Elephant Around the Christmas Tree

Audio version now available.

The Christmas Tree lights are off and the house is quiet. I’m slumped over on the loveseat, my neck sore from the unnatural angle created by the upholstered arm. This room was full of people, my people, when I nodded off. Christmas music and laughter and footed pajamas. A note was being penned reminding Santa that the carrot is for Rudolph. In the dark, I can make out the shadow of the Santa gifts next to the fireplace. The remnants of a glass of beer–about an inch left in the bottom–is on the coffee table next to the plate of cookie crumbs. Warm and flat, I drink it down before stumbling to my bedroom.

“Why did you leave me out there? My neck is killing me.” No answer, so I crawl under the covers without brushing my teeth. I cozy up next to my bride, and I feel her pull away to the far edge of the bed. She is awake. She heard me. I am still drunk enough to feel harmed even though I passed out before the kids went to bed on Christmas Eve, and I left Santa toy-assembly duties to my wife and father. Somehow my consciousness is her responsibility. I am also still drunk enough to pass out again without trying to extract my pound of flesh. A Christmas miracle.

A few hours later, I awake groggy, and with more questions than answers about the past eight-or-so hours. The gaps in my memory, and the suppressed fury of my wife, Sheri, will both have to wait. It is Christmas morning, and four children deserve to be the focal point. The first cup of coffee gives way to mimosas around the tree. Concerns about my blackout are eased by the sparkling wine, but also by the absence of any discernable disappointment from my parents or my kids. My wife’s disappointment is perpetual at this point, so unless she is looking at me and yelling, it doesn’t really move the needle.

The funny thing about a big, kid-centric holiday like Christmas is that unless my wife wants to play the role of pre-ghost-visitation Ebenezer Scrooge, she is relegated to anger stuffing. What is she going to do…yell at me and ruin the most magical day of the year for her children? She doesn’t have it in her. Her kids are too important. She’d rather regret the most impactful decision of her life in agitated silence. Besides, what good would her words do?

The funny thing about that funny thing is that it never occurs to me in the moment. Only years into sobriety do I later understand the corner I had her painted into. Evil genius? Conniving manipulator reading from the alcoholic’s playbook? That’s giving me way, way too much credit. Selfish, emotionally immature manchild who knows how to make my pain go away fast? That’s me.

Cognitive dissonance is a relief. I work long, hard hours providing for my family, including a particularly gruelling day on Christmas Eve. For me to give way to exhaustion before my parental duties are done is plausible. That must be why no one is batting an eye about my snoring on the loveseat while my wife stuffed stockings and read assembly instructions by the glow of the tree. What do they really think? Do they have any inkling about the whiskey-spiked eggnog I drank as I wrapped things up at work? Did they count the IPAs I slugged down while we ate appetizers after the candlelight service? Besides my wife, does anyone have any concern? No one wants to think of their son or their father as an addict. Is the danger noticeable?

Is it easier just to believe what we want to believe?

Like any good alcoholic, this story is all about me so far. My parents, my kids, and even my wife are just supporting actors in my barely perceivable death spiral.

What about my wife? What about her feelings of isolation and betrayal? She committed her life to me, she chose me as a partner in the most critically important act of her life–carrying, birthing, and raising her babies. And now she feels waves of abandonment and deception.

In the moment, I lack the mental capacity to understand her pain, her trauma. It is not that I am uncaring or cruel. It is not that I am evil and manipulative. I do not possess the awareness, the empathy, the compassion–the emotional maturity–to get it. I do not choose to ignore her cries for help and her pain. It isn’t a matter of selective hearing. It is as though I was born without ears.

Sheri has the love of her kids on Christmas. She has the support of her in-laws. She has a warm house filled with laughter, and a day full of food and generosity and excited eyes and warm hugs. And yet, she is filled with isolation and terror. The enemy is inside the house, and she seems the only human who can see me for the threat I’ve become.

Last night I passed out on the couch, and now I’m riding an all-day buzz again. The only way for me to break free from the things that haunt me is for me to become my wife’s demon.

Who says alcohol isn’t the answer to all of life’s conundrums.

If you are ready to see the elephant in the room and understand the damage your drinking did to the people you love, please consider joining us in SHOUT Sobriety.

SHOUT Sobriety