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I sobbed as I sat surrounded by the remnants of Christmas morning — half-eaten cinnamon rolls, discarded wrapping, and little piles of presents my 3 and 6-year-old daughters stacked up before they left to spend the rest of Christmas break with their dad.
I was still getting used to sharing custody, and the hardest part was being without them, especially during the holidays.
It felt so wrong, but it was our new normal, thanks to a divorce and custody order specifying that we would only spend every other birthday and major holiday together.
I was devastated, my mom guilt was in overdrive, and I felt overwhelmed with pressure to make the holidays better than ever, to compensate for my children's suffering, our lack of time together, and what I perceived as my failure to fix everything.
I set unreasonably high standards for myself in the hopes of making every Christmas better than the one before — more gifts, extravagant decorations, and fun, memorable experiences. It was exhausting, I never felt good enough, and I was spending money I couldn't afford as a single parent raising two kids in one of the nation's most expensive cities.
In my quest to make up for what we'd lost, I'd unwittingly turned half the year — from Halloween through their first-quarter birthdays — into my own unwinnable marathon of misery.
It took me a while to understand that our enjoyment of these special days was inversely proportional to the size of my ever-growing to-do list, but once I did, there was no going back. Especially when I realized what a poor example I was setting for my daughters by reinforcing the patriarchal message that women, especially mothers, are responsible for everyone else's joy, even when it means abandoning our own.
Moving forward, I decided to change my approach and relax my death grip on what I thought the holidays were supposed to look like. Most importantly, this meant reducing the number of items on my to-do list so I could spend more time just being with my kids and savoring their easy, childlike joy.
This may sound simple, but it's just not. The expectation that moms create an abundance of magic is so ubiquitous that we're not often aware of how we surrender to it.
So instead of spending time I didn't have putting up lights I couldn't afford, we packed into the car and drove around listening to cheesy Christmas music while admiring our neighbor's decorations and drinking to-go cups of hot chocolate — not the kind you film yourself making from scratch at an Insta-worthy cocoa bar with 10 toppings, but the kind you buy for $3, mix with warm milk, and call it good.
Instead of competing with my ex-husband to buy the best gifts, I finally admitted to myself that I would never be able to match his budget and decided that it was in fact a win to let him buy the laptops, smart phones, and sneaks, while I focused on more affordable and traditional gifts like books, music, and pajamas.
As I began to prioritize my own needs, I realized that the religious holidays my ex-husband favored were less important to me than nature-based ones like spring equinox and winter solstice, which relieved even more competitive pressure. This was also an important reminder that holidays are just an arbitrary day on the calendar, and we could celebrate anytime.
Later, when my daughters were in high school, I gave them cash for birthdays and Christmas instead of spending hours searching for the perfect gifts. They loved being able to buy what they wanted, and I loved saving myself the time, effort, and worry that they wouldn't like my selections.
As a single mom of two daughters, the freedom to adapt and reimagine the holidays on our own terms was the gift we needed to truly enjoy them.
