Christmas thoughts, love and shit!


My Christmas list growing up used to be pages and pages long. I was a needy person. Not just in a materialistic sense, but also in an emotional sense. I needed attention, things, love, things, acknowledgement, things and all shit stuff that was on the commercial. Both of my brothers were the opposite. When I cried because I thought that I had gotten too little gifts they cried because they’d got things they didn’t need. They didn’t cry because they wanted other things instead but because they didn’t want mum and dad to use all their recourses on things that they didn’t really need. This scenario actually happened probably sixteen years in a row. One million gifts were never enough for me.

When I think about it now I wonder why I was never satisfied. Even as a small child my mum couldn’t take me shopping for cabbage without me pulling a tantrum in the middle of the shampoo isle because I’d seen a colourful *insert whatever the fuck you want* that I felt like I needed with my whole body. It could even be a cat toy my body screamed for, and I didn’t even have a cat. Whatever was there I needed.

As I start breaking this down now, older and wiser, I hope, I realise that I probably was broken already from the start. I was an energetic child with so many emotions that I had a hard time grounding myself and really focus on one thing within. It comes with some kind of impulsiveness and anxiousness of a colourful emotional life. With no colour exclusions. I guess that I didn’t realise that emotions were things I could grasp and I needed external things to be able to connect to my emotions. It’s sort of like music and when you feel like you need a soundtrack to your mood.

Both my brothers always pursued their inner passions and got an outlet for their creativity; they made music, films and amazing drawings and I just didn’t know how to connect to my inner… spirit? I always felt like I had something to prove, people to prove, and I didn’t know how to do that. I needed things to define me because I had no idea how to define who I was without them. Because how can you define something you don’t know?

I should probably point out that my parents didn’t give in to my tantrums in stores. They didn’t spoil me with anything other than love, but still, I acted like the stereotypical lonely child of divorced parents.

I now wonder when I am a parent and if I get a child like myself what I can do to support? How can I help my child to find peace? How can I make my child understand that material things isn’t what should define you? How can you make a lost child connect with his/hers inner emotional life and find peace and confidence in just being? How can you make a child express their inner emotions through life and not suppressing them?

Life is a lot of things and it is different depending on who is looking and when. Many people, me included, used to see only what we didn’t have or didn’t get instead of what we had and actually did get. I had so much love surrounding me, but I couldn’t see it, because I wasn’t in contact with my inner spirit. Or maybe my spirit hadn’t yet arrived to see it? But now I see the fact that I am now able to see and that make me grateful to say the least. I see what I’ve got and I see what I have to give, and now I honestly know that that has always been on top of my list, even if I couldn’t see it then.

130 thoughts on “Christmas thoughts, love and shit!”

  1. Maya ❤️
    Min älskade Maya ❤️
    Ja du ville mycket, allt inkluderat, och du lärde oss att inte bara säga nej nej nej. Det blev så tråkigt med alla dessa nej.

    Vi fick börja tänka efter, vad vi verkligen svarade och hur vi svarade.Ja eller nej?
    Inte bara nej Maya nej. Du krävde en förklaring varför inte och vi fick lära oss att resonera och resunera med dig tills du accepterade ett nej.
    Ja, inte alltid så lätt men det gick till slut. Stark egen vilja, om! Bra egenskap när man väl kan förvalta det, det kommer, så har jag alltid sett det och trott på, på dig Maya❤️

    Och jag tänker på dikten av Kahlil Gibran ur Ingen äger mig
    Du vet, dikten som alltid står där på kylskåpsdörren.

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