I’m not a psychologist or a therapist, nor did I ever complete that psychology minor I once aimed for in college. However, I’m keenly aware that I often rely on humor to cope with life’s challenges. I use laughter to deflect pain and to make sadness more bearable.
Take the Elf on the Shelf, for example. I’ve joked about it like many others do, claiming I don’t have the time or energy for such a tradition. But the truth is a bit more complicated. The reality is that the Elf on the Shelf stirs up memories of a childhood elf that carries heavy emotional weight for me.
When I was younger, my brother and I would play a game of hide and seek with that elf every December. He would hide it in the living room while I searched, with him teasingly guiding me by saying I was getting “hotter” or “colder.” We laughed and played this game consistently throughout the holiday season, even past the age when most kids had moved on to other activities. It was a cherished tradition that I eagerly anticipated every year.
But now, I can’t think about those memories without feeling a deep ache in my heart. Just over two years ago, my brother lost his battle with depression, and the joy of those Christmases past is tinged with sorrow. I can’t help but wonder if he was struggling during those seemingly carefree moments. Did he think about our game during the holidays when he felt isolated? These thoughts are too painful to dwell on, so I often deflect them with humor.
Recently, everything shifted when my children asked for an elf. We had just enjoyed a delightful afternoon filled with laughter and visits to Santa when we stumbled upon the elf in a toy store. My kids, blissfully unaware of the emotional turmoil surrounding that elf, were thrilled by the idea. My son approached me with hope in his eyes, asking if we could take it home.
In that moment, I was taken back to those joyful Christmases with my brother. I felt overwhelmed; I struggled to contain my emotions. But then, my son offered to buy the elf with his own money, and I decided to let down my guard. I agreed to purchase the elf for them, feeling the weight of my memories lift just a bit.
As I placed the elf into our cart, I decided to make our tradition unique. I told my children, “In our home, the elf has a different role. You’ll take turns hiding it and finding it.” Their excitement was contagious; they eagerly named our new elf and began planning their game.
Listening to their laughter as they played has reminded me of the simple joy I experienced with my brother. While those moments are gone forever, they live on in the happiness of my children, creating new memories with the elf. A cherished tradition continues.
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In summary, I chose to embrace the tradition of the Elf on the Shelf with my children, transforming a painful memory into an opportunity for new joy and laughter, while still holding onto the precious memories of my brother.