This article is for those of you with fractured families. Maybe the holidays have always been stressful and unpleasant because your family argues. Maybe it’s worse in the 2020s because your family is at political odds, and your liberal family actually thinks you’re a Nazi and says so. Maybe you’ve been estranged from your family for years.

My guess is that many people who fit the description above have abandoned Christmas or any holiday celebrations. I know I did for years. My sister and I grew up in a family headed by an abusive, mentally and morally deranged mother. Our childhood was full of screaming, wooden spoons broken across our backsides, and bizarre punishments for crimes we didn’t commit.

My mother wasn’t actually there in the room with us in 1985. She didn’t see us. She was a little girl in her cold childhood home in 1960 screaming at her parents.

Maybe you’ve abandoned some of your family’s traditions too. Maybe, like me, you’ve spent years alone at Christmas. You don’t put up a tree. You don’t make that special dish.

But you don’t have to let the sorrowful ghosts of Christmases past turn every Christmas future into lonely melancholy. If you have just one single friend, or one single family member whose company you enjoy, I encourage you to haul out the holly, make that special dish, and bring the peace and comfort of Christmas back into your life.

If you grew up like I did, you need this, and you deserve it.

Going home, wherever that may be

This year, my sister and I are going to have a merry Christmas with her family. We are estranged from our mother but not from each other. Now my sister, my brother-in-law, and my nephew are my family. When I visit them at Christmas, I’m going home.

We’re going to have a loving holiday like we wanted to have, but could not, when we were children. We’re going to cook for each other, sing along to the Carpenters’ Christmas album (on a record player, of course), and string popcorn with a needle and thread to make the old-fashioned poor-people garlands we loved to put on the tree when we were young.

That’s not the only family tradition we’re going to relive, and that’s key. While we had a nightmare childhood, there were parts of it that are worth cherishing. There are traditions in our family that we do not have to “let go.” We don’t have to allow the traditions to be emotionally contaminated by our mother’s histrionic meltdowns at the holidays.

That was a lesson my sister and I learned only over time. In my younger years, I stayed by myself doing nothing and celebrating nothing. “Christmas” seemed like a sick and painful joke. What was there to celebrate (I recognize the religious celebration of Jesus’ birth, but I’m focused on something different here) about a time of year that brought shouting, accusations, and thrown dishes?

Our mother had borderline personality disorder. Such people have wild, extreme mood swings within minutes or hours. Under stress, they often lose their ability to control their emotions at all. For example, our mother could swing from raucous laughter to ugly crying while making plausibly deniable suicide threats: “I don’t feel I have anything to live for, and none of you would miss me anyway.”

She tried

But you know, she tried. We were poor, and our condition reminded my mother of her own childhood poverty. She had it worse than we did. For years, my mother lived in what I call “Appalachia of the North.” They had no hot running water, no indoor bathroom, and electricity was only a sometimes-service. Obviously gifts were few at Christmas time.

She wanted us to have a better Christmas than she had as a girl. We always put up a tree, we played the Christmas music, and my mother would usually make lasagna (I’m going to tell you how to make Christmas lasagna below). She couldn’t afford a huge pile of presents for us, but Aunt Vivian and Uncle Marty always sent a huge package of wrapped, brand-name presents to us kids. To us, it was magic. We did feel lucky.

But it couldn’t last. By about 4 p.m., mother would be in hysterics. It was nothing we children provoked. We were happy opening our presents, we thanked mom for everything she did, and we looked forward to Christmas dinner.

Out of the blue, she’d start yelling. We didn’t pick the wrapping paper up quickly enough. We didn’t save the pre-strung bows for next year (“Those are expensive, and you act like I’m made of money!”). It could be anything. She’d scream-cry about how “nothing I ever do is good enough for you kids!” or “I work so hard to make a nice holiday, and I wonder why the f**k I do because NONE OF YOU APPRECIATE IT!”

The lasagna would be slammed down on the table while we looked down at our hands trying not to cry (crying provoked punishment).

My mother wasn’t actually there in the room with us in 1985. She didn’t see us. She was a little girl in her cold childhood home in 1960 screaming at her parents. That didn’t make it right for her to inflict it on us, but I’m old enough now that I understand what was going on in her mind.

And now all of that is gone. It’s over. It’s no part of our lives. And it never will be again.

RELATED: A caregiver’s Christmas

Evrymmnt via iStock/Getty Images

An extraordinary blessing

As adults in our 40s, my sister and I got to know each other as real, whole people for the first time. Instead of being children alternately banding together to protect each other from mother, or as adversaries triangulated against each other to serve my mother’s whims, we met as brother and sister. And as adult friends.

We learned that not only did we love each other, but we liked each other too. It’s an extraordinary blessing.

I want this for you too. Whoever you are. I know some of you don’t have any family left, and I’m sorry. Do you have a friend similarly situated? Maybe he can come to your table this year.

If you have anyone to gather with at Christmas, revive an old family tradition of yours that you’ve neglected for years because it’s associated with hard memories. Maybe it’s a particular carol. Maybe it’s a special dish (our family is English by heritage, so we make Christmas pudding, for example). Whatever it is, why not “repurpose” it? Imbue it with peace and happiness from your life today. Give it new life. Give it love.

Christmas lasagna

This year, I’m going to make Christmas lasagna. For some reason, that dish became our family’s classic Christmas dinner, and I think it’s great. Here’s how to do it. Take your favorite lasagna recipe, but use these methods to alter it:

• This is a meat-and-spinach lasagna (red and green for Christmas, see?).
• Mix the ricotta with two cloves of chopped garlic, a beaten egg, and a dash of basil and oregano. Don’t forget salt and pepper.
• Mix the spinach with mozzarella, and make that your one green layer.
• For the meat, use half ground beef and half Italian sausage.

If you make this and don’t like it, I’ll eat my hat.

Remember the Velveteen Rabbit. He was old and worn, and the world thought he wasn’t worth anything anymore and was best left to the past.

"Real isn't how you are made. It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, then you become real."

Christmas wasn’t made real for us in the right way long ago. But we’ve made it real again today, in our late middle age, because we love each other.

God bless you, and merry Christmas.