Fuck, this is too familiar. Maybe I'll sit down with a drink tonight and write some of my own dysfunctional Christmas tales. To be honest, that doesn't sound too appealing, so I don't think I will - hope you understand. I'm not sure of your age, but I think you're in your 30s-40s. My wife and I are just starting our holiday traditions (both early 20s). We're a bit behind you there, but I think The Grinch is going to be part of the tradition now. We'll memorialize a few more memories on our trip to London too. This is good shit. I appreciate it, truly.Finding your balance and fighting for it builds inner strength, which shelters inner peace, which creates outer calm.
That you have a loving wife and that you're starting your holiday traditions puts you a good ten years ahead of me. Mine remained bleak until my late 20s. I think I was 20 when I came home for my last Christmas; I refused to duck and cover and cower behind the door when my mother went crazy so she emptied four 2L bottles of diet coke on my shoes (then threw two more at my head). What makes them not bleak is contrast. Find something fun. Do it twice. Cuddle with your wife. Tell her how nice it is. Then tell her a story of the way it used to be and let it go, like a dark bird finding another perch. I'm pretty dispassionate about this shit these days because I've let most of the crows out of the cage and all I have is doves. There remain dark birds aflutter but the bright ones crowd out the dark ones.