The Wall

The holidays feel like emotional fraud. You fake normal hard enough for the kids, for the family, for the pictures, for the tradition, and then afterward you crash like you’ve been in a car accident. That rebound is real. Nobody warns you about that part. The emotional hangover after performing “we’re okay” for a whole day. I’m not even saying the good moments aren’t real. The kids really did have fun. I really did laugh at something. I really did want them to have a decent day. But under all of it was this constant pressure, this suppression, this internal bracing against the fact that the whole event is built around a hole. Then the guests leave. The wrapping paper settles. The dishes are stacked. And suddenly all the grief you muscled past shows up with interest. It’s like your nervous system says, “Cool, now that the production is over, here’s the bill.” So if I seem wrecked the day after a holiday, that’s why. I didn’t drink. I didn’t party. I survived. Apparently that’s exhausting too.