How Was Your Holiday? Ya'll ok?

I had a dream the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I was hanging out in this run-down trailer smoking pot with two kids I knew in college, which, was only in 2019 so they were in their early 20’s whereas I am closing in on 42. We were sitting in 3 mismatched recliners, passing a joint in front of an old tv playing blurry Tom and Jerry cartoons, surrounded by wood paneling and burnt orange shag carpet, discussing the impending holiday. Now, in real life I was hosting the holiday and had spent the previous 3 days planning, purchasing and prepping with my mother who was in town from Arizona to meet the new baby and help out for the last 10 days of my c-section recovery period. In my dream, this was also true and I listened quietly as one of the two youngsters expressed her extreme angst over hosting the holiday herself for the first time. She was doing her best to remain calm but it was clear that the pressure of performing had gotten the best of her and she was processing out loud her anxiety about what she had forgotten, what remained to be done, and musing about what the potential pitfalls she had failed to foresee might be. I listened to her quietly while doing a mental check in about how I was feeling about my similar circumstances. Sitting there comfortably in that oversized green velvet recliner I realized that I had absolutely none of her anxiety. I was, as they say, calm as a Hindu cow. Again, in real life I neither smoke pot nor send any time at all with these kids outside of the occasional Instagram check in so when I woke up, I was like, “huh, that was weird”. I was processing this dream with my sister-in-law, and in doing so had a bit of an epiphany that I thought I’d sit down and share.

The picture to the right here (or possibly just randomly placed elsewhere if you’re reading this from your phone rather than your desktop) is of the wishbone from the turkey I had cooked for my eldest's first Thanksgiving in 2020, which was also the last time I had hosted this particular holiday at my house. I held onto that wishbone for a year before I had it memorialized by this fantastic artist here in town that takes dead things and turns them into art. This might strike many of you as a bit macabre, but it still feels like the only way to properly encompass the bitter sweet of joy and sorrow that was that year. The loss, the death, the isolation, but also the beauty of my daughter’s birth which had occurred in August of 2020. The holiday itself was the first family gathering we’d even been able to have given that she was born early and was immunocompromised for several months. I stand by the decision to keep that symbol of death and gratitude, forever bronzed as a work of art, and it’s something that I have thought about frequently in the two years that have passed since that first Thanksgiving with my daughter. Sitting here now, having throwing all these things into the mental hopper, I have come to realize the symbology in the dream and what it means for me moving forward.

The young girl filled with anxiety in my dream was 2020 Tiziana. A first-time mom juggling the pandemic, a premature newborn, and the best possible way to roast a 14lb turkey all at once. Wondering what might, could, and likely should go wrong with her first attempt at hosting a major family holiday. Wondering specifically how those inevitable foibles and fuck ups would reflect on her – what they would say about her character, her capabilities, her value. My lack of anxiety in the dream was not simply due to the fact that I am now a seasoned veteran of brining the perfect bird or soothing a fussy baby. In thinking about the sense of calm that I experienced while listening to the girl’s monologue, it’s that I am no longer worried about what the folks in attendance would think of me if there wasn’t enough pie or I forgot to put butter out. I realized that in the two years since my kiddo was born, my commitment to relationship building that is centered on radical honesty has created a whole different dynamic – namely, one where intimacy with family and friends is not predicated on putting on a show, but through making space for all of our intricacies. Our traumas, our truths, our boundaries. I realized that I’m not so worried about being messy because I have been transparent and honest about my own vulnerabilities and needs. I realized that poor 2020 Tiziana was so fucking afraid of being vulnerable in front of people that she absolutely could not be anything but perfect. Perfect was the only way to shield herself from the pain of being seen as she was – sad and terrified and deeply afraid of being judged. Or, let’s face it, abandoned because of her flaws. I realized that being “perfect” had been her coping mechanism for a long time, since probably about the 5th grade. That being capable was part of how she learned to be acceptable. Which means the inverse must also be true -the being seen as incapable would mean she was unacceptable. I feel really sad for 2020 Tiziana, and I wish I could pull her aside and let her know that burning the broccoli casserole or over roasting the turkey were not indicators of her spiritual or emotional competence but… I know it wouldn’t make a difference. Not just because I know her to be hard headed as fuck but because 2022 Tiziana battles shades of the same demon and I can’t talk her out of it either.

But the dream. The dream means I am getting better, one holiday, one tough conversation, one honest truth at a time. I’ve been listening to Glennon Doyle’s podcast, “We Can Do Hard Things” but I think the sentiment of the title falls just slightly short. She should clarify that this means we can also say hard things, hear hard things, absorb hard things. Because the more we do, say, or hear things the hard things, the more resilient we become. The more resilient we become, the less susceptible we are to fear. The less susceptible we are to fear, the more we can lay back and enjoy our lives without the constant thrum of anxiety robbing us of every pleasure. This is what the dream means to me. That by becoming less afraid of the hard things I’m becoming more available to enjoy the process of it all. To roll with the punches, and not let the little things get to me. It’s kind of a big deal, considering my standing anxiety level vibrates is somewhere between losing my car keys on the way to work and a house fire. Believe it or not, this is progress.

Love ya’ll.