Bleeding Hearts of the World, Unite!
What the Grinch can teach us about Christmas, community and connection
I’ve been thinking a lot about the Grinch. Not because I hate Christmas. I love Christmas, but the past month or so leading up to the holiday brought up more feelings of anxiety and fear than the sense of joy and peace I expect to have this time of year. From the meetings I’ve gone to recently and conversations with friends in the program, I’ve realized I’m not alone in these feelings. The holidays can become a particularly difficult time for many people, whether we’re in recovery or not. For people in recovery from substance abuse, the trifecta of Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years can be hard. These holidays traditionally include a lot of drinking, and a number of us over indulged in the past. Some people don’t have family or friends with whom to spend the holidays and feel an increased sense of loneliness around this time. And even if we’re surrounded by an incredible group of people and are in a place in our recovery where the presence of alcohol doesn’t feel like a threat or trigger, we might still feel off, as if we haven’t yet caught up to the place we think we’d be if drinking hadn’t set us back.
Christmas can be hard because of the feelings we’re expected to have during this time and that we may not be in a place to experience in the ways we’d like. These holidays emphasize gratitude, love, cheer, and hope, and while those are several of the greatest gifts we experience in a program of recovery, we don’t feel them around the clock every day of the year, especially on the days when the struggles of being in recovery weigh heavily on us. A friend of mine put it well when he noted there’s a lot of emphasis on the holidays being such a positive, high spirits time, when we can feel the pressure of this unachievable expectation to be having “the most wonderful time of the year” - Andy Williams’ words, not his. A few other friends commented on the particular stressors of their family situations. One woman even shared that she had decided to take Christmas off from seeing family this year and prioritize her recovery rather than putting herself in a position that would risk her sobriety and the work she’s been doing for the past few years. I don’t have the same level of family dread, and I don’t know if my feelings about this time of year stem from the holidays or just my personal history of winter as a difficult season, but this all got me thinking about the Grinch. There’s something to the Grinch story that might shed some light on a lot of how we can feel this time of year.
So I watched Dr. Seuss’s How the Grinch Stole Christmas, the 2000 film starring Jim Carrey as the quirky green monster feared by the Christmas-loving community of Whos in Whoville. The cartoon classic is great, but this live action version gives a backstory that contributes a lot to the Grinch’s character and gives a more developed sense of why he feels the way he does about Christmas. The film’s opening scene is a chaotic sequence of rushed holiday shopping in what looks like a sort of good-spirited riot. The streets of Whoville are absolutely mobbed, and we follow little Cindy Lou Who and her father, Lou, through part of their quest to find the specific items on the family’s Christmas list - more a list of demands than wishes. Cindy Lou clearly doesn’t share in the spirit that seems to have possessed her fellow townspeople, who (as she astutely notes) have gone all “kerbobbled” in their Christmas craze. This particular Christmas takes place in conjunction with the one thousandth Whobilation, a time that Mayor May Who reminds his community is the most special celebration in Whoville: “a time that we must treasure.” It seems that Whobilation has taken over Christmas; it’s a Who-created celebration that may have initiated in an effort to honor their beloved Christmas, but has somehow warped into an event that brings immense pressure to be in the holiday spirit even for a community who historically thrives on Christmas.
We let ourselves fall into that same misdirected mindset when we look to material things to achieve the state of well being, that feeling of being home into which we were born. That’s the real Christmas spirit, the feeling of goodwill, or love and connection that we’re meant to experience year round but that we honor especially on this holiday. It’s not wrong to represent this love with gifts, ornaments and other physical symbols or tokens, but when we shift our focus from the feeling they represent to the things themselves, we put ourselves in danger of losing touch with true connection. We invest ourselves in the representations, looking to them for fulfillment of the feeling we want, and we feel a bit empty when we don’t experience that feeling in a way we know is possible. That effort to feel connected, to feel safe or at peace or just happy, is a big reason a lot of us drink. We used drinking in the same way the Whos use presents and Christmas lights; we make a substance our means to regain our sense of connection, and when we lose that solution, we find ourselves lost.
