Hey fam

Sorry for that downer of a post last time. This autumn has been going great, seeing lots of friends, and Anna but realizing Thanksgiving was basically right around the corner, up really hit me.

But good news, Anna and I met for a coffee catch-up earlier tonight. It’s so cozy hanging with her, no matter where we end up.

I told her how much I wasn’t looking forward to Thanksgiving.

Anna’s response really settled me … she feels the same way about seeing her family…See, she’s got her own storm brewing – her family unfairly laying the blame of her divorce at her feet, as if the end of her marriage was a one-woman show.

That nagging dread that had been hanging over me like a cloud started to back off, making space for a bit of calm in that shared moment.

We talked, like really talked. About all those heavy expectations, the letdown from the people who should have had our backs. I let out all my frustrations about the silent, and not so silent, judgments for bailing on grad school, for choosing a path that strayed from the family plan.

Anna dished her hurt, the cold shoulders, the low-key digs about her divorce, as though she installed Tinder on her husband’s phone for him.

We didn’t really resolve anything. Didn’t find the magic key to lock up our families’ expectations and judgments. But it was nice to share this with Anna. We shared some cringe stories from previous years’ family get-togethers and laughed at each other’s suffering.  It felt freeing.

And Anna’s laugh? Totally catchy. Her spirit, holding strong despite her battles, lit up my night.

(Back — just had to yell at my roommate to clean up his mess for once, ffs)

Anna and I swapped tales from past holidays. The insane comments from out-of-touch aunts, the overcooked turkeys resulting in impromptu pizza meals, the accidental revelations of family secrets, each anecdote adding a hue of humor and perspective to our chat. It’s like we were weaving together the past and present, a reminder that we had survived those moments, and this upcoming one wouldn’t be any different. Maybe 2023 would just be another year to laugh about, down the road.

As much as I couldn’t shake my own personal dread…poor Anna.

Anna really opened up, about her anxieties about the whispers, the pitying glances,, the uninvited opinions on her personal life. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down at the swirl of chaos below.

But as we talked, we both started to feel a bit better – we were in this together.

We played out the worst and best-case scenarios. There’s something liberating in sharing your fears,, especially with someone non-judgey, who probably shares similar fears.

We might not have the perfect map for the journey ahead, but we had something better – our friendship, someone to share the bumps with, the rude family questions, and the just wanting the holiday to be over.

When we were settling up the bill, a plan sort of developed spontaneously…

What if we just said no?

No to the family dinners steeped in judgment and unsolicited advice. No to the polite nods at uninvited opinions about our lives. And for Anna, no questions about, any more word on the reasons her husband left her?

What if we chose to celebrate the holiday our way, free from expectations and judgment.

What if we did it our way – said no it all. And found our own way to redefine Thanksgiving. To hell with family traditions, this year.

And you know what? It felt just right.

K.

Hey y’all…

November almost halfway done, winter’s knocking on the door and, man oh man, that old, familiar cloud of dread is rolling in with it.

Thanksgiving is rounding the corner, like an unwanted avalanche of snow, aiming to knock me over with reminders of family get-togethers and all that judgment.

I spent most of the day writing for work — getting some good stuff done. Dreading family visits can be a great motivation to clear the to-do list, apparently.

I’m aching for freedom this holiday season. Freedom from expectations, from the judgment-laden questions about my abandoned grad school journey and my “unconventional” career choice as an online writer.

I can already hear the questions brewing a storm in my mind: “Kelly, when are you going back to school?” “Why this job?” As much as I love the gig, it’s like I can never dodge those questions from aunts and uncles, cousins, and grandparents.

It sounds corny but I’m dreaming of a Thanksgiving redefined.

A holiday where I’m not boxed into traditional family expectations, where I don’t have to dodge awkward questions, shield myself from judgment, or navigate tense conversations.

How will I even handle the traditional family Thanksgiving this year? It’s always been awkward but, since I moved further away, its gotten way worse.

For me, Thanksgiving, with all its trimmings, still fills me with anxiety. The pressure to conform, the judgment wrapped in smiles and the awkward dance around topics I’d rather leave untouched – it’s all there, waiting to be served up on a silver platter along with the turkey and cranberry sauce.

I’m wrapping up for the night.

K.

Hey lovelies!

Sometimes I wonder if anyone’s actually reading this blog. I could ask Abby to see the traffic stats — but not sure what I would do if I actually knew the truth.

Anyways….

The day after the Great Text Swap started pretty rad.

My phone buzzed with an interesting email – an invitation to be a guest speaker on a popular podcast, which will remain nameless for now.

But exciting stuff!

I’m awaiting more details, buy my mind is already buzzing with possibilities. My writing job is chugging along just fine, story assignments piled up but that’s how I like it – busy and bustling.

Now, about that art gallery date with Anna.

It was a peculiar installation show – stark, black and white photographs taped all over the stark white walls of the gallery. Not my normal thing – still deciding if I liked it or not.

The photos were a tad creepy – with stories of pain, joy, and offbeat life moments. As we walked around the gallery, Anna admitted her soreness from our yoga escapade. I could see her wincing, even as she tried to admire the photos.

With a stroke of adventurous spirit (and a desire to bring Anna some relief), I found us a secluded corner of the gallery.

I laid our jackets out on the floor, and right in the gallery, sitting on our jackets, I massaged Anna’s aching legs. Sure, a few eyebrows were raised by other gallery-goers, but in that moment, it was just the two of us, living for each other, finding comfort and support. Who cares if our phones were full of unanswered texts from mom and dad, wondering how we could possibly skip Thanksgiving?

Anna’s laugh echoed in the quiet gallery as I accidentally tickled her, a light note amid the silence typical of these exhibitions. It felt good seeing her laugh – it was like a reminder that no matter the fallout of our choices, we’d have these moments of laughter and understanding to hold onto.

She seemed even more relieved than me. This was going to be her first Thanksgiving after the divorce — the first Thanksgiving in five years that she wouldn’t be attending with her ‘loving’ husband. Sometimes I wonder how she keeps it together.

Her legs were definitely tight and probably sore from the yoga the night before, but to me it was nice to connect hands-on this way. That kitchen moment at Halloween never really was spoken about. But now we were sitting in public, me rubbing her bare, smooth legs. I even told her, “good thing you wore a skirt tonight”, mimicking something a high-school player would say to a back-seat date. Anna giggled even louder.

When we were done with the leg massage and show, and ready to leave, it felt a million years since the night before.

The texts had been sent, the dice had been rolled, and come what may, we knew we had each other to lean on.

K.