Holidays are no Friend to Mental Health

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Holidays mental health

The American version of “the most wonderful time of the year,” now fast upon us, bears little resemblance to the definition of a holiday, which is “a day of festivity or recreation in which no work is done.” Right. In fact, the lead up to these happenings, including Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Christmas and New Year’s, as well as the actual days themselves, often generate plenty of toil and loads of stress. For many, this time of year proves more nerve wracking and exhausting than any other, so the holidays are no friend to mental health. In fact, surveys show over half of us report marked increases in stress, mostly from hurry sickness, gift giving, financial hardships and family conflict.

The season’s greetings we exchange suggest otherwise. Examples include “happy holidays” and “have a blessed Christmas” and “be of good cheer,” and many more. However, most prominent among these is “peace.” Sadly, there’s little of that. Time was when the holidays were a welcome respite from the hurry sickness, task mania, politicizing and frenetic lifestyles that now typify our always-on culture.

There is a unique kind of peace one experiences when the world pauses, when the relentless avalanche of daily living shudders to a stop, even if just for a day. Don’t get it?  If so, perhaps you grew up following the advent of our relentless 24/7/365 culture, one in which the world never truly closes, where too many folks spend more time staring at screens than each other, and when even Thanksgiving is now yet another shopping day. For most of us, the only way to get a feel for the peace I’m referencing is to inhabit the dead of night. Sure, always-open businesses are out there, but most folks are sleeping, traffic is minimal and there are few intrusive sounds. That is, unless one spends the night face-planted on some screen. Absent that, the silence and darkness provide a sensory sanctuary where one can simply be, rather than do.

World on Pause

For example, one snowy Christmas Eve long ago, my siblings and I walked the empty streets of our hometown. There were no cars about, the hamlet’s two gas stations were shuttered, as were all other commercial establishments. We weren’t pestered with smartphone dings, nor aware of any “breaking news,” and the quiet enveloping us was unbroken by traffic noise or thumping music. When we stopped and listened, our ears were greeted by the faint hiss of falling snow. The world was on pause. There was an unspoken community understanding that, with few exceptions (such as emergency responders and health care workers), Christmas was a time to park the cars, close the shops and settle in for that proverbial long winter’s night.

Perhaps because the pace of existence was much slower then, the yuletide hiatus didn’t seem like such a major departure from the norm. But if such a widespread cessation in commerce and activity were to occur today, it would stand in stark contrast to our always-on, plugged-in, pedal-to-the-metal culture. And that would be just fine.

Increasingly, I hear overwhelmed, burned out, task buried people say, “I just wish the world would stop for a while.” The absence of a collective pause in our society, one when we all agree to just chill, makes it challenging to catch one’s psychological breath. Sure, it can be done. There are retreat centers, wilderness treks, parks and other sanctuaries from modern mayhem, but the broader culture doesn’t encourage these timeouts. The implicit message is that we should be “on” every waking moment. Among the many deleterious impacts of this admonition is that most of us are sleep deprived, chronically stressed and overworked. Americans regularly leave over a half-billion vacation days unused every year.   

In the past, major holidays were times to “hush” everything, settle back into just being, rather than doing-doing-doing, and abide with family, friends and one’s self.  Today, they are being swept up in the tsunami of commerce, task mastering and busyness that is the modus operandi of so many of our lives.

Think I’m an anachronistic Scrooge dumping on the holidays? Well, if you want, call me old-fashioned. Just don’t call me on Christmas.

For more, visit philipchard.com.