As I’ve written before, there are a cluster of lesser-known psychological conditions related to the holidays, not perhaps even diagnosed by mental health experts, that have gone undetected and untreated. I have taken it upon myself, therefore, to identify them and describe the most recognizable symptoms for my faithful legion of readers. The “umbrella” condition, under which the others fall, is what I call Post-Holiday Anxiety, or PHA. I don’t believe there are any effective treatments yet, as the professionals concentrate on long-term, chronic situations. Besides, these conditions are usually temporary. By mid-January, most victims will see their angst begin to subside, and they are on the road to recovery.
There are a number of manifestations. One of the signs is Post-Decoration Syndrome (PDS). This is exhibited by the complete inability to put Christmas decorations away in a timely manner. Driving about, one will see home after home with lights and wreaths displayed well into January and, in extreme cases, February. Some folks even have outside lights up for, well, it seems like forever. One of my neighbors starts with Halloween lights, and gradually the colors switch over from oranges to more reds and greens. There’s a tree lit up in another yard down the street. In a nod to energy conservation, it stays on all night. And some folks can’t be bothered taking the lights down, so they just leave them unlit from early January until around Thanksgiving. It gives the appearance of a pizzeria that’s gone out of business. Some people can’t bear to part with the Christmas trees. This could be particularly problematic if they insist on real trees chopped down in early to mid- November. Once the tree skirt is no longer visible under a blanket of dead needles, it’s time to seek out a mental health professional, and perhaps the local Fire Marshall. When family members start noticing that the wreath on the front door is now referred to as a “Spring Wreath”, or a sleigh is still out with the Easter Bunny being pulled by reindeer, a reality check and perhaps a psych eval might be in order.
Another post-holiday source of stress is what I call Christmas Card Paralysis, or CCP, as we semi-professionals refer to it. There was a time, and I’ve written extensively about this, when folks sent out hundreds and thousands of Christmas cards. Her Ladyship spent days at this. They’d be beautifully written out by hand, often with a short message, and mailed in early December. Of course, that’s when postage stamps were mere pennies, but still. . . The process was carried out so that the rest of us would know who we forgot to send to, and more could be mailed out to still arrive shortly before Christmas Eve. Sometimes, we even waited on a few to see if we were still on their Christmas card list. If nothing came from them, we’d take them off the list. A failsafe plan until a letter arrived from them in January, explaining why they were on a tropical island or backpacking in the Urals and couldn’t send out cards. OK, back on the list. Now, however, more and more people are saying, “the heck with sending cards”, or words to that effect. We don’t know where we stand with these friends and acquaintances. We’ve just been out of the loop for a year or two, it seems to us, and suddenly those adorable toddlers we last saw sitting on Santa’s lap are now shown in Christmas card photos running for the US Senate. Yes, it causes stress.
In a slight source of friction in our house, we have a Walters family tradition in that we put on new clothes as quickly as possible, even if it means one or two outfit changes on Christmas Day. In Her Ladyship’s family, they liked to put all or most of the unwrapped gifts back under the tree for a week or so, to create a dramatic, visual effect. Over the years, we’ve learned to compromise and do it my way. Most items are put away (after being worn once or twice), leaving only those going to friends and family we haven’t seen yet. Some years, we’ve removed the gifts, leaving a couple of empty boxes. Those poor boxes look so forlorn, like empty flower pots stacked in the garage for the winter.
Often appearing during the aftermath of the holiday season is the dreaded Gift Return Delirium (GRD). Most of the pre-holiday shopping anxiety is gone, to be replaced by the stress of holiday returns. The size isn’t right, or it’s simply something we won’t use. This year, I gave Her Ladyship what I thought was a very luxurious nightgown, only to find out it’s actually a robe, of which she already has several. What if somebody asked me if I liked the socks they sent? What socks – did I see those socks, and if I did, what happened to them? I might have exchanged them for winter gloves I liked, but who knows? There were just so many things arriving, I don’t know. UPS and FedEx were dropping stuff off three, four, five times a day. Do we take them back, send them back, or put them in the basement until we’ve forgotten who gave them to us and we can safely dispose of them? There are some gifts, and some family recipients, to whom we automatically give return receipts. Some from whom the recipient exclaims, “Oh, I really like it.” It then goes into the closet, never to see daylight again. At the next closet clean-out, it’ll be sneaked into a plastic bag and make its way to a clothing donation dumpster. Look at that – my fingernails are chewed down to nubbins from GRD. I’ll just relax and make myself a nice turkey sandwich. Oh, no, wait. That went into the turkey pie on Friday night and the turkey soup at lunch on Saturday.
And, of course, we’ve had to endure the Holiday Schedule Psychosis, or as we call it in mental health circles, HSP. Multiple family members in multiple locations. We see strangers on the news, lined up at the airport or in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Thank goodness that’s not us, we smile. We just have to go to . . . . wait, where are we going? In our early married days, there was a great deal of shuttle-diplomacy worthy of a Secretary of State. We’d carefully construct the Christmas Eve/Christmas Day timetable that aimed to keep everyone happy and shared the time equally. It didn’t really do either, but family members seemed to be moderately accepting of it. One year, a blizzard threw everything off. Now, we have extended family, good friends that we want see, and people that we don’t want to be left alone, so the holiday gatherings stretch out to Martin Luther King Day. And if they’re coming here, we’d really like to show off our holiday decorations, so maybe just this year we’ll leave them . . . . NO. We’ll be like those people who still have their Christmas trees in the front window and reindeer in the yard until March. The visitations don’t begin to account for all the people that we texted saying, “we’ll call you after the holidays so we can get together”. Branches of the family that are far enough away will get a phone call. But wait, what time is it there? Will they be eating? Will they be opening their presents? Is this my brother’s nap time? All this anxiety is disrupting my own nap schedule.
Do the holidays ever truly meet our expectations? For some, it was just wonderful, magical. I know this year was very, very nice for us. But for other people, it never really measures up. I’m never quite sure what we expected, but for many, whatever happened wasn’t it. Just another day. I always feel that way about New Year’s. In my seventy-plus years, many of which I even remember, it’s never been anything beyond sleep deprivation on New Year’s Day after staying up past midnight to see the ball drop. Even the Tournament of Roses Parade, spectacular as it is, is becoming routine. I feel badly for those people that have spent weeks and months sticking saffron seeds and poinsettia petals to the sides of a float. It gets little more than an “oh, that’s nice” from me. Then I have to start planning the de-decorating. Everything has to come down, the tree goes back to the basement for another year. What was on that bookshelf before the Santa collection came onboard? The mantle decorations are put away carefully – like the tree ornaments, they’re all delicate and have been collected over many years. Another year of memories, another passing of time, or in the immortal words of Freddie Mercury, “Another one bites the dust”.
Now I’m feeling a bit nostalgic. It will be nice to get the house back to normal – I find that sometimes as gratifying as getting the holiday set-up ready. But, maybe if I extend the season, the excitement, just leave everything out for another few weeks . . . . . . . ok, I’m thinking . . . .NO!
I'm Thinking...No! 