Why you should think twice before asking if someone has had a good Christmas

There’s a reason why, this year, the question needs to die

Well, Christmas is over for another year – unless you subscribe to the traditional 12 days of Christmas – and before long, we will see abandoned, naked trees cast out on the pavements and people rushing to undo all the festive excess by signing up for Veganuary and Dry Jan.

But if there’s one thing that we should probably do away with, it’s the ubiquitous question: how was your Christmas? Why are we so obsessed with asking that? Maybe this is the year that we knock the question firmly on the head, out of respect for the different and painful experiences that come with the festive season. Do people want to know, honestly, how horrible and sad it was for some? Or do they expect the mumbled “fine thanks” – just like when you get asked “how are you?” and don’t want to say “well the cat’s been sick everywhere, I’ve got stress-induced eczema all over my hands and I’m genuinely wondering if there’s any point to this life”.

Yes, “how was your Christmas?” feels like a polite, obligatory ask. Sometimes it seems almost rude not to. And of course, you may really want to know how your friends and colleagues have fared over the festive period, what they ate on the big day, whether they got any good presents. But this year, perhaps more than ever, the question is incredibly loaded.

In the UK, we are in the eye of a cost of living storm. This Christmas will have been more difficult, more stressful and more anxiety-inducing for millions of people in Britain due to soaring inflation, spiralling food and energy costs and pay packets that simply aren’t keeping up with the increases in prices. More families won’t have been able to afford a special meal on Christmas Day – some can’t put food on the table at all and food banks have faced record-breaking levels of need this year. Presents are a luxury, and there are fears that people are digging themselves deep into debt, particularly through “hidden borrowing” schemes like buy now, pay later options.

Christmas, unfortunately, is the holiday that heaps on the most pressure. It’s so inextricably tied up with spending money – on gifts, food, drink, decorations, travel – and keeping up with what other people are doing that anyone feeling the pinch this year is at risk of feeling like they’ve failed. For parents with children, this can be especially painful. I can’t imagine how awful it is to hear that your kid is devastated because they can’t get what their friends have, that this leaves them feeling ashamed or ostracised or even unloved.

Outside of the cost of living crisis, there are so many other reasons that this season can feel like a pressure cooker misery. Maybe you’re living with a long-term mental health issue or caring for someone who is – eating disorders, for example, can turn the holiday into a disaster zone. Maybe you’re estranged from your family, you’re alone or isolated. Maybe your family Christmas is a minefield of sexist, racist, homophobic or transphobic microaggressions, or where you cannot be your authentic self. Perhaps you’re struggling with a bereavement and Christmas reminds you of what you’ve lost with a sharp, stabbing needle of grief.

This last point is exactly why I don’t relish the question “how was your Christmas” this year. It’s the first one since my beloved, clever, hilarious grandad died. It wasn’t just “not the same”, there was a gaping hole in the festivities. Everything felt wrong. When we went to my grandma’s house for Boxing Day and I saw one of Grandad’s shirts still hanging on the back of the bathroom door, it was like having a breezeblock dropped onto my chest, knocking all the wind out of me.

On Christmas Eve and on the 25th, I got through by burying myself in food prep, by staying busy, rushing through peeling and chopping, making lists of tasks and timings. By Boxing Day, I was exhausted and my carefully-stacked wall of composure crumbled. His chair was empty, his spark missing from dinner table conversation. He didn’t tease me about my socialist leanings or regale us all with tales of his Christmases in Barnsley in the 1940s. I felt empty, hollowed out, with only the terrible, howling rage and pain at the finality of it all.

When I stop, for a second, to think about how angry I am, how filled with loss, how much I miss this incredible, cherished person who was there for me my whole life, I can hardly breathe.

There’s a reason why the Collins Dictionary Word of the Year for 2022 is “permacrisis”. There’s the existential threat to all life on earth (cheery, eh?) – the climate crisis – plus the cost of living scandal, war in Europe, rising numbers hospitalised in the UK for Covid, workers across a range of public sector professions striking for decent, liveable pay and working conditions, a government – and, arguably, an opposition – that appears completely out of touch with the reality of life for most people in Britain; none of which is conducive to the festive spirit.

And then there is the quiet grief of families and their unique dynamics – those broken by bereavement, slimmed by estrangement, fractured by lack of acceptance.

So no, I didn’t have a good Christmas, thanks for asking.