The Grinch, the Whoville pariah, doesn’t seek connection or the Christmas spirit. When Cindy Lou asks her dad about the Grinch, he explains in the best way he can, saying that he’s not exactly a Who, more like a What who hates Christmas. He points out the Grinch’s mailbox (he works in the post office), noting the lack of incoming or outgoing mail that characterizes its cobwebby existence amidst all the other full to bursting ones. The mailbox is a cool edition to the film; it represents something lacking from the classic story. Though his box is empty, it’s still there in the middle of all the other boxes, suggesting that the Grinch does have a place in the Who community even if nobody (himself included) can see or accept it. The Grinch was born different, but he did live among the Whos for a time and even experienced love. His infancy and childhood experiences of abandonment, rejection and bullying give us insight into his choice to isolate and embrace the monster identity that has grown since his departure from Whoville at a young age. Though the feelings of being other and not enough may have been building for a time, the Grinch’s effort to embrace Christmas and connection died when his attempt to be enough for the girl he loves turns into an occasion for mockery and cruelty. Hurt in a moment of vulnerability and hope, Grinch retreats from any attempt at connection and leans into the identity the Whos give him. Because they can only see an alien version of themselves who has chosen to reject Christmas and their company, they view him first as a stranger and then as a monster. They come to view him with horror and disgust in his absence, and he in turn embraces that image of himself, playing into it and letting it become his identity. He lets the resentment and pain from these past experiences define his perception of all the Whos; he may not be happy in his isolation, but he’s comfortable with the life he has.
When we let the fears that stem from past harms - fear of rejection, failure, not being enough, etc. - dictate our perceptions of the world, we can also find ourselves choosing the comfortable path even if it’s not a happy one. The Grinch hates Christmas because he believes that Christmas has hurt him. He knows how to be alone, feared, terrifying and dark, so he chooses that life. I have my own experience of isolating with a dog, but not to the extreme that the Grinch takes it. He removed himself to a snow-covered mountain, and I only went as far as a basement level apartment in Quincy, but I think our reasons were similar. We wanted our own space to live the way we wanted to live and have no one to criticize or pressure us to be any different. Like the Grinch, I became comfortable on my own. I hated feeling alone, but it was my known way of being and I felt like having a dog meant I wasn’t totally isolating; I mostly felt that I had no guarantee that I’d experience the sense of connection and peace I so badly wanted if I had to risk rejection, failure or criticism to go after it. The Grinch’s existence on Mount Crumpit aptly reflects how it feels to live in solutionless sobriety. He’s not drowning his pain in anything, but he’s also not doing anything to find a way out of it. He’s set up camp in the dismal space of his isolation and has even scheduled his pain into his calendar in a tragically humorous way. The one redeeming factor in his lonely existence is Max. Max plays a crucial role in the Grinch’s change of heart; Cindy Lou may function in a more vocal way, but it all starts with Max. We’ll get to that later.
One of my favorite scenes in this movie takes place after the Grinch has been invited by Cindy Lou to receive his award as Cheer-meister at the Whobilation. He’s talking to his dog about the inconsideration of inviting him so last minute and all the plans that have his day fully booked (these include activities such as staring into the abyss, self loathing and dinner with himself). As he wavers between saying he’ll go and deciding to stay, he goes through every possible reason not to go, even considering that the whole thing may be a joke on him and deciding he has nothing suitable to wear after trying on a succession of potential outfits. If you’ve ever experienced cripplingly low self esteem, social anxiety or fear of something good turning out to be a cruel mistake, it’s deeply relatable. Especially the fashion show. I used to explain piles of discarded outfit options on my bedroom floor as a symptom of mere indecisiveness, but I can see there’s a bit more to it than that now. The Grinch clearly wants to go; a small part of him craves the connection, recognition and acceptance promised by Cindy Lou’s invitation. But the louder voice in his head argues with that desire, voicing the truths he’s come to accept as reality: that he doesn’t belong, isn’t enough, and doesn’t deserve love. Just when that voice in his head seems to have won the argument, Max decisively pulls a rope to send the Grinch through the garbage chute to Whoville.
