Surviving Holidays During a Pandemic

My Mental Health Checkup for 2020 Season

The progression of 2020 has been strikingly similar to trying to pass a kidney stone — seemingly endless in duration and teaming with unexpected and excruciating twists. Small wonder the holidays amidst a pandemic are frustrating and challenging, too.

As we’re all keenly aware, life is complex now. Pandemic-related living has caused financial tension, changes in our social lives and work habits, and separation from friends and family. Even a brief grocery store trip is stressful and seems rife with hidden microscopic hazards. Keeping social distance for almost a year is hard, even for loner folks like me. The triad of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve feel like an oozing letdown pimple on the back acne of months of these cosmic disappointments.

I don’t feel festive about the holiday season. And maybe you don’t either.

Frankly, I’ve been feeling down, and tangled in deeply buried emotions. Maintaining your emotional equilibrium in a pandemic is an ongoing thing. Even if you haven’t struggled with this before, it might now be an issue with the unfolding season. It was for me.

I needed to revisit my holiday mental health and fine-tune my head for this season. Evaluating stress, recognizing emotions, and refocusing on the most important aspects were required. Perhaps some of these will help you if you’re struggling, too.

Difficult Times Call for Difficult Decisions

Like so many of you, I am making difficult decisions about the holidays. And frankly, all options are unsatisfactory, stressful, or disappointing.

This season is the only time our family gathers en masse. The typical stress in preparation, planning, logistics, and finances are worth it. We are deeply passionate, opinionated. irreverent, and loving people. Hugs are frequent, strong, and heartfelt. When together, our zany family is magical.

The pandemic has added immense anxiety to the holiday dynamics. Now I balance potentially sickening or outright killing members of my beloved family, alongside trying to celebrate seasonal times we cherish and be together.

Hard decision #1: Thanksgiving. To protect our family and our communities, we decided not to assemble at my parents’ house for Thanksgiving. Sharing a meal indoors is contrary to public health guidelines — especially for senior citizens and other fragile people in our family.

My dad survived a heart attack several years ago and my mother is a heart valve-replacement recipient. Although otherwise healthy seniors, we can’t risk infecting them. We have a big family. While we’re careful — masking and social distancing as we go about our lives — our safety depends on others around us also doing the right actions. And not everyone in our communities uniformly embraces public health protocols. The virus spread and hospitalization rate in Indiana rural areas are profound. Our family are too many in number and too exposed to risk it. Three of my out-of-state daughters only had a brief vacation for Thanksgiving. They’d have to fly here and then proceed directly to family meals. Driving and avoiding airports would be safer, but time didn’t allow for that.

We Facetimed a family Thanksgiving video chat and watched my mom cry and my dad carve a sad, small turkey for the two of them.

Mom’s voice breaking on the phone, echoed my heartbreak when I called her later. My parents are aging. Is this the last holiday they have with us? Did we make a wrong choice? Should we have thrown caution to the wind? I felt like a crappy, insensitive offspring, especially given my mom’s attachment to these celebrations.

My mother’s happiness seems to emanate from holidays. Her festivities reduce Martha Stewart to a novice in this arena. This is a woman who designates seating arrangements for each person with turkey place card holders crafted out of Oreo cookies, complete with candy corn feathers, which she’s intricately secured with frosting. She stays up for days decorating and cooking a gourmet feast that would feed a small country’s population. Mom is every holiday on steroids. These things matter to her on a level that is profound and mystical in origins. I hate taking away her source of joy.

Yet, I make a career applying public health and safety guidelines in workplaces for clients. I know our family choices are grounded in the wisdom of science and application of those principles. But my emotions can be divorced from facts when it comes to my family. It takes immense effort to do the right thing. I felt cold-hearted rejecting family gatherings. And I was beating myself up for this.

Hard Decision # 2: Christmas. We may opt for a brief outdoor Christmas gift exchange if the weather holds, but I’ve told my mother — we will wear masks. We won’t eat. (Please don’t make the standard feast.) Hugging is taboo. And we will be social distancing outside. My parent’s yard is large and it’s possible to visit if we abide by those requirements. Provided we have decent weather, we might attempt it. But these plans are subject to change based on possible shutdowns, unforeseen exposures to the virus, and travel restrictions, on top of weather considerations. Christmas is a vague, anxiety-ridden question mark on the Advent calendar.

Your family is probably looking ahead and on the struggle bus with this holiday, too. I empathize. May the force be with you.

