It’s December already. I’m not quite sure where November went, but according to my calendar, it’s come and gone. This time last year, I was knee-deep in Christmas presents, decorations, and plans for elaborate activities. Today, I have yet to buy one present, and I’m kind of just playing the whole holiday season by ear. I didn’t even go Black Friday shopping this year, while last year I went totally overboard and spent some ridiculous amount of money on a bunch of crap I can’t remember.

I’m looking forward to a Christmas season unmarred by the crying jags, emotional outbursts, and rampant spending and eating that were par for the course when I celebrated holidays under the influence of postpartum depression. I can’t wait for nights curled up on the couch with hot chocolate and a rewatching of Phantom of the Opera, which for some reason always puts me in the Christmas spirit. I’ll be leaving in the past the frenetic hours spent wrapping gifts and trolling the mall for just one more thing.

This year, I’ll finally be able to keep the promise I’ve made to my husband every year for the last four Christmases: I’ll go easy on the presents. In the past, I’ve gone crazy buying up anything and everything that remotely reminded me of a friend or relative, thinking that I’d be able to buy love and affection with the best or the most gifts. It is the only thing that ever really comes between my husband and me during the holidays; he grew up in a third-world country, without all the materialistic trappings associated with Christmas in America. He can’t understand my need to give elaborate gifts to everyone we know. Truth is, I never really understood it, either.

I can see now that my inclination to spend every moment of the holiday season shopping, wrapping, decorating, eating, cooking, or whatever came from my complete dissatisfaction with my life as it was. I was so numb that I did whatever I could to feel something, even if it was unauthentic. I was unhappy with my weight, so I ate to cover up my shame. I felt unloved and unnecessary, so I compensated by shopping for gifts that would make my friends and family love me. I arranged ceaseless activities so I had no time to reflect on the fact that I wasn’t really having fun doing them.

The biggest difference I’ve noticed between this Christmas and last is the silence. I don’t need Christmas music playing or the babble of crowds at the mall; I’ve been spending the past few afternoons while my children nap reading a book—for the first time in months. I’ve left myself as much time as I want or need to just sit and read or write, no strings attached. If the dishes sit or the laundry remains unfolded, so be it. I need the quiet. It affirms to me that I’m still me, that I didn’t completely lose myself in the battle with PPD. I can sit alone with my thoughts and not panic, not cry, not drive myself to distraction with doubts and fears and worries. I can just be.

Without all the to-do lists I’ve tied myself to in holiday seasons past, I find myself enjoying Christmas in a whole new way. Instead of feeling the artificial and fleeting high of watching someone opening a gift I’d spent hours researching, buying, and wrapping just so, I get the real rush that comes from surveying my life and realizing that I am truly blessed.

-Alexis Lesa