The Worst Holiday Stories Ever
The holiday season can be super fun…or a massive headache. Family drama, annoying visitors, and scheduling conflicts are a hassle for many of us.
Whether it be Christmas, Thanksgiving, or even just a birthday, sometimes we definitely WON’T be looking forward to going back home for the holidays.
1. Can’t Please Everyone
I stopped celebrating Christmas with my mom some time ago. When I was a teenager, about 15 to 17 years old, my parents were going through a bitter divorce. So, I'd spend Christmas Eve and part of the morning with my dad, then head over to my mom's family for Christmas dinner. This arrangement seemed to make my mom really upset.
She was so distraught over me sharing Christmas with my dad that she opted to neither sit with me nor talk to me during dinner.
Later, when night fell and we were prepping for bed in our shared room, she was busy clacking away on her keyboard and remained silent towards me.
Needing sleep, I asked her to soften her typing, and this triggered an outburst from her. Ultimately, she accused me of spoiling Christmas. Thankfully, my grandpa stepped in and drove me to meet my dad at an ungodly hour, 1 AM.
I can't express how much I appreciate my grandpa rescuing me from that terrible ordeal.
2. The Evil Stepfather
My mom was extremely self-centered. She remarried when I was around ten, and her new husband became the center of her universe. She was always mean, but her tactics were mostly emotional and psychological.
After consistently tolerating her harsh behavior, he began to fully support it. That's when my life switched from just difficult to a downright nightmare. For example, when I was eleven, his three sons visited us during the school's Christmas break.
They were lavished with presents while I didn't get even one. Their justification was completely unjust. They attempted to convince me that I was less deserving than his three well-behaved sons.
His eldest son, who was about twelve at the time, felt sorry for me. So, he gave me one of his gifts, an RC car.
However, when they discovered me playing with it, they took it back. Even though the eldest son revealed that he gave it to me, my stepdad did nothing more than scold him gently and then escorted me outdoors.
He asked me to watch as he purposely drove his mammoth truck over the RC car, destroying it.
Afterward, as a form of punishment for "stealing" presents from his sons, I was made to sleep on the hard, cold basement floor. Because of those awful experiences, I stopped celebrating Christmas entirely.
The entire holiday period just triggers an overwhelming mix of distressing memories from my upbringing.
3. A Broken Memento
My grandmother passed and left me a keepsake. I discovered it had been broken by my mother after I returned from the bathroom. This upset me, and my mother lost her temper. She began shouting before stormily leaving the room.
I wasn't comfortable talking back to her as a kid, but lately, my patience with her erratic behavior has run thin, leading me simply to stare at her till she left.
I confronted her outside, asking with frustration if she still wanted to be part of my family. She said, "No," and with that, I walked away.
She chased after me, continuously yelling insults and belittling me. It felt like a classic narcissistic strategy, aimed at eroding a person's self-esteem to control them. I told her I would only communicate with her again in a legal setting.
So, for the first time this holiday season, I won't be spending it with my family.
Instead, I'll be enjoying it with my wife's family, who are genuinely kind people.
4. Making It Manageable
In one year, my two brothers got into a physical fight right on our front yard. In another instance, they thought it was a great idea to cut down the Christmas tree I purchased, claiming they were just "adjusting its size" to fit the stand.
I take up the task of doing the majority of the cooking, but end up spending my time in the living room with some of my brothers' pals since there's no space left at the dining table.
It's like I'm constantly playing the peacekeeper, and I also have the responsibility of buying or at least wrapping my own gifts.
So yeah, these days, I avoid going home for the holidays. But there is some kind of karmic justice. Ever since I began this new tradition, I regularly get calls lamenting about how disastrously chaotic the holidays turn out without me. A sweet irony, isn't it?
Instead, I prefer to spend these times with my loving husband—someone who actually buys me gifts, wraps them, and acknowledges the time and effort I put in.
