It’s the most magical time of year

And I can’t wait for it all to be over

Hey friends,

A bit more of a personal missive today, followed by an invitation to anyone who is also feeling the call to swim in the depths of the season - or to sit in creative community.

I know it’s Christmas Eve, but I’m really not feeling very Christmasy. I’m tired and have been suffering through the worst chronic pain flare-up in years.

I honestly just want to hide away from the world and not air too many of my grievances - Festivus was yesterday, after all - but I also know that writing all this out is actually going to be good for me, so here goes nothing.

Also, if you’re absolutely not in the mood for some not-so-festive cheer, feel free to skip this one or scroll to the bottom. I would hate to dull anyone else’s sparkle.

My main hope in writing this is that it might help someone else who struggles with this time of year feel less alone. I find reading other people’s stories can feel like a life raft when I’m floating in a sea of my own despair or discomfort, so this is my attempt at that, along with making sense of it all for myself, too.

I’m also grateful that the temps have dropped enough for me to actually write - today is a cool 32°C - which is far more manageable than the 45°C we had yesterday. I finally feel a bit more human and less sweaty stress-bucket. Although having to brave the supermarket crowds yesterday on the hunt for salad ingredients to take to a Christmas lunch I don’t really want to go to didn’t really help.

Let me rephrase that.

My second favourite Christmas tradition: wearing Christmas hats and watching animated movies at a Cambodian beach bar.

It’s not that I just don't want to go. It’s very lovely that we’re invited, and I’m grateful.

But I also just wish I could say:

“Y’know what, that’s so lovely, thanks for the invite, here’s a fancy box of chocolates or something to show I care and appreciate it, but I honestly just want to stay indoors and sit in my feels, while eating tater tots and watching Studio Ghibli movies in my pyjamas with the cat.”

These kinds of social gatherings are not my forte at the best of times, especially as a very introverted sober person who really doesn’t like small talk, but they’re extra challenging when you add all the grief I feel at this time of year into the mix.

This is my sixth Christmas in Australia. I've struggled with them all, but this one has hit the hardest.

It’s taken me six years to understand why, but I've just realised that Christmas 2018 was the last time that I saw my mum and my grandma and most of my friends… So it’s actually not really surprising that it’s filled with so much grief and heartache.

Christmas 2018 - not a salad in sight. Or a sister (she came down a few days later!)

With neurodegenerative illnesses like dementia, most people don’t have specific dates to mark the passage between the person they were and the person they’ve become.

Instead, it’s a slow decline made up of weird moments, which, at first, you can find simple and logical enough explanations for - they’re stressed at work, there’s a lot going on, etc - but then they get bigger and harder to ignore, and, after what feels like a lifetime and also a blink of an eye, you’re in the doctor’s office getting bad news.

In my case, though, thanks to COVID, there’s a very firm line that marks when I last saw my mum as my mum.

That line isn’t the same for anyone else in my family, which has made it trickier for me to understand. It was only when someone else mentioned they lost their mum around Christmas that I realised that I kind of did, too.

It’s obviously not even close to being the same, but in many ways, I still feel like I lost her back then, along with my grandma, who died when the borders were closed, and my friends, who I never get to see these days because every trip back is focused around my family and my mum.

Christmas 2018 feels like it was the last time my mum was my mum.

My mentor, who I specifically chose because her mum also has Alzheimer’s and she also lives far away from her, said to me last week that, when we lose a parent to dementia, we can struggle to “move on” because every step forward for us is a step away from the version of us that they knew.

She said she was so proud of me for managing to do and achieve everything I’ve done this year and that she could see how hard it’s been and what a toll it’s taken, but I should be really proud of me, too - and maybe go a bit easy on myself during what is usually a tough time.

Her words - and my realisations - have helped me feel a bit better about it all.

I know I can’t really expect anyone else to even begin to understand, but I also know I could be a bit kinder to myself and try to meet my own needs without getting annoyed at myself for my massively reduced capacity; which has made things like going to the supermarket yesterday - or even choosing what kind of salad to make - feel like running a marathon.

It's also helped me understand more about why I want to check out and how I can treat myself more gently for it. Although I still have to show up tomorrow, I’ll gift myself a guilt-free day to eat my favourite food and watch my favourite comfort movies to make up for it.

Maybe next year, I’ll even be brave enough to send some chocolates and stay home. It feels uncomfortable to even think about, but, if I’m honest, this whole thing is.

These past few years, I’ve learned - the hard way, of course - that the whole “Better out than in” saying is especially true when it comes to grief.

I’ve also learned grief makes other people incredibly uncomfortable.

One of the reasons why I love being alone so much is because I don’t have to hide it from anyone and put on a happy face to protect their feelings from mine. A lot of people are so uncomfortable with my situation that they just avoid it; skirting around it like a massive elephant in the room.

The truth is, they’re just not my people.

Playing Christmas games with the family, 2018. They’re my people.

I don’t want to have to hide my grief from others.

I want to be surrounded by people I don’t need to hide anything from - ones who are also willing and able to journey into the depths and come back bearing riches.

I know grief goes hand-in-hand with love, and there is so much beauty to it, it’s just that a lot of people don’t know how to go there. They’re scared of the depths.

This is part of the reason why I want to start running creative circle sessions here and as part of a writer’s group. Many of us have a deep wellspring inside us that we don’t have the keys to.

Writing has given me that key, now I want to share it with others.

I’ve decided to start by running my first session here for all subscribers (free and paid) on January 9th at 8.30am GMT (4.30pm AWST, 7.30pm AEDT).

It’ll be an hour-long creative circle-style call where you can show up as you are, complete with any grievances, struggles, or celebrations. It’ll be a bit of a go-with-the-flow session and won’t be recorded, though I’ll share some of the prompts afterwards.

In future, these monthly sessions will only be for paid subscribers - along with monthly coworking sessions and quarterly Q+As/AMAs - but this one is open to everyone as my gift to you all for being here with me.

Oh, and speaking of gifts… If you like the sound of them and want to become a paid subscriber, I’ve decided to run a little end-of-year special where you can save 20% off the price of my membership - for life. Check it out here.

Alright, I feel better already.

Writing this has been a good reminder of how much I love giving, especially in ways that feel good to me. It’s funny but I actually feel like I have more energy to face the next 24 hours with, now. Although I might need some more coffee and a gluten free mince pie or two to help tide me over.

Thanks for being here. I hope you have a magical Christmas, even - especially - if you’re struggling. Know I’m thinking of you all.

All my love,

Cassie x

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PS: TLDR - I’m running my first creative circle session for all members on January 9th at 8.30am GMT. Details to follow, though you’re also welcome to comment or reply to RSVP.

This first one is free for all subscribers, but in the future, I’ll be running all my monthly circle calls, coworking sessions, and quarterly Q+As as part of my Substack membership. Use this link to get 20% off and enjoy it all for the price of a coffee a month - for life.

Alternatively, if you just want to send a token of support (and make my day even better!), you can also buy me a coffee here. Thank you!!