Singles and Marrieds Struggle for Authenticity During the Holidays

I tried. This year, I really did make an effort. The holidays. They’ve been difficult for me for decades now.

I often prayed for God to put me to sleep from November 15 until February 28, just to avoid the gauntlet that is the holiday season as an adult woman with no husband, no children, and no prospects of either any time soon.

I come from a rather large family. I know there are families larger than mine but we’ve procreated more than the average family, I would say. My father is the third of seven siblings. My mother is the oldest of eight. I’m the youngest of eight biological children and number nine of 14 adopted and chosen siblings.

We don’t all have the same dad, we don’t all have the same mom. And some of us don’t share a biological dad or mom. But we’re family. All of my family members, I’m talking cousins, nieces, nephews have all either been married or had children or both. My older siblings have been married and divorced at least once. A few of them have even been married and divorced two times over.

Then there’s me.

I’ve brought no one home to meet the family for the holidays in all my 49 years. Family members who consider themselves kind remain silent, or rather, they remain silent to me directly. But things are said outside of my presence. Questions are asked. By whom, no one will say. About whether something’s wrong. What has happened to me. And why I don’t have a husband and / or children.

Not-so-silent Night … of Judgement

Others express their point of view in other ways, praising siblings, nieces and nephews who do have children, doting over them. To my ears, it feels like it’s a sideways judgement of my lack of children, even though I love children so much.

Keep in mind, it’s not that I haven’t made myself available for marriage. But God in His wisdom didn’t answer my prayers when I dated men who really weren’t the best for me. By God’s grace I didn’t get married to them. For not answering my prayers in those instances, I am eternally grateful. For, a lifetime with any one of the men I’ve dated over the years would have been a fate I’d wish not even on the person who hated me the most. And to have children with them would be a lifetime sentence of having them in my life.

I’ve seen people living out these life sentences with those they chose to have children with. It’s brutal to watch from the sidelines. But come the holidays, all of the ugliness of the previous eight months falls to the wayside. Gifts must be given. Children must be spoiled. Pictures in matching pajamas must be taken. And the image of happiness must be upheld.

The Social Media Stage

As the years have gone by, these images of happiness have gotten louder. Instagram reels of Christmas morning joy repeat over and over in different forms and styles across my timeline. It is one of the reasons I am a rare visitor to Insta, FB, Twitter/X and the like. Maybe some of these images are genuine. But I have yet to see one that feels authentic, unstaged, and like a balanced view of how Christmas mornings truly are in a household.

The shame I’ve felt over the years can’t be exaggerated. The pain of extended family gatherings can’t be defined. For me, these events hold such disdain, I can scarcely bring myself to remember them in vivid detail. But I remember how I felt, how I still feel, about them.

The Mold

Life holds many benchmarks that start at our birth. Underweight babies need intervention. Undersized pre-teens hope for growth spurts and are commanded to drink more milk. Then there are the benchmarks of graduation, kindergarten, middle school, junior prom, senior prom, senior trip, college. Navigating these benchmarks were relatively smooth for me. But when that was all over, the adult benchmarks started. Getting a job, dating a potential spouse, getting a proposal by your mid-twenties, and marriage not long after. A child within the first two years of marriage and another every two years thereafter until you have at least one boy and one girl to start off your life.

I used to cringe at the prospect of getting older. Gray hair, extra weight. I couldn’t even imagine. I would comfort myself in those moments when I contemplated aging, with the assumed fact that at least I’d be a mom and could focus on my kids instead of getting old.

My life did not turn out this way. I didn’t fit the mold. I missed all the benchmarks. Intervention was imminent.

The Interventions

At first, I met potential paramours at the poetry events I frequented. Then, I met ‘future husbands’ on dating sites, then dating apps. It took me years, but I finally swore off those sites and apps. I just couldn’t take the dissonance between what men presented versus who they really were.

One man. He was so incensed that I wanted to wait until marriage that he had a full-on tantrum during our first and only date. I don’t even know how we got on the topic but I wasn’t going to lie to him or present myself as someone I’m not. We weren’t even together as a couple and he argued against purity. This was a recurring theme. I’ve faced this issue with men who say they are Christians, love God, attend church regularly, and want a dedicated and healthy marriage.

The Word of God, though, is clear. And no man is worth compromising. No man at all.

In Person? No Better.

I’ve even met men at Christian Singles church events, with similar results. Presenting one image, living out a different reality.

I’d cry into my mother’s arms after a particularly cruel experience right before Christmas. One Christian man was dating me and another woman at once, without telling either of us. I found out he’d chosen to spend Christmas with the other woman at the last minute, just as I thought I’d reached one of my benchmarks at last.

Other in-person forays into lifelong love fared no better. Life continued apace. Solitary attendance at holiday family events continued. I remained hopeful. I also began taking anti-depressants to push away the thoughts of self-chosen death. The pressure to fit the mold was just that heavy.

Acceptance

I tried to lean into the Cool Auntie role. When I was making tons of money, that was easy. I’d distract others with gifts. The pressure subsided, a bit. But during the inevitable lean years we all face, cards replaced gifts and then one dish for the family meal replaced cards, accompanied by pressure, sideways glances, whispers, questions.

Crushed Into the Mold

I believe I’m not alone in this situation. It appears the only people, though, who get to exist in the public sphere are married with children. Images of a thriving single, Christian woman - have you seen any in the media at all? If you have, please do send me photographic or video evidence. Asking for a friend (read: me).

I’m now in the space where I admit I’ve looked at marriage and motherhood as idols, putting them above desire to honor God in my heart. I’ve heard sermons recently that purity isn’t only a pursuit for single Christians. But all of us, old and young, single and married, must pursue holiness and a separation from sin. These two realizations helped. But as the late Zig Ziglar said, motivation is like personal hygiene. You need to renew it / bathe daily. And so it is with realizing you’re not defective because your life doesn’t look the way everyone else’s does.

If I miss a day, I begin to sink into despair. I sometimes miss. I sometimes sink. I sometimes wish for ongoing sleep between November and March.

Sometimes to fit a mold one has to be broken. I’ve been around many people who are quite unhappy living with broken souls because of who they are bound to, whether by marriage or children or both. Their time to awake is between November and March when Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Day, and Valentine’s Day create space for outward appearances of happiness.

The Truth

Singles are unhappy. Marrieds are unhappy. One is demonized. The other is lauded.

I don’t know what the solution is. I don’t know how I’ll get through the rest of this season or what I’ll do when the next one comes around. I’ve stopped seeing conformance as the solution. But I pray I remember every day that we all struggle in the pursuit of holiness. And that we have access to The One who walks with us in the struggle and loves us through the journey.