What Happens When You Spend Thanksgiving Alone

It hadn't always been like this. We used to gather around fancy tables with food to feed twice as many people, pie after pie stacked high on kitchen counters. We scurried around the house with little regard to the relatives shouting at us to stay in our seats. We weren't one of those big families that saw each other once a year as a formality. The cousins were close in age and we spent weekends together out on the lake or squished into booths for Sunday dinners. Although my family had always been somewhat small, I liked that we could all squeeze into one giant dining room and shout over one another reaching across  each other for mashed potatoes or biscuits or extra butter and salt (despite the side eye from my mother). We were dysfunctional in our own right, as with every family, but we at least found comfort in our silly holiday traditions. 

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the magical aura of the holidays

faded away with all our naive views

of our once easy life

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Until there wasn't a family anymore. Well, I guess, a different type of family. The aftershock of my parents' divorce was felt years later. Holidays were no longer a festive celebration of togetherness, but rather, a complicated balancing act of traveling between two very different environments. There were now new people around, stepsiblings and stepparents and strangers we were supposed to accept wholeheartedly. While my brother and I had been doing a decent job divvying up our quality time, the magical aura of the holidays faded away with all our naive views of our once easy life. Eventually, the stress began to outweigh the benefits of traveling home for the holidays. Sure, I loved these people, but I still had so many habits that needed to change and routines that needed to be reworked. My brother chose his own escape route by leaving the country to teach abroad, to try something new, he said. Without his positive outlook and calm nature, I wasn't sure I'd be able to handle the back and forth that was sure to come. The guilt of constantly feeling like I needed to be in two places at once was, simply, not worth it.





So I cancelled. For the first time in my life, I told both my parents that I would be spending Thanksgiving alone in my apartment, three states away. The 11 hour drive and skyrocketing plane tickets were too heavy a price to pay for the brief time home that would only exhaust me. Initially, I had been excited to have some solo time. I could finally get to that book I hadn't had time to read and I could actually have some empty mornings to fit in those runs I had been putting off. But, as I should have anticipated, there was an emptiness.

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I needed to truly see if

Thanksgiving was more than 

overplanned meals

and overbooked schedules.

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The sadness didn't come until the week finally arrived. While friends were all packing their suitcases, eager to be cozied up with siblings and cousins and nieces and nephews, I prepared for a week long hiatus from life. I knew that if I wanted to at least find some silver lining by ‘canceling’ Thanksgiving and being away from the people I loved most (even if it was by choice), I needed to find a productive way to spend this time, make myself useful instead of holed in my tiny corner of the city. I needed to truly see if Thanksgiving was more than overplanned meals and overbooked schedules.

I started by searching for a shelter to volunteer at or a place to deliver meals. It was not some glorious selfless act of kindness, but rather a necessity so I didn’t dwell on the fact that I was alone on a holiday that thrived on spending time with others. While many opportunities came up, most options were too far away or already filled. It wasn’t until one of the boys I regularly tutor asked me what I was doing for Thanksgiving did I find my festivity of choice. The little guy told me how he goes to a community center every holiday to get dinner because sometimes it’s hard for his mom to feed all of his siblings. Plus, they have toys to play with and he gets to see his friends. I quickly emailed the center and they were more than welcoming to have me help out the volunteers. They typically hold a dinner for people in the neighborhood who have no where else to go. I’d spend the afternoon helping make side dishes and serving families that could use a celebratory meal…and a place with working heat. Despite my parents’ last minute protests to reconsider the trek home, I stuck to my plan. 

I was worked hard. I spent hours on me feet, meticulously peeling apples and buttering squash. In between potato mashing and dough rolling, I conversed with nearly every other volunteer in the kitchen. We had all arrived at this point through very different means, but we were all looking for the same thing. A place to feel thankful, or at least a place where we could re-evaluate what we thought that meant.

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While my heart ached for my own,

I can truly say that

I got to spend Thanksgiving

in a way I hadn't before.

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I spent the evening surrounded by little people crawling over my lap and asking me to listen to their silly songs and watch their happy dances. They shared their sticky cookies and asked me to read them stories. The paper tablecloths were covered in their messy hand prints and it was hard to see the floor through all the crumbs. The parents shared their favorite casserole recipes and asked about where my family lived, and how I ended up here. The noise, this happy, excitable, beautiful noise, filled the room. It was almost as if you could physically hear all the love being shared. I may not have been with my relatives, but I was certainly with people who were glad I was there. While my heart ached for my own, I can truly say that I got to spend Thanksgiving in a way I hadn't before, in a way where I was able to give, and be thankful. Grateful that strangers were now welcoming me as a part of their own. They were giving me far more than I could have hoped to share with them.

I had once cracked up Thanksgiving to be a time about whether I‘d have the time to bake enough for the expected guests, who would sit next to whom, and how I could travel between the various dinners I was expected to attend. This is not to say that I wasn't appreciative to have so manycaring and beautiful places to spend these quality times. Yetafter spending the past holidays being a source of frustration and jealousy between parents, I was unable to find the joy and peace that holidays were supposed to bring.

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As soon as I stopped focusing

on the pain, on the sense of loss

that caused me to feel so guilty

I could finally begin to heal.

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My alternative Thanksgiving showed me that love can be uncovered in unexpected places, whether it’s a community center or a meal with new family members and step-whomevers. It exists in even the darkest of corners, I just needed to change the lens I was looking through. As soon as I stopped focusing on the pain, on the sense of loss that caused me to feel so guilty, I could finally begin to heal. It was only then that I noticed the warm, welcoming adoration that had been there all along. My family, though redefined, had never abandoned me, it was simply in another form, disguised as chatty children, grateful neighbors, long turkey carvings with dad and pie a la mode with mom. While it may not be the holiday traditions I was used to, it was time to start some new ones anyways.

By: Juliette Kopp

Image Source: Pinterest