Thanksgiving Triggers

      The day before Thanksgiving my boyfriend, Don, and I decided to make a last-minute trip to Whole Foods. I knew this was a bad idea as we were pulling into the overcrowded parking lot, but I had nothing to eat for my Thanksgiving meal and I wasn’t about to cook for one person (Don is currently, and possibly permanently, blending all of his food, thanks to radiation damage in his jaw. A long and painful story for another time). Turns out I was supposed to pre-order my pre-made meal, so instead, I wandered up to the deli and picked out a selection of things that looked “Thanksgiving-y”. Now, before I continue, I need to tell my readers that Thanksgiving is not my favorite holiday, and before you freak out, I’ll give you all the valid reasons why. First of all, it’s a day that revolves around food, and this is difficult for me because I struggled with an eating disorder from the age of 13 well into my twenties. I imagine Thanksgiving dinner to me is what a New Year’s Eve party feels like to an alcoholic.  A big part of my recovery was rewiring my brain so that I eat to live versus living to eat. I don’t make a big deal about food; I try to eat healthy, but I can’t obsess about it or restrict myself too much. I need to avoid overloading with sugar and carbs because those tend to be triggers. That doesn’t mean I don’t eat them at all, but I just have to be cautious when a plateful of cheesy potatoes or apple pie ala mode is placed in front of me. That being said, both Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner are full of trigger food, so sometimes I’d rather skip the meal entirely or just make myself a sandwich. I also suffer from chronic migraines (as many of you know), so big meals accompanied with necessary wine can send me straight to a dark room with a cold towel on my forehead and a trashcan by the bedside. Finally, as cliché as it sounds, Thanksgiving is a holiday that tends to be chock-full of family drama. Especially when your family is broken and blended in a million complicated ways, like mine. There are 3 or 4 different households (all of whom get their feelings hurt if you choose someone else’s house), at least 2 or even 3 opposing political sides, and herds of heavy elephants in the various rooms. All of which make the holidays prime “walking on glass” gatherings.  Why do we put ourselves through this every year?  I’m actually kind of relieved that this year is just me and Don; the pandemic is awful, but comes in handy as a good excuse to stay sane during the holidays. 

     So, back to the deli. I chose about 7 different items, from green beans that I’ll never eat but they make the plate look pretty, to brussels sprouts mixed with yams (surprisingly the best dish), vegan-gluten-free stuffing that will suck, and a couple pieces of dry turkey. As she was filling my individual containers, the employee kindly asked me, “Are you eating Thanksgiving dinner alone?”  I swallowed the surprise lump in my throat and replied, “Well, no, my boyfriend is with me, it’s just he has to blend his food…and well, we’re in quarantine…”, and then I trailed off as she gave me a sympathetic, concerned, well intentioned smile. There were dozens of other potential Covid carriers waiting in line, so we gathered up my forty dollars of sad, lonely holiday food and hurried out the door. I’ll admit, I took just a minute to complain to the police officer checking for masks that he should also be doing some crowd control. This didn’t go over so well. He replied snidely, “They pay me seventy-five dollars an hour to check for masks so that’s what I’m doing.” First of all, seventy-five an hour? Did I hear him right? Wow, you’d think that would put a smile on his face. Second of all, what happened to the friendly officers who wiped down carts and organized lines in the beginning of the pandemic? I guess we’re all about over it by now, seventy-five an hour or not. 

   After we got home, I put away my non-triggering Thanksgiving meal items and washed my hands for about 10 minutes. I was feeling a bit down for reasons I just couldn’t name, and sensing this (one of the reasons I love him so much), Don wrapped his arms around me in a huge, comforting bear-hug. I shut my eyes tight to keep the stinging tears at bay, and then asked him, “Why is Thanksgiving so hard?”  He replied, in his funny, sarcastic way that is another reason why I love him, “Because it’s a pre-cursor to Christmas honey, and that’s only a month away.”  He just gets it. He gets that the political and “pandemic-approach” differences in my family are tearing me apart. He gets that as much as they break my heart, I still fiercely love my family, and every year I’m hopeful we’ll have a glorious time despite our differences. He also gets that this won’t be one of those years. He gets that I’m equally sad and glad the pandemic will keep us all apart this holiday season.  Like they say, we can’t choose our family, but we can choose our friends, and our life partners. It took me awhile, but I chose amazingly well with Don. I am so thankful he’s my family. And here’s the best part of our Thanksgiving: after I finished my bland, scary-Whole Foods-outing meal and he slurped up his boring blended soup, and after I face-timed with the family members I don’t have differences with, we managed to wolf down an entire pumpkin pie between the 2 of us (so much for triggers). Turned out to be a good day after all, especially because I went to bed migraine and melt-down free.  

 

Happy Holidays my friends.

Peace, Love, and Namaste,

Sunnie