There’s a chill in the air, but it’s not just the December cold. As inevitable as the twinkling lights or gingerbread men, an unmistakable urge is making itself known. My fingers are twitching. I’m crafting the perfect opener in my head. That’s right: I’m starting to wonder whether I should text my ex-partner.
Since the last time we saw each other, earlier this year, I have been strict with myself. I drew a solid, impassable line between us, and I was happy about it – tearing our lives apart was difficult enough without the added confusion of staying in touch. But surrounded by a sea of hand-holding couples in matching Christmas jumpers, tunes that celebrate happy twosomes and twinkling skies of fairy lights, I might be having doubts. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to wish him a merry Christmas? Check in? Catch up? Reminisce together about the good times?
Unsettling as this is, I’m not alone in my sudden hysteria. In 2017, the dating website eHarmony revealed that one in 10 people had been contacted by an ex-partner at Christmas. Taylor Swift’s 2020 song ’Tis the Damn Season both captures the seasonal nostalgia for lost loves in its lyrics – “the road not taken looks real good now” – and, it seems, prompted a wave of texts to exes upon its release. At Christmas, a fairytale ending is hard to resist. Instead of my usual celebration of singlehood, I’m starting to crave the bitter battles over brussels sprouts that I once shared with another, or the cosy nights in, revelling in new love.
“Christmas makes us look back at previous years and at times when we were happy in old relationships,” says counsellor Georgina Sturmer. And it’s true: all the festivity brews up a sense of nostalgia. As we go through the motions of the same annual rituals, we can’t help but think about the past. Empty chairs remind us of people we have lost. When we drunkenly belt out Christmas songs, we can’t help but remember the voices that are missing. We want to be around the people who know us best.
As I play back the Christmases I spent curled up under blankets with partners I now claim to feel nothing for, I can’t help but wonder what they’re up to. I grey out the screaming rows in favour of the walks we did through icy parks or the memories of sharing one Christmas pudding with two spoons.
A few years ago, in the weird, stretched out period between Christmas and the new year, my phone was uncharacteristically flooded with messages from people I thought had long disappeared from my life. And while I was shocked to see their names flash up on my screen, I have to admit, it did add excitement to a time where the highlight of my day would usually be reaching for yet another green triangle out of a box of Quality Street. Which suggests another, more straightforward explanation: boredom. “Once all the wine has been drunk, there’s often a period at Christmas where we’ve not got much to do,” says Sturmer.
Most of us probably aren’t dreaming of a tearful reconciliation – after hearing the same family story for the umpteenth time, and watching films we’ve seen a thousand times before, we just want some kind of frisson. Spurred on by alcohol-induced confidence, surely one tiny check-in text isn’t going to harm anyone? Heck, it might even be a nice thing to do.
“With January just around the corner, people think about having a new start,” says Sturmer, and when I last spoke to my ex it wasn’t exactly friendly. So, should I just swallow my pride and do it? Sturmer advises me – and any other lovestruck fools – to slow down. “You should try to figure out what you need before contacting an ex,” she says. “Ask yourself what you’re really looking for and whether you’re just looking to contact an ex as a coping strategy for everything that comes with Christmas.”
Sturmer suggests that the new year – once all the magic of the festive period has been washed away – might be a better time to consider reaching out. But somehow this is less compelling. An impulsive message at Christmas feels fun, fearless – festive even. In January, it just starts sounding like a bad decision.
Anya Ryan is a freelance journalist
