Blog Post: Chasing Away the Christmas Blues

I get the holiday blues every year. It usually comes at the beginning of the New Year after all the festivities are over. This year it came early. I have many theories for this yearly depression.

Resolutions: Depressing or Hopeful?

Maybe it’s because I have to face the real world again after a month of Christmas bliss. Or because my house looks duller than usual without the decorations I’ve become accustomed to over the last month. Or maybe it’s the inevitable self-evaluation that takes place every New Year reminding me that another year has passed and I still haven’t accomplished what I’d wanted to. I’ve yet to explain it, but this year I was determined to chase away the Christmas blues.

Despite the hype by the sentimental Disney-loving types who would have the holiday year-round if they could, Christmas is fraught with emotional pitfalls.

It's SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder)

For starters, the holiday comes at the darkest time of the calendar year. And you wonder why you’re depressed. Less sun, now that’s cruel and unusual punishment a Californian should never be subjected to. I prefer exercising in the morning, but now jogging in the dark of December is like being in a giant video game where I’m the slowly moving target of early morning speeders. California Indians feared the diminishing light meant the sun was dying, and spent time worshiping it. I recently took to my own form of sun worshipping sitting in a sagging lawn chair, with a cup of French-pressed coffee, staring at the sun. It probably helped my Vitamin D intake but left me strung out, sunburned, and half-blind. Add that to my already challenged myopia, and I’m almost certifiably blind. I think that’s the word.

Sick and Tired of Being Sick

They say it gets worse before it gets better. Which leads me to the other holiday downer—the Christmas cold. I don’t get sick that often, but it was particularly bad this year: Undiagnosable, lingering, and energy sapping. The doctor said it may be allergies due to the winds, or it could be a virus, or it could be…spin the wheel…just about anything. Take an antibiotic and call me in the morning, they said, or just eat some factory beef loaded with the stuff, it will have the same effect.  Finally, after about 10 days of medicine cabinet cocktails, the cold cleared and I could now join the masses at the malls, all searching for the perfect gift—one that says I care for as little money as possible. On the bright side, I had less shopping to do having less money this year, and by cutting down on gifts I gained a new perspective on what’s important. (And more importantly, spent less time in the malls).

Then there are holiday concerts for the kids, baking marathons, checkbook woes, and the yearly battle to align the printed Christmas card address labels just right. Add to that the fact that everyone I know is working harder for less money, and you’ve created a cocktail stronger than an eggnog chaser.

Christmas Miracle

And yet, there is hope. For my last holiday concert of the year, the GHS Choirs sang Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus under the direction of Dr. Brian Trevor. I felt my heart jump. I delivered my last batch of homemade cookies, and visited with new friends made throughout the year. My heart jumped again, almost regaining its lost cadence.  With my mysterious cold waning, and the sun shining, I went for a jog— exercise my most tried and true way to fight the blues. And with each passing day, my mood slowly lifted. And then, wonder of wonders, my amazing warrior husband found a way to fend off the impending pay cut by outperforming the boss’ expectations and fighting the big corporate system. It was a modern day David and Goliath battle. Hallelujah! Christmas has finally come.

Christmas miracle? Yes, I believe so. I crossed over from the dark side and into the light once again just in time for Christmas this year. I hope you have your own version of the Christmas miracle, or at least some small respite from the hustle bustle, and are able to find some peace this season.