What is “home”? To me, it is where I can be myself. It is where I can spend all day in my pajamas, reading or making jewelry, stretched out on the couch in the sunlight. Maybe a nap will be involved. Maybe a walk around the block. Home is peaceful, and quiet, and calm. Home isn’t full of sound and noise and people. It certainly isn’t full of drama.
One year I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what I could handle if I went over to my in-law’s house for Christmas. Go, but leave early? How early is too early? Don’t talk about certain topics? Put on a brave face? Don’t talk to a certain family member who always likes to argue, especially about faith? I really can’t handle being around someone who speaks ill of my faith, especially on a religious holiday.
I can handle it just about any other time. I understand. I have a lot of the same issues with Christianity. I dislike the hypocrisy. I dislike the fact that the church has become something other, something where I can’t see Jesus for all the administration and bureaucracy. Sometimes “church” is more “crazy” than Christ-like. But on Christian holidays I really can’t take the criticism. It is like I’ve invited someone over to my house, shared my special toys with them, and then they throw them down and stomp on them. It is rude. It is childish. It is thoughtless.
So, “Home for the Holidays”? I’d rather stay at home. But sometimes I’m expected to be at the in-laws. I don’t want to. I don’t want to play the dutiful wife. It was easier, way back when, when I got stoned for the holidays. Everything blurred into a nice warm glowing blob. Now that I’m sober it is all spiky and strange.