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Holiday Blues
by
Lucia Capacchione, Ph.D., A.T.R. |
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No, the title of this article does not refer to a "blues" song for the holidays, or a tribute to
famous jazz singer, Billie Holiday. It describes a commonly felt reaction to the holiday season which is often not talked about. After all, who wants to be a party pooper at a time of year that is supposed to be filled with "good cheer"? Who has time to be depressed when there's so much to do? How
can you be singing the blues when surrounded by carols and hymns intended to uplift and inspire? But, the fact is that holidays often bring up memories we'd like to forget, feelings we'd rather not have, expectations that feel burdensome, and disappointments that weigh heavily on our hearts.
What is it about the year-end holidays, in particular, that bring up so much emotion? For me personally, the answer is simple. In our family a lot of crises have happened around the holidays: deaths, divorces, and illnesses. As I write this, I am facing the
first Christmas without my mother, who died in February of this year. My very last visit with her was the day after Christmas. She had lost her speech but was still alert. I sat next to her bed as we held hands for a very long time. No words were spoken. Nor were they needed. Mom communicated pure
love to me through her smile and by kissing my hand every so often during our silent visit. She was 98, so we had spent a lot of Christmases together up until then. And it was the best one.
I am deeply appreciative of friends and loved ones who are thoughtful enough to say, "This is your first Christmas without your mom. How are you doing?" They let me be myself, tell the truth about how I feel ("It's hard," I reply), and then they offer their
support. I have found that by sharing my real feelings they are gifted and, in turn, can gift me with their compassion.
My father died two days before Christmas, 20 years ago, and I still get teary when I hear, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." It was first sung by Judy Garland in a classic musical that my dad worked on at MGM Studios, Meet Me in St. Louis. It
seems there are more and more versions of this song being played each year. I've learned to just let myself have the feelings, miss my dad, and bless him for how he enriched my life in so many ways. Sometimes it seems as if he is talking to me through this song and saying, "Lucia, I do want you to
have a merry little Christmas."
As I talk to many clients and friends about the holidays, I find that I am not alone. Sometimes they, too, are hit by the "holiday blues." They have shared with me how certain reminders of holidays past will trigger deep feelings of sadness, grief, longing,
anxiety, and more. It is a time of year in which we often put heavy pressure on ourselves to be active, do things for others, make elaborate plans and try to carry them all out. Sadness and depression are not what is expected of us. Everything around us -- slogans, colors, ads, decorations -- tells
us in one way or another to be happy. But we may not feel it on the inside. We may think that these "messy" feelings are distracting us from our "to do" lists, so they are like unwanted visitors. I am reminded of the Rumi poem called, The Guest House, in which the poet encourages us to
let all of our feelings in, to welcome them all because "each has been sent as a guide from beyond."
To welcome all my feelings, I find that sitting quietly and meditating does wonders. I sit in silence letting the feelings be there, really feeling them, embracing them as old friends. Watching my feelings float in and out like clouds across the sky helps me
appreciate and then let go of them. If a feeling persists, I put it on paper. I might draw it out in color or write about it. Writing with my non-dominant hand always gets to the heart of the mater right away as I tap into the emotional centers in my right brain. I am grateful for my journal as a
safe place to do this. In these private pages I can release my emotions, write letters to loved ones living and dead, have conversations with a particular feeling, and eventually find inner wisdom and solace.
I also find it helpful to write out my real priorities. If I get caught in the trap of becoming a human doing instead of a human being, I stop and listen to that still small voice within.
What are my real priorities? What is the spirit of the season really calling forth from me? What kind of a holiday experience do I really want? Is what I am doing truly necessary? Does it reflect my real values? Or am I just blindly doing what I think is expected of me? Am I trying to do too much?
My journal is a great place to sort all this out. This holiday season
everything has changed. My mother's house where we used to gather on Christmas Eve every year has been sold and no longer belongs to our family. Our beloved Matriarch is no longer there. Our traditions are undergoing change. We are creating new ones. Out of chaos will come
new forms. In the meantime, we are blessed with the gift of life. There have been several deaths in our family and close circle of friends this year, but there have also been several births. The babies remind me of the real spirit of the season. And I sense the presence of
the loved ones who are gone hovering over like angels wishing us well.
© Copyright 2012 Lucia Capacchione.
All Rights Reserved.
Lucia Capacchione, Ph.D, A.T.R, is author of "The Art of Emotional Healing: Over 60 Simple Exercises for Exploring Emotions Through Drawing, Painting, Dancing, Writing, Sculpting and More," published by Shambhala, January, 2006.
She is a registered art therapist, artist and best-selling author of 13 books on healing and recovery through creative expression. Her books, translated into many languages, include the bestsellers, "Recovery of Your Inner Child" and "The Creative Journal,"
as well as "The Power of Your Other Hand" and "Visioning." Dr. Capacchione conducts workshops internationally and is director of the Creative Journal Expressive Arts certification training for professionals. For more information visit: www.LuciaC.com
Website address: www.luciac.com
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