The Sparkly Permission Slip
Dear Bloomie,
I am writing to you from my cozy office, early on a foggy, almost-winter morning. My coffee is warm, fresh, and full of potential for the day, and it’s currently giving me the buzz to share this with you: The Annual Holiday Permission Slip. You might not need it, you might have everything in order and feeling just divine. Christmas is two weeks away. But the days are filling up—art classes, dinner with friends, holiday parties. All good things, and yet I still find myself walking into many social situations understanding the Grinch’s perspective more and more.
You know what I’m talking about (and if you don’t, please tell all of your secrets, because seriously… who are you?) The holiday season can bring a lot for those of us without kids. It can be a lot for anyone. Like the shopping cart with a squeaky wheel, you know it’s going to happen at some point. It’s a complicated time with expectations, family conversations, and the discussions about why you don’t have kids or when you will have them. There are moments we have to endure and survive. But I want to stress that we aren’t alone in this.
So, I am writing to you from a place of permission- a sparkly holiday card filled with the warmest wishes. I often need someone to say or, in this case, write it. Maybe this resonates for the holidays, perhaps it’s something you can come back to anytime of the year as a friendly reminder. Either way, I hope this brings you some peace.
You are allowed to:
Leave the party early, or don't go at all.
Unfollow, mute, or scroll past a pregnancy announcement or a baby’s first Christmas.
Cry or feel upset when you get the Christmas card with all the children.
Spend Christmas morning doing precisely what you want, and nothing else.
Take time for yourself, even if in someone else’s home.
Love someone else’s children and be thankful when they leave.
Buy yourself something extravagant.
Feel jealous.
Book a trip and completely disappear for a while.
Make your home “not kid safe” because it’s yours.
Do all of the “child-centered” activities without any children involved.
To grieve what your life isn’t while still loving your life the way it already is.
Not be “over it.”
Be totally “over it.”
Limit time with family (and friends if you need that too!)
Sleep in and take naps whenever you want.
Hate this time of year.
Love this time of year.
To keep myself calm and healthy, I delight in getting an average of nine hours of sleep each night. I go to bed early and don’t wake up to an alarm. It’s a luxury to hibernate the way I do, and I don’t take it for granted. When I hear the response, “You don’t know what being tired is,” I used to get defensive about it. But recently, I’ll let them “win” in the case of exhausted Olympics. I love feeling rested and keeping my nervous system in check. If someone wants an award for being sleep-deprived, I’ll hand it over.
I’m also spending a lot of time reading on the couch. Technically, I’m on break from grad school, but I am also reading all the books I’ve been wanting to that aren’t technically assigned to me. I cuddle up with a cozy blanket, Chance snuggling next to me, and the fake fireplace roaring on the screen, and let myself get lost in a book for hours. I research concepts and ideas I can’t stop thinking about: why humans create in the face of loss, embroidery stitches I want to master, and the best recipe for a whole roasted chicken.
The biggest one for me, one that I need the most permission for, is setting boundaries with family. A big part of this is grieving the person I thought I’d be: the aunt, the daughter, the daughter-in-law. I assumed all these roles would carry the title “mother” in them as well. And learning how to navigate this time of year without children wasn’t the plan. It reopens a wound I often feel healed from. Establishing expectations and boundaries here isn’t simple. Being honest about the grief that comes with this time of year isn’t simple. Being authentic at family gatherings isn’t simple. There is a LOT of pressure here. And in return to telling my truth, I’ve received, “But I thought you’d want to do this as a family,” or “You’re missing out on my child’s life.” And the guilt is placed back on me, when I already showed up feeling it, and then am told to bear it more. Not liking this is OK. Not knowing how to handle this is OK. Needing permission to set boundaries, even if they are small ones, is absolutely OK.
I also want to give you permission to find the sparkly moments for yourself, the ones you really want to do. It could be spending time with your family (bio or chosen), sipping your decadent hot chocolate in a bath full of bubbles and Epsom salts, or even sitting in the room with only the lights coming from your tree. The holidays are decorated with with grief, anxiety, and other people’s expectations. They can also be delighting in your favorite sweet treat, giving someone you love a gift you know they’ll adore ,and extra snuggle time with your pets. And let’s be honest, the holidays are mostly moments that fall in between these. I just know there will be sparkly moments you find yourself in. I hope you can bask in it for just a bit and enjoy it, because you are allowed to savor and take delight in parts you do love.
The holiday season can be demanding. And it might not look the way you imagined. You can love it, or hate it, or simply just survive it. And I’m here to give you permission for all of it.
Surviving and sparkling, right alongside you,
Carrie
P.S. If you need to print this out and reread it in the bathroom at a holiday party, that’s totally valid. I might do it.
If you feel inclined, I’d love to know anything else you’d add to the list, or even which one resonated the most.