This morning, I woke up tired. Fatigued. My house looked like Santa and his elves had a party and puked all over it. Wrapping paper strewn, batteries to arm remote control cars scattered, Christmas cookie parts crumbled, gift tags and last night’s wine and leftovers still on the counter.
I felt the looming pressure to tie up all those holiday loose ends in the next 48 hours before taking a long-planned Christmas away. I felt the pressure of a headache already forming at my temples before my day had even started. I felt stupid for letting myself get rundown at the holidays again.
Then I got a grip. Sitting on my couch at 6:30a.m., groggy and with a crick in my neck anticipating my countdown to-do list before the kids woke up, I had a little Christmas colored lightbulb go off. I realized I had been body snatched – again. By the ghost of “what you’re supposed to do at Christmas.”
In reality, that ghost has been present in my life for a long time. He also shows up as “what you’re supposed to do as a mom,” “what you’re supposed to do as room mom,” “what you’re supposed to do as a productive and respectable person in the world in general.”
Well, luckily my inner voice ghost named, “Being that girl is just fucking exhausting” showed up this morning and throat punched that other ghost.