Hard Decision # 3: New Year’s Eve. NYE seems utterly impossible to celebrate. Playing board games with friends, while drinking and eating the night away, is a Coronavirus event looking to happen. Ringing in the year at some exotic locale is not an option unless one is foolhardy. Local bars and restaurants are virus vectors. Zoom and Facetime are helpful but limited in their depth. NYE will fall flat and empty. Likely my significant other and I will hole up here, as we have for Easter, and birthdays, and all the other 2020 holidays. I’m shocked boredom and staring at me for many months hasn’t driven the poor man quite insane. His mental stamina is superb, but he also seems increasingly fond of wearing his noise canceling headphones 24/7. (We all need our coping mechanisms.)

Prior to 2020, I would have defined the holiday season with traditions, family, friends, food, and new memory-making activities. Now, I feel separated from those I cherish and from normalcy. The nonchalance and ease of living in a world pre-COVID, seems far removed from present circumstances. Without the specter of a virus haunting us, we could make memories of our choosing. And we made them without the thought of sickening or killing others. The decisions are not easy now.

I’m betting on science and I can’t allow myself the additional mental stress to linger in second guessing.

The future is unknown.

But the present is a known risk.

I need to make the hard choices and trust these are the right path.

Letting go and accepting this removes a continual stressful bludgeoning to my emotions.

Use Memories of Christmas Past to Help, Not Hurt

Memories flood the senses at holidays. And this year is no exception. In fact, I find myself mentally wandering backward quite often now. I got stuck on the comparison of then and now for a while. But memories can also remind you of what’s precious. And you need that in the midst of an ongoing pandemic.

Most years, my five adult children, plus their significant others and friends, a precocious grandson, and a pack of assorted rescue dogs invade my house sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas. The house quickly resembles an elfish warzone. I’ve not inherited my mother’s holiday skills, which is reflected in my annual culinary disasters. Yet, the kids keep reappearing for more torture year after year. There is chaos, sibling drama, at least one major spill incident, perpetual hugging, and laughter — so much laughter. Later we assemble again at my parents. Cherished memories are made around that family table as we eat and drink together.

As my kids have grown into adults, I’ve sometimes celebrated differently, but bliss and freedom was woven into the festivities.

One year, work took me to Abu Dhabi for a hospital project during the Christmas season. Though a Muslim country, the UAE is quite welcoming and open to expats and diverse cultures. On any normal day, the country is surreal and extravagant. The holidays didn’t fail in meeting this criteria. Nothing says Christmas in the lap of luxury like the ginormous tree at the gilded Emirates Palace, which was situated near the ATM that spews out gold. With my Emirate client and dear friend, I celebrated the season having proper British tea in this lavish environment. We shared a massive tray of exquisite dessert pastries that was only second in size to our abundant laughter and camaraderie.

I flew to Colorado to visit one of my daughters who couldn’t make the holiday trip back to the Midwest in 2017. We spent the first day of my arrival obtaining a holiday meal for El Chapo, my daughter’s terrifying pet python, thus named for his splendid escapism skills. A live rat was the only item on El Chapo’s menu. Rats and snakes are the two creatures on Planet Earth that utterly terrify me. That holiday, I celebrated with both of these psychologically distressing critters — albeit the rat’s visit was brief, but apparently delicious. While nervously eyeballing the python’s maximum-security cell and the ritual sacrifice bulging in his belly, I cooked one of my infamous-truly-terrible meals for my daughter and her friends. They were too polite to complain about the dry, inedible turkey disaster and runny, liquified mashed potatoes. But they did mercilessly tease me about snakes and rats. Later, there was a drive into the mountains, resplendent with snowy caps and breathtaking views. We were together and there was joy, hugging, and love. Memories were made.

In 2018, I went to South Africa and spent a month sailing around Cape Good Hope. There wasn’t a Thanksgiving feast. Hot food of any sort was impossible. We were at sea in rough swells, tethered while topside and falling over when below deck. But soaring across the waves at 14 knots, surrounded by dolphins who played alongside the boat, and partaking in such an adventure was one of my most glorious holiday memories. Who needs a turkey when you’ve got dolphins and big waves?

This year, none of those memorable events will occur — or at least not without strictly limiting many of our beloved carefree norms.

Those past memories are sustaining me. But the contrast from past to present is also a bit depressing if I don’t continually refocus those events. It is unfair to compare previous holidays with this one. That mental trap leads straight to the dark side. This holiday season sits smack in the middle of a global pandemic of epic proportions. I cannot expect this year to be anything similar to the past.

