“My complicated history with the holidays.” by Taylor Waits
For many, the holidays are full of family events, entertaining at home, and spending quality time with those people closest and dearest. Unless you are an abuse survivor. For us, the holidays often come with mixed feelings.
I saw an article in Time Magazine that reported a worldwide surge in domestic abuse when the COVID – 19 sanctions were their most strict in 2020. That makes sense. Survivors of all ages are being forced to stay in place and in close proximity to their abusers – more abuse is bound to happen. Queer survivors are then forced to be with their abusers day – in and day – out. Those with complicated pasts with their biological family or guardians are left to fend for themselves. Unless you have a reason to be out of the house, you’re in. Depending who you’re locked in with can mean life and death.
I, like many queer survivors, have a strange relationship to family. A child of the South, my folks do not “agree with my lifestyle choices.” I mean I knew that of course, the holidays became the annual shaming of the family homosexuals and from the looks of the one or two who decided to still come around – I didn’t have any familial support to look forward to. Often when I think of any family gathering I remember incessant name calling, belittlement, screaming, gaslighting, grabbing, slapping and shoving (all of which can be seen in between taking bites of ham). I remember finishing my food as fast as possible so I could be excused to somewhere else. Find peace. Someplace I won’t be forced to wait on lazy men hand and foot. Someplace I would not always be seen as the homemaker – in – training, a working uterus, a vessel for Black babies.
I vividly remember being ushered away (quite dramatically) from the Queer and Trans people in my family. I was told they “ain’t made right” or that their sin had “gotten the best of em’.” I remember the silences that went from room to room once one of those family members was named aloud. When we dared to ask why all of our family wasn’t there. I remember being told which family members needed to be avoided. The warnings came from several generations of women and closeted gays but I guess losing the invitation for these people didn’t make it’s way down the line.
The stories. I remember those.
The ones about what happened when all the adults left the room, stayed in, or overall turned their backs to our truths. I would listen. And remember.
I spend most holidays alone now. Except for my pet children of course. I use these days as a retreat for myself. A time to think of all the ways I’d be different than them – how the stories at my family functions would sound. What would the children whisper about? Probably the same shit.
No matter what my family did to shield me from the realities of racism, sexism, misogyny, homophobia and transphobia nothing can protect you. I had been lied to, danced around, outright ignored and avoided when it came to anything deemed “too adult” for me. At some point I learned to just talk to myself. I’d always believe in me. And I believed my family members. I don’t and never did play with violence towards them around me. I became the killjoy. I’m sure you know the feeling.
Consistent access to therapy aside, I still feel this way every holiday season when I see my and my friends’ abusers pop up on my timeline in a picture with their kids or partners or families. Some things just always feel like bullshit to me. Nostalgic schemy feelings. Dangerous. Unrealistically quiet and happy. Nothing reminds me more of my survival than the holidays.
#changerapeculture
#webelieveyou
