In a quiet psychoanalyst's office in central London, the twinkling Christmas lights outside feel a world away. For one family, this hushed room has become as much a part of their December ritual as tinsel and turkey. For the past eight years, they have gathered here—or dialled in via Zoom—for a session of pre-Christmas family therapy, a tradition born from a holiday disaster.
The Potato That Started It All
The catalyst was a Christmas dinner eight years ago that never got eaten. The details are hazy, but the core memory is sharp: a struggle over a dish of roast potatoes escalated until a potato was thrown. In response, the mother brandished a carving knife, declaring she would like to run her daughter through with it. The dinner was abandoned; the mother spent the evening smoking alone on the streets, while the rest of the family sat in stunned silence watching the film Elf.
In the aftermath, the mother decided professional intervention was needed. The initial dream was simple: to Christmas-proof the family dynamic. By airing grievances in advance with a therapist, they hoped to avoid future festive unhappiness. The reality, however, has become a unique annual hour of assigning 'Christmas roles' while delivering blunt truths.
Winning at Therapy: A New Kind of Competition
The sessions, attended by the mother, her two daughters—Kitty and her sister—and their father via video call, have evolved. At first, the goal was to appear the sanest, to win the therapist's tacit approval through sensible suggestions about chore rotas. Now in their early thirties, the sisters have shifted tactics, finding that sharing personal struggles—discussing antidepressants, anxiety, and rage—earns more sympathy.
"It feels quite exciting to talk about ourselves in this way," Kitty notes. "Like we are really up against it." Sometimes they go too far, and the octogenarian therapist gently reins them in, reminding them of their mother's own mental wellbeing. Outside of December, the family dynamic is markedly different. For eleven months of the year, they enjoy each other's company, communicate freely, and appreciate their honest, sometimes bad-tempered interactions without pressure.
The Parents Let Go
Recently, a significant shift has occurred. The parents, who once orchestrated the therapy sessions, have become increasingly relaxed. Having discovered Instagram, they spent last Christmas more engrossed in their phones than potential arguments. The mother napped instead of wrapping presents and didn't engage when shouted at. This newfound detachment was addressed in the latest session.
New rules were suggested: all phones must be turned off and placed in a kitchen bowl, and everyone should count to ten before shouting. But the mother's heart didn't seem to be in it. She had tasted freedom. She has even suggested that next year, her daughters attend therapy on their own.
For Kitty, Christmas remains a litmus test for her future happiness, a cycle of control and disappointment she finds hard to break. But her parents have broken it. Their annual therapeutic tradition, born from a flying potato, now highlights a new festive truth: sometimes, letting go is the only way to find peace.
