My mood got better after Christmas, just before New Year. Right through the first part of the holidays, however, I was like a spider in water. The discharge of my responsibilities over the festival was not the catharsis for which I was hoping, but I coped externally. My mother-in-law-to-be, sensing perhaps some of my disquiet, called out to me as I left her home on Boxing Day, “Everything you do is socially acceptable to us.” It was a kind thought.
This was of course the first Christmas I spent with the señor’s family as well as my own. As the day approached I knew I was worrying unnecessarily–had I not had any number of happy evenings with them this year already (including that staple of extended families worldwide, drinking in the kitchen)?–and yet I still worried. I wanted the gifts I’d had a hand in choosing to be appropriate. “Of course they will be,” said the señor, “they’re from you”, and yet I couldn’t quite accept the idea that whatever I did would be fine. I need not have worried–the prediction was correct–but I didn’t enjoy the feeling in the days before that I was worrying far too much about everything (when not worrying at all would have been the best way to approach things) and not quite being able to stop it.
Posted by harvestbird 