosity, appreciation, and stylish flair. She made certain every platter and dish on the table matched, and her carefully crafted tablescapes often resembled Better Homes and Gardens centerfolds (I actually do this every night that I cook- ask The Mr. and my friends). Each gift was personal in some way, and exactly what the person had been hoping for (wrapped in matching wrapper with spectacular bows, of course). Hours upon hours would be spent at the mall and specialty stores until she had carefully selected something special for each and every person who had touched her life in some way that year. I accompanied her on almost every one of those shopping trips throughout the years, until she passed away when I was eighteen.
She was my foundation growing up, the one who taught me the right way to live, to love, and to show appreciation. I know I picked up some of her perfectionist qualities, given the extensive amount of time I spent with her as a child. While I am trying to shed some of my own perfectionist tendendencies (namely, those that have been self-destructive), the ones I inherited from her are ones I hope I never lose.
I was reminded of her this weekend as I dragged The Mr. out to Target (aka Holiday Hell for a guy) to see what kind of decor we could pick up in preparation for our Thanksgiving Evening Put-Up-the-Tree Extravaganza (which always includes wine, cursing, and the dog eventually breaking something). We grabbed our customary shopping-at-Target Starbuck's coffees, and hit the holiday rows hard. While The Mr., ever the outgoing one, bonded with the other disinterested and unengaged husbands, I picked up trendy holiday hand towels, some artsy-looking ornaments, and perused the wreath selection. Standing in the Target retail wonderland with my coffee in hand, I secretly vowed, as I do every year, to always strive to make the holidays happy, comfortable, and magical for my own "family", just as my grandmother did for me.
This has been a tough year for me, and many months have flown by without my noticing thanks to my "brain-starved" state (as LA calls it). It was around this time last year that I really began to sink into the eating disorder and lost my sense of self, as well as control of my body. This holiday season will be a little different for me, as I have lost that ability to really enjoy in many of the treats that define this time of year. I now have to be conciously aware of my choices, feelings, and urges in an effort to prevent a relapse back to starving and purging in the days, weeks, and months after the celebratory season is over. While the eating disorder has become a driving force in my life over the last year, experiencing the holiday season with the eating disorder mind feels extremely unfamiliar.
I've learned to adapt to Christmases without my grandmother over the last ten years, but it is (and never will be) exactly as it was when she was still around. I wonder the same about experiencing the holidays with an eating disorder...will they ever really be the same now that my mind has zeroed in on food as a control mechanism? Will there be a day when I can eat a second slice of pie (ok, maybe even just one piece of pie...we'll start there) without the urge to throw it up or burn it off immediately? Will I eventually be able to enjoy mashed potatoes again without the list of potential fat-laden ingredients playing on repeat in my brain? Could I ever become so relaxed that I consider Black Friday shopping a cardio exercise (and therefore an acceptable substitute for a trip to the gym) like the rest of the sale-seeking free world?
I don't know. While it scaresthe hell out of me to let go of the safety and control the eating disorder provides, I secretly hope the holidays in years to come are eating-disorder free.
In the meantime, while recovery is still as fresh and new as the holiday crap I just bought at Target, I'm going to focus my attention on doing up the holidays the way my grandmother would want me to: spoiling the hell out of those who have cared for and stood by me this year, creating a happy and cheerful home, and paying attention to the details that make every effort extra special.
She'd be appalled by the fact that that the ED version of her beloved granddaughter would even think twice before digging into a giant plate of her butter-drenched mashed potatoes. I'll work on making her proud again in that respect. She knows better than anyone that I can overcome the tough stuff in life; after all, she made sure to teach me how as I was growing up.
For now, however, I think color-coordinating the gift wrap with the tree ornaments and busting out the matching dessert plates will do, don't you?
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