As the weather began to cool down and holiday decorations went up, I felt a familiar anxiety well up inside. Christmas used to be my favorite time of year. After my parent’s divorce it took years for me to enjoy the holiday season again. Once I had my own family, Christmas became exciting once more. I had the privilege of being able to experience Christmas through the eyes of my son.

My ex grew up in a religion where holidays are not practiced. In many ways, I was experiencing Christmas for the first time through his eyes as well. As stated in my “Hope Floats” post, my ex is a generous man. He definitely made up for lost time and then some.

Our first couple of holidays were amazing. My ex is a gifted contractor and craftsman and those skills translated to the decorations on the outside of our home, every time, even while on meth. Imagine that! Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-NO. I began developing my own holiday traditions, mixing pieces that had been handed down to me by my grandmother and mother, with new pieces I had purchased myself along the way. It was lovely, magical, and peaceful. There may not have been peace on Earth, but there was certainly peace in my world.

Fast forward to this past Christmas. December 2022. It was now our second holiday season after moving out. I had made it on my own for a year. Hanging on by my fingernails, but still surviving. At the time, I had worked for a corporation owned veterinarian’s office with a horrendously toxic work environment sprinkled with nepotism. The practice is plagued by double standards, petty-unfounded write-ups, and an archaic lead-by-intimidation culture. As soon as the company needed to make their bottom line, they began slashing hours. This caused stress that exacerbated my symptoms. I was also asked by my manager to sign a form that identified me as being disabled. She said it was “job protection”. I had known her for close to 18 years, so I trusted her. We were close. If only I had a crystal ball to show me what was to come… or did I? (There’s a tsunami of tea when it comes to that situation. Keep your teacups handy.)

In the beginning of November of 2022, my ex was kicked out of the place where he was living. When this event occurred, he had our son while I was at work. Any time my ex had our son, I would find myself holding my breath the entire time waiting for some gigantic, shit-soaked shoe to drop. Not only was he kicked out, but he was served with a restraining order, in front of our 8 year old. My throat tightened with an all too familiar type of panic and rage. I pleaded with him to drop our son off at my job. He ignored my pleas and only spoke about things not pertaining to information I actually needed to know. (There go my MS symptoms.) I informed the lead technician of what was going on. She was kind, understanding, and showed genuine concern for myself along with my child’s safety. I also advised the mangers, who expressed counterfeit support. Once I finally retrieved our son, it was plain to see he was experiencing an anxiety attack. I coaxed my rage back into its cage and focused on his well being.

This was how our holiday season kicked off. I thought the first holiday season was brutal; this was much worse for reasons I couldn’t even fathom until they began to unfold.

Allow me to digress to our first holiday season. December 2021. It was painful. I would wake up every day at 4:00am, meditate, workout, and try to come up with ideas on how I was going to afford my astronomical rent. It was a small one bedroom in LA County; you can only imagine how outrageous it was. When I say I took a leap of faith when I left, I am not hyperbolizing that action in the slightest. If anyone is familiar with Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, there is a scene at the end of the film where Harrison Ford must pass a series of tests. First, is the path of God: only the pertinent man shall pass. Second, the Word of God: Only in the footsteps of God, shall he proceed. And last, but not least is the third test. The Breath of God: Only in a leap from the lion’s head, shall he prove his worth. I am in NO WAY a religious human. (I often joke that I am a recovering Catholic. Sorry Mom.) The exodus from my marriage was my Indiana Jones moment. I had passed my series of tests, done the work, and I was ready to take my own leap from the lion’s head to retrieve my Holy Grail: peace, freedom, and happiness.

Even though I left without a source of income that could sustain our new expenses, I had this quiet little voice inside of me, a knowing that it would work out. I would not allow doubt to creep into my mind. Intrusive thoughts were met with Reiki. (I will go into the Reiki lifestyle later.) The point being this first holiday season should have been the worse. I was in no way financially stable yet and I was desperately trying to hold my mental health together. Not to mention carrying the burden of ripping my son away from the only home he ever really knew. But always remember, hope floats! Was it agonizing decorating a new place as I wiped tears from my eyes and forced smiles across my face? YES! However, the miracles that materialized during this time was nothing short of magical. These events will be detailed in a later post. They deserve that respect.

So how was this last Christmas harder than the previous? I had a small source of additional income. It should have been easier, correct? Nope. It came at the cost of my mental and physical health. I was making a livable wage but working in a pit of snakes. Not everyone, only the ones who held leadership roles. Remember the lead tech? She’s an amazing soul. Then there were the holiday traditions I tried to engage in with my son. We had gone to the local tree lighting with some of my good friends and their children. I was really excited to finally be engaging with the living again. When we arrived, I left my son with my friends to go drop off toys I had collected for a friend’s business that was participating in a local toy drive. When I returned, I could see he had a sadness about him. Then I felt it. (Being an empath is not for the faint at heart.) In that moment I could FEEL his sadness. Feel it as if it were my own. He was missing his father. As we laughed and ran around the little streets decorated with lights and trimmings, I watched my son. His eyes were stuck on his best friend and his father. His best friend was on his father’s shoulders. This was something my ex always did with our son. My ex suffers from addiction, but our son is his world. That is a blessing that has been a saving grace. In dire times, counting my blessings grounds me. His addiction has robbed our family of many things, but one thing it could not rip away, was the love he has for his son. That remains intact to this day, even though his actions may not relay that.

The evening went on and I was able to distract my son with a snow show and Santa, that a local business, The Treatment Claremont, was putting on every Friday of December. They do not realize what a Godsend this was. They are an amazing business with a staff that welcomes you like they’ve known you forever. Old school Nordstrom customer service skills. Those who know KNOW. (Of course, they have their own post coming up.) The rest of the month was spent trying to engage in holiday activities, deal with an unprofessional purgatory of a job, and maintain my health and sanity. I wanted more than anything to give my son the Christmas that he deserved. He had lost so much in such a short amount of time; I felt the pressure of the universe on my shoulders. Every. Damn. Day. But I am a woman whose grit game is LIT. I was going to get us through this time. Just as I always have.

As I said earlier, my ex had been kicked out of his place and was now living in his car. To my knowledge this is still the current status of his living arrangements. I made the excruciating decision to take a break from my son’s visits with his father. I needed my ex to work on himself, find a safe place to live, and guard my son’s heart from his father’s constant disappointment. I wanted to keep my child safe. I did my fucking best.

With the help of my family and friends we made it through December. I was able to give my son a decent Christmas, create a few happy memories, and show him that no matter what happens in his life, his mama will be his rock and safe place no matter what bullshit the devil is laying down. I will always move mountains for him. My son’s existence is, and will remain, my reason in all the seasons. I love you my little man.