I type these words on Boxing Day afternoon, which means that Christmas is almost over for another year. All of that preparation, all the anticipation, for it to pass within the blink of an eye. At least I didn’t awake this morning nursing a hangover; Christmas Day was a blissfully alcohol-free zone.
And if I was to also describe it as a ‘joy-free zone’, that would be wholly inaccurate. I received some lovely, thoughtful gifts and cards from family and friends. I felt the love. As a child of the Nineties, and a somewhat old-school one at that, I’d asked Santa for one of those CD/DVD readers to plug-in to my MacBook Air so I could watch all my old, beloved Clarkson DVDs (Jeremy, not Kelly). And the white-bearded dude didn’t disappoint; I connected the reader to my laptop via the USB-C port, inserted a disc and watched with sheer joy as the big-haired, jeans-wearing motormouth did his stuff in a Ferrari 360 Modena.
Streaming services and YouTube are great, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes it’s good to go back to proven technology and don the nostalgia hat.
I ate far too much yesterday, even before lunchtime. Chocolate was enjoyed for breakfast. Predictably, the Celebrations box is awash with unopened Bountys and Milky Ways as first dibs went firmly on the Maltesers. I don’t avoid Bountys like I do the Mrs Brown’s Boys Christmas Special, but they aren’t one of my preferences.
As lunch was digested and the afternoon got underway, I started to feel a few tinges of loneliness. Christmas Day is always a quiet one in our house, with just mum and I. And we both enjoy each other’s company and have plenty of laughs together. But as she took herself out for a walk in the afternoon and I stayed indoors alone as a result of my anxiety (I could, and should, have joined her) I started utilising unhelpful coping mechanisms. And none were as detrimental as social media…
I’d written quite extensively about how social media is no more an accurate representation of the lives of people than a Lamborghini is a typical family car. I’d watched videos and reels by people urging me not to compare my life to the ‘social media lives’ of my peers. And that sentiment is utterly true. But if I was to say I didn’t feel a bit ‘left out’ looking at snaps, stories and posts of families and couples purporting to be having the time of their lives, then I’d only be lying to you and myself.
Please don’t get me wrong - it’s so nice to see friends (people I care deeply for) enjoying the festivities. Yet I couldn’t help doing what I’d already been urged not to do and compare my day with that of others.
I had a bit of a meltdown in the evening, but after a diazepam, a mug of herbal tea and a nice long chat with mum, I felt a little better. I even watched Eastenders, and realised that, no matter how badly I think my lot is, at least I hadn’t driven off the Dover cliffs. Oh, did I just spoil the ending?
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