What I Burned This Xmas 🔥

Hey friend,

Today was Christmas. How did you fare?

I thought that if I had a beautiful Winter Solstice, the energy of it could carry me so strongly that I wouldn't be triggered by Christmas this year. And honestly, I had a deeply insightful Yule with an abundance of fun. But I wasn’t prepared for the wave of emotion that showed up on Christmas, or for the sudden, powerful urge to call my mother, someone I have not spoken to in more than a decade.

For weeks, I 'd had this inexplicable desire to tell her that I am trans. When I came out to her as gay at sixteen, she made me leave her house. We have been no-contact for many years for lots of good reasons. I have come to understand that what once felt like abandonment was actually liberation in disguise.

In every way that matters, I have re-mothered myself.

Still, transitioning has felt a lot like going through puberty again. Old memories surface. Old feelings ask to be felt. Lately, my inner child has been loud and furious, and she teamed up with my inner mean girl to suggest something truly unhelpful: call your mother on Christmas and give her a piece of your mind.

Pretty petty, right?

When the moment came, I knew opening that door would invite things back into my life that I’ve worked very hard to release. I felt stuck between knowing my mother was a source of harm, and grieving the fact that she was never able to love me in the way I needed. Both truths wanted space. I didn’t know how to hold them at once.

Then I remembered the advice I so often give to others.

Write a letter.

Write a letter knowing that they’re never going to receive it because you’re not going to give it to them. Make the pen your instrument of truth. Bleed it all out on the page. Then, burn it. Cleanse yourself, eat something, and sit in stillness in nature.

And so I did. I wrote a letter to my mother and burned it. It felt so good, I wrote a letter to my father and burned that one too. I took a shower. I ate something. I sat in the sun. I fed some feral chickens.

I was silly to think that Christmas wouldn’t stir things up, especially as a 53-year-old woman of transgender experience who has only fully lived in that authenticity for two years. It makes sense that as I reevaluate my life from a new vantage point, I would have to reexamine my upbringing. And within that family aperture, the holidays can hold a certain tension, specifically Christmas.

I can say with all conviction, however, that today’s ritual was akin to a soul retrieval: there was a part of me that I felt someone else had, and I reclaimed it. I do feel much better, knowing that I don’t have to open that portal ever again and that I can create the closure I need, right here, right now.

I wanted to share this with you in case you were dealing with complicated feelings about the holidays—to know you are not alone. Maybe the ritual I mentioned can help you too. If that's the case, I wish you well with it. Thank you for listening and letting me share.

I’m off now to watch Canada’s Drag Race, listen to George Michael’s “Last Christmas” for the 18th time today, play a little Marvel Snap!, and then eagerly anticipate the sixth episode of Heated Rivalry (see you at the cottage).

Magickally Yours,

~Violet-Storm 💜⛈️