On Solo Thanksgivings
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“Don’t spend Thanksgiving on your own,” my therapist advised me at my most recent appointment, less than a week before the November holiday.
My closest family member lives across the country, and the remainder of said family is outside of the country altogether. As a non-American, Thanksgiving has very little, if any, significance to me. It’s simply a day off, no tender memories attached.
As I woke up today at around nine A.M. after an impromptu night out with a friend at an emo party, I did my routine rounds of Instagram and Facebook, only to drown myself in adorable pictures of folks reunited with their pets, enjoying homemade meals, and seeping in tradition. Granted, social media runs on curated personas, so no one posted their racist uncles, their family’s election discourse, or any of the other less celebratory facets of family holidays. Still, as I watched other people’s merriment through a virtual window, I couldn’t help but feel like that is what I should be doing, that there is something inherently wrong about spending Thanksgiving catching up on readings under multiple blankets and eating reheated salmon leftovers in complete silence and solitude.
I engaged in highly social activities every day for the past six days, so what’s wrong with a lonely night after a…