The only way I can cope is to reframe those memories or I’d be lost in a major depressive episode.

I am trying to celebrate them as evidence of the life I’ve been privileged to have, as well as hopes for the future.

I comfort myself that next year will be memory-filled and joyous. No matter where or how I celebrate — I will do so fully.

This pandemic has taught me to appreciate all of the big and small aspects of life, and the people I so readily ate and drank with and hugged without a care.

I took for granted so much. I’ll not do that again.

Humans, when this pandemic is over, I’m hugging all of you. Be prepared.

Acknowledge Emotions

Pandemic fatigue is real, and I didn’t realize the toll it was taking on me. I’ve spent a few weeks softly ebbing into low-lying depression over this holiday season. It was subtle, but it was steady and draining. I saw it in my inability to focus on projects and in my lack of interest in activities. But upon some soul-searching, and probing talks with a therapist, I’ve understood the extent of my struggle. I can run a mile, but not a marathon. Deep inside I’d been suppressing pain and hostility.

I am not one of those angry people screaming about lost rights and freedoms or giving the middle finger to public health protocols.

I know we haven’t lost freedoms due to oppressive government restrictions or some bizarre conspiracy that’s tied to Bill Gates’ desire to control the world. A very real virus is causing these dynamics. Although the virus doesn’t care, and as foolish as it sounds, I’m angry at the virus. And I’m mad as hell at the people who refuse to protect others. (Add Trump to that list. I’m pissed at him, too.)

However, I’m not angry at the rules designed to protect our communities. But inwardly I’d been feeling trapped and angry and sad. I’d not acknowledged those thoughts.

I’m happy to make sacrifices for other’s health and wellbeing. But the long-term was sublimely hitting hard and fast, coupled with the weird COVID holidays looming ahead, and the ghost of Christmas past lurking behind me.

We need to do the protective actions and also acknowledge the personal toll this pandemic has created.

The vaccine is coming. And the end is in sight. This pandemic won’t last forever. But right now, in the present, I’m sad and angry about lost opportunities. It’s okay to say it sucks. Because it does.

I hadn’t admitted that. Even to myself. I needed to do so.

Just saying it meant I wasn’t bottling up all the icky stuff inside. It was a vital relief valve.

Refocusing Helps

A curious mental thing happened to me. Once I admitted the emotions I’d been stuffing down, I was able to take my eyes off myself and see other people’s pain.

In a recent Facebook thread, we had an open rant about any vexing problems, big or small, that were on our minds. These brilliant women in that group glue me together. I ranted about my work that is riddled with overcoming fake news to protect workers, and the daily grind that would be my holiday without any festivities. Others were venting about writing or the virus or humorous events.

I noticed a comment. It was one short sentence, “I lost a close family friend to COVID.”

Full stop.

I realized afresh the toll this holiday is taking on the 260K American families who lost someone to this virus. They aren’t sad about missing a holiday meal or a NYE celebration. These families are devastated and will miss a beloved person well past 2020. Forever. Long after this virus has subsided, there will be an empty chair at every holiday event or a phone that doesn’t ring from a voice this is desperately missed.

Others are quite sick and long-term suffering from this virus. We don’t understand why this virus targets certain people. But we do have enough scientific evidence and many millions of critically ill to know it causes life-changing illnesses and permanent disabilities. Pretty sure those critically ill won’t have bright and merry holidays either.

Upon reading that woman’s Facebook comment, I felt a deep wave of guilt. And rightly so.

Acknowledging my own personal struggles was necessary. But once I recognized them, I needed to move beyond that self-focus. Am I really suffering in comparison to those who’ve lost a family member or a close friend to this pandemic? Is my stress any worse than a critically ill person?

I got over myself. And I needed to do so.

Keep the Faith & Keep the Focus

Thus, going forward, I’m entering the remainder of the holiday season grateful that I have family and friends I can sacrifice for. Life will change and become normal for many of us. And we can have a complex, multi-day, gluttonous, full-contact hugging celebration of all missed holidays once this pandemic ends.

But even in that celebration ahead, I will try to never forget those who paid a terrible price to this virus. Today’s struggles aren’t forever unless we’ve lost someone dear. Others will need our love and support far into the future.

At their core, holidays are about cherishing others. My memory of this year will be sacrificial living, celebrating the times of joy in my past, and remembering those who are in profound pain. It’s not the holiday season I’d envisioned, but it’s the right one for 2020.