"I dread Christmas because my family keeps pestering me about when I’ll have kids"—this line might sound all too familiar. Unfortunately, the holidays often come with family pressure and expectations.
Mom
My mom loves Christmas because she always makes sure the holiday revolves around her. She launches into monologues about how hard she works and how ungrateful we are, then threatens self-harm and locks herself in the bathroom or bedroom in tears. This year, though, we’re outsmarting her—I arranged with my dad to hide the keys before lunch.
Orange-level tension
Gift-giving and dinner usually go smoothly, but once a little alcohol slides down the throat, the drama kicks off. The cause? A classic: politics! It always ends with shouting and hurt feelings, creating a "very blessed, very intimate" atmosphere.
Terror
Every older relative has an opinion on how I raise my kids. According to them, my son’s hair is too long, a grade of B is unacceptable, my daughter dresses too tomboyish, why do they run and play instead of sitting still all evening, and how ridiculous is it that my child is gluten intolerant?!
The tradition
My uncle, as usual, gets drunk as a skunk. He starts by yelling at the kids, then his wife, and tries to pick a fight until my dad, husband, and cousin hold him down and put him to bed in the guest room, where he snores until morning. The next day, he remembers nothing. Every. Single. Year.
The anniversary
My aunt found out on Christmas Eve 12 years ago that her husband was cheating. When she confronted him, he packed up and left for his new girlfriend, who is now his wife with two kids. My aunt still hasn’t moved on and spends the entire holiday exhausting everyone with her story about betrayal and heartbreak. Anyone she talks to ends up hearing the tale (for the hundredth time) with no escape.
The little terrors
My sister’s kids are unbearable. An eight-year-old boy and two girls aged 12 and 15. They don’t even know how to say hello or thank you. During dinner, all three are glued to their phones. When I tell them to stop, the family tells me to leave them alone. These little brats talk back to everyone, even the grandparents, making my blood boil. When I bring it up with my sister, she snaps that I shouldn’t be bossy since I don’t have kids. Thanks to these rude little monsters, every Christmas is a nightmare. My cousins agree the kids are awful but won’t speak up.
The emotional dumping ground
Seven years ago, my mom started dating a man 12 years younger—who’s only with her for the money, but that’s beside the point—and they spend every Christmas abroad. So I get to spend the holidays just the three of us: my dad, my demented grandpa, and me. Dad holds on until 10 p.m., then breaks down crying on my shoulder, wondering how he could win mom back. This year, I’m going home armed with a frontin ahead of time.
On tiptoes
There are so many taboo topics in the family now that we can barely talk about anything beyond the weather and recipes. We can’t mention that I’m getting divorced, my niece dropped out of college, my brother got fired, my dad needs hip surgery, grandma should go to a care home, mom drinks, or my brother-in-law has a girlfriend. Everyone knows everything, but we focus on appearances and eat dinner with forced smiles, occasionally commenting on how mild our winter is, and everyone enthusiastically agrees.
The missionary
My uncle’s wife is deeply religious—the only one in the family—and every time she "preaches." Everyone avoids her because she’s always trying to convert people; poor thing, she’s so exhausting…
Holiday harassment
Every Christmas, the stomach cramps come like clockwork. The culprits? My mom, dad, two aunts, and grandma. As soon as we sit down for Christmas dinner, they play the same old record with evergreen hits like "When will you finally find someone?!", "At your age, I already had two kids!", "You’re not getting any younger!", and "You’re running out of time!" And I have to smile and endure it quietly every single time for ten years now. (I’m 33.) I barely eat because my stomach twists in knots, and last year they harassed me until I threw up. Can’t wait for this year’s holiday terror!
