Wrapped in Chaos, Ready for Calm

Burnout & Sparkle OR Wrapped in Chaos, Ready for Calm

I was eighteen, a mamma,

my Christmas order —

my turn, realm, baton, me —

began in 1992.

Stockings, brothers,

memories stitched together

because my teenage years

had little joy.

And I carried it,

year after year,

twenty four years of chaos carried,

twenty four years of Christmas storms.

With a joy filled heart,

the pulse of the race, pulled me.

Mum and dad rolled into one,

organising, cooking,

pleasing everyone.

Married to the Grinch,

but still I lit the tree.

Years of sparkle,

until sparkle burned out.

I gave away the decorations,

the trees, the plastic,

the endless rush.

I stopped.

I loved Christmas—

the carols, the lights,

but not the presents,

too much pressure

on giver and taker.

Why not a £10 gift,

just for gift’s sake?

But it never washed.

The family grew,

the mix got heavy.

Juggling places,

juggling people,

juggling joy.

Stress I carried alone.

Now I see the manic dash,

the panic buying,

the rat race of December.

None of it is worth the stress.

Absolutely none.

I want a farmhouse table,

organic turkey,

vegetables from the earth,

handmade,

no plastic,

just love.

I want hugs,

words,

poems free as air.

Cards written,

tea sipped,

biscuits dipped.

Slow down.

Pause.

Breathe.

Christmas is not the rush,

it is the pause—

the hug, the word, the song.

Happy is free.

I choose it.

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