Do Less with Less
It's countercultural!
I’ll be honest, and I hope you won’t judge me when I tell you: I forgot this Substack existed for a little bit.
The thing about ADHD is that if you’re focused on one thing, you can literally forget the existence of something else. So, in the busy-ness of the holiday season, I not only didn’t post, but Substack left my awareness altogether! The other day I had an idea for a topic to write here, and it was like a light came on in a pitch-dark room. “OH YEAH!” I thought, “I have a Substack!” The way my ADHD works is that I will almost always remember the thing that has slipped my mind, eventually. Nothing really gets lost, just shuffled off to the side. I’m back!
Speaking of holiday hubbub, how are you doing?
Over the past several years I’ve been recalibrating my approach to the holidays. This has been out of necessity. I’ve noticed how deeply misaligned the frantic cheer of the capitalist Christmas season feels with my own needs for rest, quiet, hibernation, and a more subtle and personally meaningful winter experience.
In the past few weeks I’ve sung with my a capella group at a bookstore, had multiple Thanksgiving celebrations which involved cooking, held and attended numerous social gatherings, have been working on hand-crafted gifts for loved ones, and have been tinkering away at solidifying Christmas plans. All that on top of my regularly-scheduled tasks. I’m acting like an extrovert and it’s taking a toll!
So often during the madcap holiday season, we are asked to do more with less. Do more. Buy more. Give more. Produce more. But we don’t necessarily have “more” to give. I don’t know about you, but at this time of year I often have less energy and less capacity, not more. The days are short. I am tired. My body is telling me to slow down, but it feels like I can’t — it feels like I’m on a steep slope, hurtling downhill, while Jingle Bells plays aggressively loudly in surround-sound.
Then, when the holiday season is over, winter has barely begun. To me the cultural silence that follows is quite jarring compared with the bright lights, loud music, and enforced social jollity of the Christmas machine. I wish the whole thing were a little quieter, a little slower. A little more attuned.
Here’s some stuff I’ve found helpful lately:
Decorating and not decorating to my capacity. Last year I didn’t put up a tree. This year I put the tree up, but I didn’t put ornaments on it. I took my box of Christmas decorations out of the closet and left it in the hall so I can put things up when and if I feel like it. I have prioritized what feels both accessible and important to me.
Paying attention to the difference between the Christmas of capitalism and the sacred traditions of Yule, Hannukah, Advent, and others. The holiday shopping rush is a separate thing from the spiritual acts of waiting, tending our spirits as the days grow short, and tapping into long-held traditions that remind us of our place in the world. It’s important to do what is meaningful to us, even and especially when that feels countercultural.
Trying to be reasonable. It isn’t easy, especially with so much demand for my time and energy! But I am doing my best to remember that just because more is being asked of me does not mean I have more to give. I have to have boundaries and keep some semblance of balance or I am going to have a Bad Time(TM). I want to participate in joyful traditions, but I also need to rest.
Honoring grief. Any holiday can bring up grief from myriad sources. I myself feel a good deal of grief remembering my childhood, when Christmas seemed impossibly magical to me. Now if I want magic, I have to manufacture it myself. That’s a tall order for anyone, but especially for a disabled person, as I am. I often grieve that my capacity doesn’t match my desire. You may also experience missing lost loved ones, memories surfacing of a troubled childhood, or difficult family dynamics; “The most wonderful time of the year” can start to feel pretty loaded and heavy.
In short: IT’S A LOT! And you have the right to take care of yourself, even when it means bucking expectations.
I am wishing you the best this season, with plenty of rest in the mix. May you and those you love be well.
P.S. I’ve been published! The Linden Review recently published a personal essay of mine, “Fugitive.” You can read it here.