The Whos liked the idea of nominating the Grinch when Cindy Lou explained her reasoning - that he’s the one most in need of Christmas spirit - but to welcome the Grinch in person is a completely different beast. They clearly fear him and don’t know how to offer him the genuine, gracious welcome he needs but doesn’t dare hope for. They want to love him, because that kind of open love is the true Who spirit, but they don’t know how. The visit ends in disaster because the Whos fear him and have their own issues blocking their Christmas spirit, and the Grinch feeds on their fear and disgust. They fear the Grinch because he’s angry and green, but also because he’s one of them - the absolute worst part of them without the capacity to hide it behind a regulation Who nose and otherwise innocent appearance. The Grinch is the part of us we want to keep hidden. He’s not exactly our addiction, but he’s the part of us most closely affiliated with and impacted by our addiction - that piece of our mind that still struggles to live in the light, that prefers to hide and to isolate when it’s feeling ugly and unwanted by both us and others.
We perceive grief, anxiety, fear and other uncomfortable feelings as ugly and unwanted because we think we’re supposed to be having the most wonderful time and are convinced that others will reject feelings that seem to echo the way we were in active addiction. Just as the Grinch may hold onto his past experiences in which the Whos treated him with horror and disgust, our minds may remind us of the otherness we felt in our addiction and convince us that nothing has changed. The Grinch is still a monster; we’re still not the selves we should be. The Grinch doesn’t want to be a monster; he totally owns it, but mainly because he has to. He also doesn’t really want to be a Who. He just wants the Whos to accept him as he is.
The Whos’ struggle to accept him stems both from his own rough demeanor and from their loss of the true Christmas spirit of goodwill that has been overshadowed by the increasingly materialistic nature of their holiday. The Grinch represents the part of us who chooses isolation because he expects rejection; on the other hand, the Who community reflects that part of humanity that assimilates and looks to external rewards to feel whole and connected. The Whos lean into the materialism of Christmas because it’s something attractive, it promises a definitive reward and it distracts them from the things they need to resolve internally to regain that sense of true connection and peace. The Grinch’s departure from Whoville may have seemed only to hurt him, but it also opened a wound in the Who community. It served as a marker of their failure to embrace difference, to love in both good and bad, and to acknowledge a need for growth. They didn’t know how to love the Grinch, who despite his green hair is one of them, and his isolation on Mount Crumpit and continued absence from their celebration serves as a constant if subconscious reminder of that failure.
While the Grinch’s pain stems from his belief that he’s not enough because of his otherness, the Whos’ anxiety is rooted in both the need to be just as Who as their neighbors and the competitive urge to prove their superior Whomanity through visible means. We see the tension between Betty Lou Who and Martha Whovier, who seem to have a yearly and not very good-natured battle to have the best Christmas lights on their homes. The chaotic opening scene of shopping suggests that their shopping is more urgent than thoughtful in nature. And the mayor’s proposal to Martha May manifests in the form of elaborate gifts that promise money rather than true love. Cindy references the true nature of Who spirit, but until she does, it seems that Who spirit depends on one’s ability to deck their halls with the brightest lights and buy the best gifts. They’re not monsters for this; they’ve merely been swept up in the commercialism of the holiday, which affects them even more since their culture seems centered around this particular holiday. These things don’t hold the same meaning for the Grinch since they’re associated with the pain of rejection and failure to be enough. When he sets out to steal Christmas, he’s not acting purely from malice. He cites vengeance as his motive, but even that is rooted in the deep hurt from his childhood that has festered in his isolation. Part of him believes that by stripping Whoville of everything that comprises Christmas for them, he will not only make them feel the way he has felt all this time, but he might also do something to fill the void he feels this time of year when he acutely experiences his otherness, his not being part of something that everyone else seems to be in on.
