There’s nothing like the smell of chicken hearts and gizzards boiling in a sauce pan on the stove.

Deb is a holiday traditionalist. And one of her most important Thanksgiving traditions is making her Mom’s stuffing. It’s become a more significant tradition now that her Mom is no longer able to celebrate the holiday with her. For years they’d gather the day before Thanksgiving to combine the bread and the meat and the spices and, yes, the boiled chicken hearts and gizzards, and create a staple of their holiday meal.

It was more than just making stuffing. It was a bond between mother and daughter forged in the ritual of perpetuating a very important tradition.

Beautiful.

Yet, now bittersweet.

Sometimes the holidays can be quite painful. T’is not always the season to be jolly. Loss and emptiness can be excruciatingly magnified at a time of expected joy and glee. We’ve all experienced our own form of hurt, longing for what once was, longing for what never was, now seasonally contrasted against the backdrop of all things shiny and bright.

I think back to some of the more traumatic events in my life, wounds annually reopening as I balance my own levels of bitter and sweet this time of year. I think of friends and their childhood traumas and how their inner pain silently crushes their holiday spirit, no matter how much they may be smiling on the outside. I think of others who find no reason to smile at all and can’t wait for the holidays to simply be over, their chosen method of getting through an emotionally challenging season.

Pain is a holiday tradition for a great many, a pain often dealt with in silence and in isolation.

My journey has changed my relationship with what pains me. It’s taken the better part of a lifetime, but I’ve slowly learned to allow myself to feel the hurt. It’s mine, it’s real, it’s valid, and needs no explanation nor justification. It’s not something I suppress nor minimize. I owe myself a compassionate space to honor an important part of who I am, especially if that important part is pain.

Perhaps your hurt deserves it’s own compassionate space within you. Because your pain is real, valid, and needs no explanation nor justification.

Compassion is always in season, no matter the time of the year. But at this “festive” time of the year may we all create a compassionate safe space for others who inner struggles temper their ability to feel festive. We may not know of their challenges, but we all struggle to one degree or another.

They tell me that pain is a part of being human.

So is being compassionate.

To others.

And to yourself.

Photo by Christina Abken on Unsplash

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