Stress.

There are times when you expect it. Such as Christmas.

Who doesn't get stressed at Christmas? Difficult families, too much food, the cynical commercialisation of a once-religious festival that used to be about something a bit more meaningful, mood swings scheduled to co-incide with the end of the afternoon film. It is naturally a bit wearing on the nerves of someone with disorders in the areas of eating, socialising and the appreciation of James Bond. (That last one hasn't been diagnosed yet, in case you were wondering.) In past years I've ended the day by screaming at people, throwing plates of cold turkey sandwiches at the wall, retreating to my room to cry, bashing out Tori Amos songs on the piano or throwing up. Distant relatives have started to take bets on what I'll be doing to ruin the family gathering next year; my six-year-old cousin finds it all particularly exciting and is hoping for actual broken windows. Personally, I'm planning on a retreat centre run by nuns in Devon.

For the record, I don't hate Christmas: midnight communion on Christmas Eve is possibly the most wonderful moment of the year, and I always wish I could just sit there in the church until Easter Sunday. But the effects of the stress that comes with this time of year can last for months, and it's these that are the real problem. Indeed, if this were the most stressful time of year, I could perhaps live with it. Christmas comes but once a year (and when it comes, you keep the china out of Naomi's reach), after all. But alas, there many more stress-inducing events between one Christmas and the next. And, as with the Dreaded Festival, it's the long-term effects of the stress that make these times really damaging.

"You control your stress well, don't you?" asks a beleaguered-looking colleague across the table as we eat standard hall-of-residence-dinnertime-slop-for-future-teachers. I grin at her and claim to have had lots of practice, but she has a point. I've learned how to prepare in advance for the inevitable mood swings, anxiety, migraines, lack of appetite, self-destructive reactions, sudden, desperate requirements for alcohol, caffeine and chocolate, and plate-throwing incidents to which I've become so accustomed - to the point where none of them are all that inevitable anymore. I still feel pretty awful when the stress piles on, but it's definitely getting easier to deal with. Quite a triumph, I feel.

Now, if I can just learn to deal with Christmas...

Alternatively, there's always the retreat with the nuns in Devon. See you on Easter Sunday.

December 2002