When a child is born

CHRISTMAS has always been a festive season because it marks the winter solstice, when finally darkness is vanquished by light.

The Romans decorated their temples with greenery at the feast, the Druids employed mistletoe, and the Germanic tribes used holly and ivy.

These customs have been transferred to the Christian festival. The simple story of a baby’s birth to a young mother and father, which marks the moment when they became a family, is a tale we’ve all grown up with. As children we visited the crib, and saw paintings of the scene on Christmas cards.

We joined in the singing of carols about it. Christmas was a carefree time of innocence and happiness.

It’s still a magical time of glittering decorations and colourfully wrapped presents, of spicy cooking smells, and generous visits with relatives. As adults we’ve shared in the anxieties and joy of childbirth, so our perspective on the legend has imperceptibly changed.

The benign story of hope is surrounded for us by many elements that evoke the harsher realities of the age in which we live, an age of displacement and migration, of austerity and mortgage arrears. The young couple are about to have a baby away from home with no family support. There’s no room for them at the inn so they have to seek shelter and make do in a stable. The Christmas myth lives on with a darker, more anxious resonance.

That shift in perspective also marks the passage from living as a dependent child when all your needs were blissfully catered for, into inhabiting the vulnerable world of the adult. Now you’re obliged to take responsibility for yourself and for those around you.

Like at the moment of the winter solstice, light and darkness are equally a part of this picture: both the carefree world of the playing child, but also the obligating world of the adult.

It’s a wider perspective on what it means to be a mature human being. We understand all too well our obligations towards others, particularly to the children in our care, but we sometimes forget we also have obligations towards ourselves, and that we need to protect the child within.

Christmas is a time of goodwill. It’s a time of family reunions, of get-togethers with friends, a celebration of solidarity and of love. And that goodwill should also extend to yourself. Why would you feel obliged to invite to your Christmas table people who don’t like you, who don’t treat you well, or who behave badly? Give yourself permission to cater for your own needs in this respect, instead of exposing yourself to certain torture. Express your solidarity with others by inviting into your home those who wish you well, who are supportive, and who have the good manners to behave properly.

Why would you go home to spend Christmas with your elderly mother, if your time is spent looking after your brothers and sisters, who visit with their families over the Christmas period and expect to be royally catered for? Visit your mother off-season, and go somewhere for Christmas that you’ll enjoy, and that will add to your sense of wellbeing.

Obligations must come from the heart and not be imposed from without; otherwise, they’ll become too heavy a burden and cause trouble. Your well-being will be put at risk, you’ll be filled with resentment at having had your hands tied, and such an atmosphere of tension will make Christmas an unhappy experience for everyone.

Why would your partner oblige you to do something you don’t want to do? You’re not being childishly indulgent by insisting on your own needs, and on creating healthy boundaries to protect yourself.

Why would your parents, your in-laws, or elderly relatives whom you never see from one end of the year to the next, take precedence over the wellbeing of yourself and your family?

You have an obligation to look after those in your care, and that also includes you. So verbalise your boundaries, and be clear about what you’re doing when you seek to establish new ground rules. You may get a shocked reaction, or surprise, even feigned ignorance, but enforce those boundaries with love and compassion, and stand your ground.

Christmas is a time of heightened expectations, so ringfence it, and postpone life-changing decisions until later in the New Year. The first priority is the children, who will carry with them like a security blanket fond memories of loving childhood Christmases.

They are the helpless victims in the situation since Christmas is provided for them, whereas an adult has the power to make this festival a time of wonder and magic, or to ruin it with bad behaviour. So a good rule, particularly at this special time of year, is to put the children first.

Be careful of your drinking. And if you’re living with someone who is dependent on alcohol, or who drinks harmfully, remember you’re as helpless over the addiction as the alcoholic: you can’t fix the problem, it’s not personal (“if you really cared for us...”). The addict cares primarily about the drug so don’t blame yourself (“the only reason I drink is because of you...”).

Don’t buy into that, because the drink-dependent person will drink no matter what you say or do. At this season of merriment, set boundaries for yourself about what is acceptable — the boundaries are for you because you can’t control anyone else — and don’t accept unreasonable behaviour.

Nobody, least of all children, should have to deal with hangovers. You can change your circumstances at Christmas by looking after your own interests and those of your children, and you can educate yourself and get support when the New Year comes around.

Finally, because we live with the child within, we may have impossible expectations of a Christmas filled with light and peace, of singing angels and gentle shepherds, where darkness is banished and harmony and happiness prevail.

Nothing in this life has any business being perfect. We have to manage that child within, and not let our two-year-old selves get to the stage of throwing a tantrum. So another rule of thumb is to postpone the row until after the New Year.

By that stage, the confrontation may have lost most of its power. The contingencies of Christmas refer to the condition of being free to live your life as you would wish, especially at Christmas time. That freedom is within our power, but like all freedoms, it must be fought for and held.

The obligations we feel at Christmas need to be heart-felt, of our own choosing, and to be carried out with love and in solidarity. It’s the adult way to make Christmas a joyful time for the child in all of us, and to bring some light into the darkness of an uncertain and anxious world.

* Michael Murphy is a broadcaster, psychoanalyst and author. His first poetry collection The Republic of Love appeared in the summer, and his second book of prose The House of Pure Being was published by Liberties Press in September. Both are available in bookshops.