Evolution Series: Christmas Card

Audio version now available.

It’s Christmas card season. I took last year off for many reasons. I had, for 21 years, come up with the concept, outfits, and the wording of my family’s cards. I also ordered, addressed, stamped, and sent the cards for over two decades. So last year it felt invigorating to NOT send a card. So invigorating that I decided to NOT do it again this year.

But I still had to gather photos, design, write, and order cards for my mom’s Christmas card. I took that job on about five years ago. This meant texting my three siblings for photos of their kids and pets, and putting something together that my mom approved. I care that she can tell her friends and our family about her grandchildren. I’m proud of that story.

But is she proud of me? Does she understand, fully, what has happened?

I received that card in the mail, the one I designed, from my mother on Saturday. It was addressed to Mrs. Sam Peterson. Not Mr. and Mrs. Sam Peterson, like it was entered off a list…by careless mistake. No, it was intentionally addressed to Mrs. Sam Peterson.

I don’t think she gets it. I am no longer married. I am no longer Mrs. Sam Peterson. I am Kelly. I am her daughter, and I am divorced. But she needs to understand why, and what the fallout has been. Because if she did, she would have been much more careful with how she addressed the card to me.

It’s been 15 months since Sam moved out. In that time, I have raised our two kids essentially alone. I took on extra clients, one that requires me to work mornings and nights to make extra money, so that I can own this home on my own and minimize life disruptions for my kids.

I’ve done individual therapy, and I am two-and-a-half years into group work, with Echoes of Recovery, to understand what the hell happened in this home. I spent many years focusing on Sam’s alcohol addiction, and have recently realized his toxic communication, gaslighting, minimizing, and twisting did a number on me–like a puzzle I cannot solve. I only know that I seek content regularly to help me understand why I was always so confused. The number of times I nod my head and say, “yes,” to a post or a podcast about narcissistic abuse or emotionally immature behavior is unsettling. And truthfully, what I really want is to walk away from all of this trauma.

In spite of it all, the fact is that I’m the happiest I have been in at least a decade.

The freedom I have to live my life on my terms has transformed me. I was so weak, beaten down, and confused. I am now sturdy, solid, and so very thankful that I got out. Why can’t I leave it all behind? Why do I feel the pull to solve this puzzle? Will my mother ever understand that?

And yet, I think about Mrs. Sam Peterson a lot these days. I think of how she started to hate the holidays and vacations, and life in general, because of the unpredictability of her husband. It was just five years ago, while spending Christmas up north, that he threatened to rent a car and leave when his drunken behavior was challenged. Mrs. Sam Peterson kept it together for the kids. She forgave him when he woke up sober, anxious, and sad the next morning. She pushed on to create memories for the kids, even though she secretly hoped to watch the taillights of the rental car drive away.

Mrs. Sam Peterson carried more than she ever should have had to. She never had a partner. She was so very alone in a marriage to a man whose name she would have to wear, like a dog tag.

I will always love Mrs. Sam Peterson. I’m proud of how she fought, how she loved, and how vulnerable she tried to be. It’s unfortunate that as my mom addressed the card to that woman, she didn’t fully understand who she was or who she is, and why all of it matters.

I’m so glad I am starting to understand.

If you are ready to explore and understand your experiences as the partner of someone with a drinking problem, please consider joining us in Echoes of Recovery.

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