Even though I brought up ending my marriage in January 2020 and closed the door on it for good that March, 2021 is the first year in my child's whole life that I haven't been with him on a few major holidays. This isn't on purpose, and it's just as devastating as you might suspect — right now, my ex-husband and I each have our son for a month at a time, and this is just how it worked out this year.
In the days leading up to Halloween, I was incredibly emotional, and missing out on a month of spooky delights was a tough thing. After my first or second (or fifth) crying fest, I reached out to a friend who confirmed what I already knew: Holidays after divorce just kind of suck.
Holidays after divorce aren't hard for the immediate reasons you might think, or at least they aren't for me. My tears aren't because I long for a time when my ex-husband, our son, and I were all together. I wanted the divorce, and I'm happy I have it. For me, the tears are a symptom of that ever-present curse so many of us know so well: mom guilt.
What I know is this: My kid is doing well with our custody arrangement, it gives him lots of separate time with both of us in a way that is healthy and happy, and he has people in both homes who love him a lot and who are invested in his well-being. Both homes have a biological parent and a partner who treats my son as if he is their own. In the grand scheme of things, there are a lot of wins here.
However.
October was an excruciatingly painful month for me. While my son was with me in September we did our usual stuff: We decorated our home for Halloween. We made cookies and candy. We watched Hocus Pocus and The Nightmare Before Christmas. It was fun, cozy, and sweet, but it wasn't quite the same.
There's a lot of pressure put on families to make sure the holidays, any holiday, all holidays, are The Best Moments Of Our Lives. Many of us know that while our social media feeds might be filled with photo after photo of happy nuclear families gathered around a menorah or a pumpkin or a turkey or a Christmas tree, those photos are often hiding a darker, or at least sadder, reality.
Sure, your feed looks perfect, but what it doesn't show are the hours spent alone, wrapping presents no one helped you pick out. Your feed doesn't show the screaming match you had with your kid when they refused to put their costume on. Your feed doesn't show that your turkey didn't cook and your partner said something rude about it … and so on. We put all this weight and pressure on specific days of the year, without realizing that we can experience the exact same feelings any other time.
Sure, yes: It was very tough for me to see someone else taking and sharing photos of my child, in the costume I bought, being the delightful creature that I made and raised, without providing any context or even implying that the picture isn't exactly the truth. But I know my child is happy, and I know he had a great day. Sure, yes: We can't re-create trick-or-treating on November 2, but we can still do plenty of fun, special things when we are together.
When it comes to the bigger holidays, I'm already working on reorienting my mind around enjoying a feeling and being less concerned with what the calendar date is when that feeling is happening. For example, my son will be with me during Hanukkah, which I'm happy about (and which his father doesn't observe). I won't see him on Christmas Day, but I will be with him for several days right before the holiday, and it will be easy to make those days as merry and bright as we want to.
When it comes to loving your kids, it's always true that it's really about how you love them, not when it happens or where. It's also true that it's a beautiful thing for your child to have multiple people who aren't related to him loving him anyway. And while these truths might not completely erase the emotional distress that comes with the holidays looking different, or missing out on a calendar date completely, your love is still there, and it's not something someone can take away.
