Ho Ho Boo Hoo Hoo

It was Saturday afternoon, and I was languishing on the couch in my pajamas wrapped in a blanket of self-pity.

This was not on my list of things to do today.

I was supposed to be planning weekly menus and changing the laundry loads. I was supposed to be addressing Christmas cards and wrapping a few gifts.

I was supposed to be productive.

And now, we were invited to a friend’s house for dinner.

I was supposed to be showering, drying my hair, and putting on lipstick.

I was supposed to feel festive.

Instead, I was wallowing in my own rabbit hole of discontent, trying to convince myself to go out. There are numerous benefits of social connections on our mental health, including lower rates of anxiety and depression. But to reap those benefits, I’ve got to get up off this couch.

One of the tricky things about social situations is that first greeting. There’s the taking of the coat, the taking of the drink order, and then it comes:

“How are you?”

“Well,” I wanted to say, “I’m suffering from a general malaise possibly attributed to menopausal anxiety, an empty nesting lack of purpose, seasonal affective disorder, pandemic uncertainties, political unrest, a professional mid-life crisis, and the lack of world peace.” That sounded a little heavy, so instead I went with plan B:

“I’m okay. I’ve felt a little down lately and trying to shake it off. How are you?”

It’s a little scary, to be honest. It’s a little scary to be honest. I can write that sentence with or without a comma and they are both true.

To step into an Instagram worthy moment and admit that my life is less than picture perfect.

I’m not the only person who feels this pressure—especially around the holidays. We may have preconceived notions about what our gatherings should look like: the happy families gathered around the table, the house clean and decorated, the perfectly baked cookies. We may also hold those preconceived notions—whether consciously or not—about how we should feel during the holiday season.

Here’s my advice: give yourself permission to feel the way you do. You don’t live in a Hallmark movie—this is real life. It’s unrealistic to think we can hit pause on the stresses and fast forward to happy contentment based solely on the calendar date. And you are not alone. While being authentic can feel vulnerable, it can also feel relatable.

Coat off, wine in hand, we settle around the cheese platter in conversation: my friends all share stories of their less than perfect lives too. We talk about challenges at work, recent family deaths, our middle-aged bodies falling apart. Naming the struggles, sharing them, even laughing about them makes them feel less daunting.

I realize I’m back on the couch. But this time I’m warmed by the connections of friendships.