The Christmas Tree
Ever have one of those nights where you're lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, but your mind won't stop racing with ideas, words, and abstract images about how to express what's on your mind? That’s me, the night of January 1st at midnight—wide awake in the stillness of the house. With my cochlear implants charging and no light seeping in from under my door, the silence feels complete. Or so I imagine. :)
Just moments ago, I was reflecting on the past few weeks. My kids have been home from school for two full weeks, during which we celebrated Christmas, marked the 10th anniversary of the family we created, and welcomed the new year, 2025. So much to be grateful for, right? And yet, beneath it all, I’ve been deeply depressed. The symptoms, like unwelcome guests, barged back in—triggered, oddly enough, by a Christmas tree.
To unpack these feelings, I need to take you back through some pivotal moments over the past few years, each tied to this season in one way or another.
For years, Heather and I had talked about upgrading our faux Christmas tree, intending to snag one during a post-holiday sale. Yet every year, something got in the way—timing, money, or life itself. This year felt different. After Thanksgiving, we pulled out our well-worn tree from the basement, but we were determined this would be its last appearance. We set aside a budget, found a sale happening just days before Christmas, and made a plan. Full of excitement, we loaded the kids into the van and drove 40 minutes to the store.
Once there, the holiday magic started to fade. Among the discounted decorations, Heather found a tree she liked and turned to me: “What do you think of this one?” That’s when it hit—a sudden wave of anxiety that left me frozen. I mumbled something logical about waiting for a better sale after Christmas, and Heather reluctantly agreed. But I could see the disappointment in her eyes.
As we wrangled the kids and made our way back to the van, I felt myself shutting down. The drive home was quiet—at least for me. I told Heather I needed a power nap when we got home, but what I really needed was solitude. Tears I’d been holding back all day finally spilled as I curled up under my blanket with my cochlear implants off.
What hit me in that store wasn’t just about a Christmas tree. It was the weight of Decembers past. In December 2021, I came out to Heather. By December 2022, I was wrestling with my faith and what it meant for my future. A year later, in December 2023, my son asked me if I was gay, opening a floodgate of questions. By January 2024, Heather and I made the difficult decision to divorce.
Now, in December 2024, standing in a store filled with holiday cheer, I was battling an invisible storm. Depression whispered that I was failing at everything—failing my kids, failing Heather, failing myself. For the first time, I resented Christmas.
When Heather texted from downstairs to ask if I was okay, I couldn’t lie nor did I have the strength to say much. I typed, “no.” Just that one word was enough to start unraveling the tangle of thoughts in my mind. Heather, having faced her own struggles with depression, understood. Through texts, I shared everything weighing on me—the tree, the memories, the overwhelming pressure. Her empathy helped me find enough strength to rejoin the evening’s chaos with the kids.
That night, after the kids went to bed, Heather and I talked more. The next day, despite almost skipping it, we made it to Christmas church service for the kids and family. And the day after Christmas, we finally bought a new tree. It wasn’t just a purchase; it felt like a step toward healing.
Since then, I’ve found solace in Matt Haig’s book, Reasons to Stay Alive. It’s been a lifeline, reminding me to share my experiences and illuminate what depression and anxiety can look like. Because even in the quiet, when the cochlear implants are off and the world feels distant, there’s power in connection and hope for brighter Decembers ahead.
-David
Bonus Content: Full Recoding of “What A Year” from the sneak peek I shared on Instagram.
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What A Year
Verse 1
January came with a heavy load,
A future unclear, walking an unknown road.
Divorce was the step we didn’t foresee,
But it opened the door to who we could be.
Each day we tried, for the kids, for us,
Building a life in this fragile trust.
Pre-Chorus
Letting go of what used to define,
Facing the fear, crossing the line.
Chorus
What a year, what a climb,
Breaking down the walls of time.
Every heartbreak brought us near,
To the truth we needed to hear.
New beginnings, lessons learned,
Through the ashes, hope returned.
Verse 2
Tough road trips with silence in the air,
Conversations weighted with all we’d shared.
Learning desire, the ache of the new,
The sting of heartbreak, and what is true.
Pre-Chorus
Each day we tried, for the kids, for us,
Building a life in this fragile trust.
Letting go of what used to define,
Facing the fear, crossing the line.
The voices around us, they fade away,
We’re finding our rhythm, our own new way.
Chorus
What a year, what a climb,
Breaking down the walls of time.
Every heartbreak brought us near,
To the truth we needed to hear.
New beginnings, lessons learned,
Through the ashes, hope returned.
Bridge
We’ve rewritten the rules, redefined the game,
No need for the world to validate our name.
In the quiet of the night, we find our peace,
The weight of the past starts to release.
Chorus
What a year, what a climb,
Breaking down the walls of time.
Every heartbreak brought us near,
To the truth we needed to hear.
New beginnings, lessons learned,
Through the ashes, hope returned.
Outro
What a year to lose and to grow,
To unearth the strength we didn’t know.
2024, you made it clear,
Life begins again when you face the fear.
