I’m not a psychologist, nor did I ever get that minor in psychology I wanted back in college. But it doesn’t take a degree to realize that I often use humor to cope with tough emotions. Laughter is my shield against pain, a way to make sadness feel lighter.
Take the Elf on the Shelf, for instance. I poke fun at it like many others do, claiming I don’t have the time or energy for such antics. Truth be told, it’s a bit of both—I am kind of lazy. But the real reason is much deeper; that elf brings back memories of my childhood that I’d rather not confront.
Growing up, my brother and I had a tradition of playing hide and seek with our elf every December. He’d hide it around the living room while I searched, and he’d sit in his oversized green chair, teasing me with hints of “hotter” or “colder.” We’d laugh and giggle, and as the years went by, we made the hiding spots trickier and the teasing more hilarious. It became our holiday ritual—a cherished time I looked forward to every year.
But now, I say “was” because he’s no longer with us. He lost his battle with depression just over two years ago. So every time I see that elf, I’m flooded with emotions. I can’t help but wonder if he was struggling with dark thoughts while we played. Did he ever think about our game during the Christmases when he was alone? It’s too heavy a burden to carry, so I chuckle about the elf instead, pushing those memories aside.
However, the game changed recently. My kids asked for an elf after a delightful day filled with laughter, shopping, and a visit to Santa. They spotted it in a toy store, and my son, with his hopeful eyes, asked if we could get one. My heart softened a bit, but then I was hit with a wave of nostalgia for those Christmases with my brother. I choked back tears and struggled to respond.
“I’ll pay for it with my own money,” my son said, and in that moment, I realized I had to let go of my walls. I told him we would get the elf, but I set new rules: “In our house, the elf works differently. You’ll both take turns hiding it.” They were thrilled, instantly brainstorming names for our new elf and deciding who would hide it first.
As I listen to my kids giggling and playing, I’m reminded of the joy I once shared with my brother. It’s a bittersweet echo of a time I can never reclaim, but it’s also a chance to create new memories filled with laughter and love. The tradition lives on with my children, and that brings me comfort.
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Summary:
Navigating the holiday season can be complicated when cherished memories intermingle with painful loss. This piece reflects on the author’s experience with the Elf on the Shelf, a symbol of joy that triggers memories of a lost sibling. Ultimately, embracing new traditions with her children allows for the continuation of joyful moments, blending the past with the present.