Yes, it’s the first week in November, but doesn’t it feel like we’ve already been launched headfirst into the great holiday maw? I’m ready for it. Maybe. Possibly. Or not at all. TBD.

From now until the end of the year, we’ll be pushing you to send us your Holiday check-ins—the anticipatory stresses and grief (both micro- and macro-sized) you may already be thinking about now, through the end of the Super Bowl. I bet if you begin to write some of these out beforehand, processing the inevitable upsets will be easier, and less stabbing.

Send ‘em in when you feel em: [email protected]

SUBJECT: HOLIDAY APOCALYPSE

I’ll publish them in small batches through Christmas, along with some of TSB’s classic holiday essays. But first—let’s get through today’s last non-holiday batch. Off we go. —AJD

by The Small Bow Family Orchestra

I’m struggling to take care of myself mostly because I don’t know how to stop and rest: To stop and rest without judgement. I had a friend in town for seven nights. I was happy she was here but seven nights is four too many to be hosting someone. The day she left, I left for a work trip and then spent 11 days in New York, where my boyfriend joined me in what was my old home. He was tired and I was tired. I blew past my body’s and my mind’s boundaries and in doing so I pushed him beyond his own. When I am tired, I push on. It became a blowout argument. He said, “You’re not listening to me, I’m tired.” My internal response was, “yeah, and?!” I have made amends to him for this. The experience, however, made it clear to me how in fact I don’t respect my own boundaries. Moreover, I realized this is something that keeps me stuck and burned out. It’s also what makes me revert to my old default, which is to switch off and numb with a TV series and/or wine. “Switching off” in this manner is not rest, it doesn’t serve me. In the moments when I have blown past my boundaries, it’s easy to forget. And when I switch off, I stop trusting myself. 

Over the weekend I was thinking about how I acted out as a teenager, which in the end was far more harmful to me than to my parents. I wanted more from life than what at the time seemed on offer to me and the only thing to do was party on the weekends and watch TV when studying would have better served me. Now I have the “more” I was yearning for and I’m still acting out by resisting the practices that I know serve me. The thought “I don’t deserve more” is the obvious culprit, the easy explanation. Can the answer be that simple? 

Started doing a gratitude journal and going to therapy to deal with the overwhelming gloom of my life not being what I want it to be right now. Every day I think about using and then don’t and at some point there was pride in being able to continually make that decision and now it just feels a bit resigned, like I know that wouldn’t even be fun anymore so why bother ruining the rest of my life again. Sometimes in the gratitude journal I write that I’m grateful for not using—I’m not always sure I am. In some ways it was hopeful to be in such an awful place and have the sense it wasn’t forever—now, I’m in a neutral place and it might just be forever. But I’m doing the work to try and make it temporary and everything in life is temporary, anyways.

My beloved not-just-a-cat cat Baby Emelia Purrsephone disappeared forever on August 17th, 2026, the day I started flying back from an incredible trip halfway across the world. I spent the 26 hour flight home fearing the worst that was to come. She was a tether to this body and this earth. I loved her with all of me, I loved her like she was a terrestrial emanation of my inner child. This grief has wrested me to my core, caverning a bottom in the bottom of my heart, and somehow repelled every person close to me. Or were they never really there?

I feel implacably, gut wrenchingly lonely. I want to be held. I want a mother. I wish my mother wasn’t so untrustworthy. My family exists, but I would have to traverse to the Land of Denial to engage, and I don’t feel safe enough or protected enough to do so. I wish I trusted my own desire for connection.

Right now, I want an Authority Figure to tell me what to do. And I want a redemption arc.

I have legitimate reasons to complain and qualify how I’m doing, but I will not do that right now. Setting those aside for a few minutes, I am enjoying consistent work. The more responsibility I take on as a restaurant employee, the more confident and engaged I feel. This is what is known among humans as “a good thing.” Many people seem to like me, a friend wants to set me up on a date with a woman, I ran ten miles, and reading books and newspapers is a pleasure for its own sake.

My fingertips are hovering, wanting to add in some irony or attempt at self-effacing humor, but I’m not going to do that. Many things are cool as hell right now, and saying it doesn’t mean that’s the whole story. But nothing ever is.

August 27 was my 3 year AA birthday and I thought things would be settled and better by now. They’re not.  Still sharing house with my estranged wife who may or may not be carrying on with the wealthy divorced neighbor (whose infidelity in his first marriage preceded his divorce). I miss intimate conversations and the human touch and having someone in my corner. 

I have accepted that my marriage is over and we have two children to co-parent and try not to fuck up.

My ex-work colleagues post about closings on deals where I made the introduction but they’ve forgotten that when it comes to compensating the initial lead. 

But I’m sober.

I heard a drill in the hallway on Tuesday. At the sound of metal on metal (and not 100-year-old plaster), I stuck my head out and told the guy I thought it had gone through my fridge. He came into my apartment, counted his steps from the entryway to the kitchen, went back into the hallway and counted them again. He said it was fine. On Thursday, I moved a box of arugula and there it was—a near perfect circle, like an oversized hole punch, on the back wall of the fridge.

October’s a challenging month for me. This year wasn’t different, but it was different from the months that preceded it. I started watching the sunrise again. I bought single stems of local flowers and put them in a vase that’s been empty since June. A dumbbell fell on my foot and I cried while sitting on the floor half-listening to a guided meditation. I reconnected with old friends. Every day I read the news and the world seems more insane. It’s the first day of November and there’s still a hole in my fridge. No water or explosions though. My landlord said it's ok; there’s nothing electrical on that side.

My addict situationship always shows up at my door already completely cranked on pharmaceuticals with a bottle of vodka in hand, asks me to give him coke and molly, but since they aren't his usual drug of choice, says they are ok to pile on (addict’s logic?).

Note: he refuses to see me while sober!

This last time, however, he freaked out on me and asked WHY I have those drugs and booze around. I told him they were for non-addict friends who visited, or pre-gaming before going out to clubbing. 

He suddenly begged me not to have any drugs available ever again, told me he had to leave, and rushed out the door. I felt horrible for not realizing how I’d been affecting him :( 

(I’m dumb, I know, but is this him blaming ME for his addiction?) 

On Monday I realized he might have stolen my spare condo key & fob so I spent Monday at work scared I’d return home to a smashed tv and stolen appliances. He called, high again, on Tues. night and told me he had my key and fob, after I’d changed the locks. . . . 

Then on Friday night, a non-addict friend invited me out to a club, and asked me to bring drugs. We took some fruit-flavoured weed gummies, then he asked what flavour they were . . . we checked the ingredients and panicked, because he’s deathly allergic to mangos . . . fortunately the “real extract” listed was a lie!

But I learned my lesson: No more drug dealing. 

After partying and enabling, I cleared out all the drugs and alcohol from my condo, then caught the flu, burning shame, & a cough for 2 weeks. Even missed Halloween in an effort to heal and show penitence. 

Do you forgive me?

fin

NEW PODCAST EPISODE: HOW COULD I BE AN ADDICT IF MY DAD IS DR. DREW? WITH PAULINA PINSKY

ILLUSTRATIONS BY EDITH ZIMMERMAN