Diary of a Gen Z Student: Being a child of divorce at Christmas has its ups and downs

But as any child of divorced parents knows, packing a suitcase is a learned skill. And I’ve been curating it for many years. In general, being able to pack my life into a bag with a little more speed than the average person, isn’t the most useful skill. But this time of year is when it really comes into clutch.

Yes, it’s the most wonderful time of the year. Chestnuts roasting on open fires, babies appearing in mangers, unparalleled cranberry sauce consumption. Sprinting through those last few weeks of college and work before getting to put the slippers up and enjoy some well-deserved R and R. But Christmas doesn’t always end up being as slow-paced as one may hope. 

Wonderful, maybe. But if your family isn’t exactly Christmas movie perfect, it probably won’t be the most restful time of the year. If, like me, your life is divided between two homes, you’ll spend a lot of the festive season going back and forth between those homes.

Christmas Eve in one place, Christmas morning in another

Because it’s Christmas Eve in one place, Christmas morning in another, back to base camp for Christmas dinner, and on the move again for Stephen’s Day. If you’re lucky, you get a good half an hour and a cup of tea in one house before hitting the road again. 

Which means, from now until the new year, I’ll basically be living out of a suitcase. As the days go on, I lose my motivation when it comes to packing bags. You might catch me in pyjamas bottoms and a hoodie at the odd family Christmas shindig. But once I get myself to the right house at the right time, I’m not too worried about whether I’m dressed for the occasion. My presence is the best I can offer.

Now, there are obviously a few drawbacks when it comes to having divorced parents at Christmas. You’ve got twice the family gatherings to attend. 

Which is totally fine, until you remember that means twice the number of probing questions into your love life from someone you haven’t seen since last Christmas.

Twice the number of enquiries into what you’ll be doing with that college degree of yours. Then there are the obvious logistical issues, like which house Santa will drop the presents to. As a child, I always sent a second letter with the correct address on it, a few days before the big day, just to be on the safe side.

Luckily Santa always got that one right for me, but that didn’t keep me from worrying about it.

It would be dishonest if I omitted the obvious perks of a broken family Christmas. Firstly, you get to experience Christmas day, twice. In my house, those fall on the 25th and 26th.

That means there are two Christmas dinners, two Christmas stockings, and two sets of Christmas pyjamas.

"You also get to decorate two Christmas trees. If you’re lucky, you might even end up with an extra present or two: some much-earned compensation for children of divorce.

And while everyone you know is being threatened with a Bridget Jones style turkey curry on the 26th, you’re sitting down to Christmas dinner 2.0. 

Everyone’s Christmas looks different

Sure, I may not have my hair styled for half of the festive season, because the hair straightener does not make it onto my list of essentials. But who cares what my hair looks like when I’m enjoying my second turkey of the season?

You may think I’m bragging, and maybe I am. But everyone’s Christmas looks different. 

And until Santa works out how to shove one big, happy family down a chimney. I’ll take what I can get, even if that is two turkeys.

We’ve got five sleeps left until Jesus’ big day. I, for one, am more than ready for the festivities. Divvying up the time between different relations means I’ll be sacrificing some me-time.

Yes, I’ll be tired trekking between houses with a suitcase trailing behind me. But I’ve been training for this for years. My suitcase is ready to spring into action. Toothbrush, underwear, box of Quality Street and some noise-cancelling headphones at the ready.

Because it’s Christmas, and even Jesus himself would need 10 minutes of peace to make it through the chaos and cranberry sauce of it all.