Christmas and its buildup are often lonely, hard and full of unreasonable expectations. Here’s how to make it to Jesus’s birthday and find the little bit of joy we all deserve.

Have you found this year relentless? Has the latest Apple update “fucked up your life”? Have you lost two pairs of sunglasses, left the door wide open all day while you were at work, and run out of any and all food for your children, human and canine, in the last week? Have you read too much bad news, lived too much bad news or gotten called a dropnuts for not turning up somewhere?

Did you ingest too much of the Wicked press tour/hawk tuah girl/Ray Gun/Brat/X this year, and now your brain can not hold space for important things like where you’re meant to be on Christmas day or how to behave like a compassionate, well and patient person at a time of year that requires you be compassionate, well and patient?

Are you living the mental equivalent of Kermit going round and round in a bucket, stuck in a loop of writing lists, checking them twice and forgetting what was on them two minutes later?

You are not alone.

Christmas is a genuinely fraught time for so many people. Thanks to the Gregorian calendar and the hemisphere in which this charming little piss country locates itself, Christmas and most people’s biggest chunk of time off both come at the end of the year. It creates pressure, expectations, anxiety, stress and financial strain. Too many people in this country are spending Christmas being reminded of all they don’t have as the excess of the season roars into full view.

Christmas and its cousin, New Year’s, can also be very lonely. Through a series of bad life decisions, I found myself alone one year for New Year’s Eve in my 20s and drove to my parents in Hamilton for company. They had plans and went out. I went to bed crying, convinced my life was essentially over. Dad made me get up when they got home and have a Cointreau with them. It didn’t help. It was also one year in a life of many years full of good fortune. For those who are isolated and alone for more complex and permanent reasons, the season often compounds the worst consequences of not having people to look out for you.

For those who have lost loved ones recently or decades ago, the exaltation of spending time with family can bring back huge waves of grief. Some people didn’t have idyllic childhoods, and Christmas is a crushing reminder of that. Some people are in prison, others are in hospital, and many are working. To the people who are working to feed us, entertain us and keep us safe and well, bless you and thank you.

At the end of May this year, I had what the girlies call a “menty b”.  If we’re not being cute and euphemistic, it was probably burnout or just the old faithful, depression. Whatever it was, I felt like I had been running very fast and suddenly crashed into a wall. I returned to therapy and started taking an SSRI again. An even keel has been found, and I frustratingly discovered I still needed to be taught new tricks about dealing with the maddening crowd of my own expectations, concerns about what people thought of me and a lifetime of other triggers that send me into the blackest of fogs. I learned to hear the harsh things I said to myself and recognise them for what they were. Anxiety that used to sit unidentified in the pit of my stomach, festering into avoidance and self-flagellation, got named. As it turns out, just saying, “Oh, that’s what it is”, did wonders for managing it. Most importantly, and annoyingly for a lifelong cynic, I learned that speaking softly to yourself isn’t a mystical artform practised by woodland pixies and losers; in fact it’s essential.

Here’s the softie’s guide to getting through the next few days and making the season less stressful and more your own.

Make lists and then dump at least 50% of what’s on it

Apologies to my colleagues who are just learning about this for the first time, but I was going to make many jars of tomato and capsicum relish and bring them into the office last Thursday. It was on my list. On Wednesday morning, I said, “Absolutely not,” and now your cheese and crackers won’t be the same. 

Lists are great but they shouldn’t be punishing. As we’ve learned from the government, you’ve got big rocks and small rocks, and it’s all about how you arrange them in the jar or something. Another tip from the government is that lists are often the best when you put things you’ve done on them or write things like “think about this”  and then tick them off. I think of mine as the path to a minimum viable product. Relish for 5000 people is now very much “relish for six people”. I am not Jesus and do not need to feed the masses.

Be quietly happy with yourself every time you let someone into a queue or say thank you to the people working in the Christmas hellscape

This is where a bit of Jesus is actually useful. Car Jesus, more specifically. Try some instant forgiveness, something recommended by an actual therapist and not a writer trying to get this filed before Christmas lunch.

After listening to me explain why I wanted to punch a hole in my dashboard while driving at Christmas time, my therapist asked me whether I could “just forgive them”. Them being the other people in other cars. My head spun around Exorcist-style at this revolutionary concept, but it kinda works. More often than not, everyone is trying their best, and you have no idea what others are dealing with. Chill. If you’re in traffic, you are traffic. If you’re in a queue, you are queue.

You don’t get a medal for not being a massive dick to other people, most especially those working at this time of year, but conscious internal recognition is helpful reinforcement.

Sub out your self-inflicted pressure for joy

You do not need to drive to five shops to find pomegranate seeds for your salad. It’s fine without them. Use that time to do something you genuinely love. Go look at the Christmas lights. No one likes the Christmas biscuits you were going to make anyway. Don’t be ashamed of the ye olde things you like at this time of year. I can assure you the time-honoured tradition of giving and doing things for other people is far more joyful than finding the exact right ribbon.

Take yourself out

Maybe a luxury for the time-poor, but I started doing this when I was working for myself and had no Christmas parties to attend. I’ve kept the ritual up. I go somewhere, toast myself, eat an oyster or two and take a selfie to tell everyone else about my self-congratulatory event. With the deepest respect to everyone in your life, you alone clawed your way to the end and undoubtedly achieved more than you think you did. Get it. 

Make your own traditions

Hera Lindsay Bird actually has a portion of this covered in her most recent advice column on coping with other people’s Christmas, but make it your own. It can be impossible to shirk all obligations and responsibilities, but I can guarantee that your assertive move to claim back some of your Christmas time and spend it naked on your couch eating whatever the fuck you like will be less upsetting to those you’re bunking on than you think.

I hate that I am about to say this but…

As a kid, I felt personally attacked by the storybook character Pollyanna, played by Hayley Mills in the movie. Her most revolting crime that justifiably made the adults around her angry was playing something called the “glad game”. Perhaps it was written in the stars of our partially shared name, but as much of a fan of relativism as I am, I am revolted to report that by saying “I have a house” when reading about homelessness is playing the glad game and it’s quite useful for maintaining perspective.

Merry Christmas. You’re worth it.