“Healing begins the moment we stop pretending everything is merry.”
— Karen Key Smith
Dear Happy Asses,
Christmas can be a tough time of year—even for a Happy Ass like me.
I’m sitting here all cozy on my sofa at the fanny crack of dawn, sipping my cappuccino and thinking, this is such a perfect moment. I’m full of gratitude, but I haven’t written my Love Letter yet this week. And since I’ve already bared my soul about believing, as a little girl, that I’d one day be on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson—or maybe with David Letterman or Oprah—if you haven’t stopped loving me after hearing that bit of crazy, I thought I’d share another secret.
This secret is one that many of us share, though most don’t want to talk about it—or even know how to talk about it.
While the holidays can be all jolly and Kris Kringle and mistletoe and eggnog (if that’s your thing), they can also be traumatic, sad, and anxiety-producing—for a lot of reasons. Some people worry about money, or about not being able to create the picture-perfect Hallmark Christmas they see all around them. But for many, the hardest part of the holidays is the presence—or memory—of family addiction.
For addicts and alcoholics, the holidays are one of the highest times for relapse. But the side of the street I know best is being the child of an addict. Growing up in addiction meant that Christmas often coincided with relapse—or, just as often, a stay in rehab. I came to associate holidays, birthdays, and every “special” occasion with a parent being drunk or unavailable.
I always want to make clear: my father was never abusive or unkind—he was just drunk, and usually at the most inappropriate times. I couldn’t count on him to be sober, and because of that, I learned to associate the holidays with sadness, anxiety, and overwhelm. Back in those early days of alcoholism treatment, my father would go to an institution for people with severe mental health problems, and I would visit him there at Christmas. That became my Christmas memory.
It’s much like being in an accident—how you stay calm in the middle of the storm, and only fall apart after it’s over. I stayed tough and even cheerful until my father got sober, and then I crumbled and had to face the emotional fallout for years. But all those experiences have become part of who I am—and of what I believe and work for in this world. They’ve shaped me into someone who strives to love deeply, grow continually, and become the best version of myself.
So, I guess the whole point of me sharing this—safely and completely from the comfort of my sofa—is to remind us that not everyone has a “Merry Christmas.” Some people really struggle this time of year, and my prayer is that we stay aware of each other.
I have friends who start counting down to Christmas as soon as Halloween ends—many of them close friends whom I adore. But every time I hear that countdown, a little sadness stirs in my heart. It’s not a pleasant feeling, but it’s real.
I wanted to share this early on—before the holidays—so we can talk about it, honor it, and then, yes, go back to being merry. Because I do love my life. I have learned to love all of it. People are often surprised to learn that I had to learn to love Christmas, to enjoy it like others do. And for the most part, I have. But even now, I still get a little jumpy inside when I see the countdown begin—and my heart is happiest on the regular days after Christmas.
Grateful,
Karen Key Smith aka Happy Ass
P.S. If you or someone you love is struggling, please reach out for help. When we help others, we are also helping ourselves. We were never meant to do this alone.
