My First Christmas as a Single Person Was Weird

In the Twilight Zone with a Political Activist, Cult Members, and Pudding

I was worried about Christmas. I’d be on my own for the first time in my life. Recently divorced, my kids were scheduled to be at their dad’s and I had no-one else to spend Christmas Day with.

Life felt surreal still – the divorce, the empty house on weekends, the lose of my identity as part of a family: as part of a couple.

I wasn’t sure who single 40-year-old me was. I wasn’t sure who I wanted to be. All I felt was alone at Christmas.

But that’s not how it ended up.

A Political Activist, Conservative Christians, and Pudding

On Christmas Day, I decided at the last minute to go to church. It’s what I’d done every Christmas for my entire life, so at least that could be the same, even if nothing else was.

At church, a woman I didn’t know started up a conversation. She was a single mom too and was hosting a Christmas lunch. She insisted I come.

I’m not a party-with-strangers kind of person. I’m introverted and have social anxiety at times, which was particularly bad after divorce. But it seemed like a better alternative to Christmas lunch on my own.

Entering the Twilight Zone

As the first person to arrive, I helped out in the kitchen, chatting with my talkative host. She filled me in on all the details of her new relationship. Her man was stuck overseas for Christmas, but he’d sent her romantic gifts, including a rainbow bouquet of flowers she’d placed as the center-piece for the table.

I thought it might hurt to hear someone go on about how in love they are, but it was actually nice to share her infectious happiness while we whipped cream and decorated the pavlova with strawberries.

It was like being swept up in a real-life rom-com.

And I love a good Christmas rom-com.

An older couple arrived and as soon as they introduced themselves I knew we were in for an interesting lunch. I live in a town with several Christian cults, outliers, and extremists.

You get used to it, and they prefer to keep to themselves. Occasionally, you’ll meet someone who’s recruiting for their group or on a “mission” of some kind. It was clear this couple were those people.

They sat at the table — backs rigid, faces stern — and, with pinched lips and quiet voices, launched into mini-sermon-like conversation.

I was raised by a minister and I’ve met my fair share of religious extremists, so I smiled and tried to keep the conversation light. My host and her elderly parents ate surprisingly quietly at one end of the table.

I started to wonder if they’d dragged us all in off the street and were now regretting it?

Lunch was almost over when the final guest arrived.

She filled the room with both her personality and her towering height. Her orange hair stuck out around her head in a wild halo and she greeted us with rapid arm gestures and a fierce intensity.

“I bought chocolate!” she boomed.

I liked her instantly.

The Christian couple didn’t.

We ate dessert in the lounge, relaxing back against the couch cushions to loosen the pressure on our now tight waistbands. I piled my plate with more pavlova and ice-cream than I needed, but it’s not really Christmas if you don’t overeat.

The conversation quickly switched from religion to political activism, our orange-haired friend’s biggest passion. She told a vivid, if slightly aggressive, story about her latest solo protest. I can’t remember what for.

“And then I threw a tin of red paint at the police station!”

That was the cue for the now silent Christian couple to leave.

I looked around the lounge and found myself alone with the political activist. The host and her parents had snuck off to their rooms without anyone noticing. The cast of characters had obviously proven too much. Which character was I, I wondered? The lonely divorcee?

It felt rude to leave now.

But how long are you expected to stay at a stranger’s Christmas lunch? Especially when the hosts have already excused themselves?

I couldn’t walk out while the activist was still passionately relating her protest. Anyway, I’m a writer: the quirkier people are, the more fascinating I find them. (You can’t write good strong characters without meeting a few in real life.)

I decided the right length of time was the end of the story.

On the drive home, life felt even more surreal. Christmas had always been full of familiar family traditions: stockings, crackers and silly hats, opening presents one at a time around the tree, the same roast lunch every year surrounded by my family.

The Christmas after my divorce couldn’t have been more unfamiliar.

But there are necessary endings to things.

I’d had a necessary ending and found myself in a transition period. It’s always strange in transition. The old familiar activities, people, and even your old identities are gone.

But the new ones haven’t arrived yet.

A year later, I’d be surrounded by family again: my new partner’s family and my kids. But not that year. That year was an in-between, a twilight zone, a strange but interesting transition.

If you’re spending your holidays in the twilight zone this year, embrace it. Something new is just around the corner. And maybe, while you’re there, you’ll meet some interesting characters…or perhaps be one yourself?