While I may not possess the credentials of a psychiatrist or psychotherapist, I do recognize my tendency to use humor as a coping strategy. I often mask my pain with laughter, reframing sadness into something lighter.
Take, for example, the Elf on the Shelf. Like many, I’ve poked fun at it, claiming I don’t have the time or energy for such a tradition. However, that’s only partially true; the deeper reality is that this elf evokes memories that are too painful to confront.
During my childhood, my brother and I had our own unique way of interacting with an elf, similar to the one now marketed widely. Each December, my brother would hide the elf in the living room while I searched for it, guided by his playful hints of “hotter” or “colder.” This simple game brought us joy and laughter, and it became a cherished ritual that extended beyond our childhood years.
Sadly, my brother is no longer here, having lost his battle with depression a little over two years ago. Now, when I see that elf, I am overwhelmed with memories that bring tears to my eyes. I can’t help but wonder if he struggled silently during those joyous times. Did he remember our game during the Christmases he spent alone? The weight of such thoughts is heavy, and I find it difficult to dwell on them. So, I often resort to humor to deflect the pain.
Recently, however, my perspective shifted. While enjoying a lovely day with my children—after visiting Santa and sharing a delightful lunch—we stumbled upon the elf in a toy store. My children, blissfully unaware of my emotional turmoil, were filled with excitement and joy.
When my son eagerly asked, “Mom, can we get this?” his hopeful gaze melted my resistance. It sparked a flood of memories from my own past Christmases. I felt a wave of emotion and struggled to respond. Then, my son offered to buy it with his own money, which finally broke down my defenses. I agreed to purchase the elf for them, but I decided we would adapt the rules to fit our family’s unique dynamic.
I explained to my children, “Here, the elf works a bit differently. You will take turns hiding him.” We agreed that they could also play hide-and-seek with the elf during the day. Their laughter and excitement filled the car ride home, and I felt a sense of joy I hadn’t experienced in a long time.
Hearing their giggles as they played with the elf reminded me of the happiness I shared with my brother—moments that I will always treasure. Despite the bittersweet memories, I realized that a Christmas tradition could continue, creating new memories while honoring the past.
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In summary, while humor can serve as a shield against painful memories, embracing new traditions can bring healing and joy. The stories we create with our children can help honor those we’ve lost while fostering love and warmth in our homes.
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