The heist is a grand success. The only small hiccup being a run-in with Cindy Lou, who comes down for some water when Grinchy Claus is about to steal her family’s tree. Whether or not she believes the Grinch is Santa is up for debate, but either way she has a little chat with him and goes back to bed, not before reminding him to not forget the Grinch. She says she thinks he’s sweet, despite everything. The Grinch doesn’t repent and abandon his masterplan, but her words kindle that small flame of hope he can’t quite shake. Hope of experiencing that acceptance and connection that have been so lacking from his life. We may have similar experiences in our addiction and in recovery. They might just be smiles from strangers or someone at a meeting when we’re having a particularly bad day. They might be a friend or family member who surprises us with an uncharacteristic gesture or goes out of their way to help when we don’t expect it. If we hold onto our Grinch-like attitude, those glimmers may be few and far between, but they do happen even if we don’t always notice and appreciate them. If we can let go of those fears that hold us back and engage honestly and open-mindedly with our people, we’ll begin to find them everywhere. That’s connection. We might only find it in small pieces when we’re closed off and in our own cold worlds; but when we’re able to come down from our own Mount Crumpit we can see its presence everywhere, even if not we’re not always engaging or appreciating it.
In the aftermath of the Grinch’s theft, the mayor tries to grab some control of the situation by blaming Cindy Lou. He witheringly states that she’s destroyed Christmas by inviting the Grinch into the mix, kind of dissing her for being a little girl who hasn’t even grown into her nose. Her father, however, steps forward and says he’s proud of her, reminding the mayor and his peers that you can’t destroy Christmas. Christmas is bigger than the presents and everything else they’ve placed so much emphasis on, and he can see that his child has seen that all along. It’s fitting that Cindy Lou functions as the reminder of the true Christmas spirit, because, as a child, she represents the place of conscious connection we’re all born into. This child is the one we’ve hurt with our addiction or other false solutions and have lost touch with in our pain and in the distraction of the world. Living in the world is a trauma in itself; and when the slings and arrows of that life push us into disconnection and distraction from our pain, we begin to lose touch with the innocent, true feeling of joy and connection that Christmas truly encompasses.
The Sunday before Christmas, I listened to a sermon on that aspect of Christmas. The priest was recalling a past Christmas when a grieving family in his parish had come to Christmas Mass mere days after burying one of their children. On that occasion he’d felt torn about giving a traditional Christmas sermon on the joy and peace we experience this time of year because he knew that those feelings might not be possible for this one family. Instead he reflected on the all-encompassing nature of Christmas, on its ability to absorb whatever we bring to the season, be it good or bad, celebration or struggle. He nearly quoted Lou when he recognized that Christmas is bigger than whatever our past year has given us to carry to the beginning of a new year. It is bigger than the pain and joy, the life experiences and losses, the beginnings and endings we experience throughout the year leading up to it each December. Whatever we bring, we find Christmas in the same way.
It’s not the most wonderful time of year because it’s meant to be the happiest time of year or the best day of our year; it’s meant to be a day that reminds us of the wonder of life itself. It encompasses birth, death and resurrection, the blessings and the suffering of what our human lives hold in store for us. The spirit of Christmas that both the Whos and the Grinch have lost touch with is the good will celebrated by the holiday. We celebrate God’s will, the plan of a higher power however that may look for us. It may be a time to celebrate the gifts of that plan, but it also might be a time to practice acceptance of its more difficult aspects and let ourselves sit with the feelings that have surfaced because of those trials.
When the Grinch hears the Whos singing, now truly in the Christmas spirit in the absence of their things, he has his own epiphany. A lot leads up to this epiphany, and the sound of the Whos’ song brings him that famous thought, “maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.” The realization sends him reeling. It looks like he’s having a heart attack, and it might even feel like one for all we know. We see him experiencing the pain of his small heart growing three sizes, a big upgrade after being two sizes too small for so long. He cries out to Max, “Help me! I’m feeling!” He dissolves into tears and questions what’s happening to him before calling again to Max and expressing his love for the loyal dog. He accurately dramatizes the pain of experiencing feelings after numbing them for so long. It can be both beautiful and painful to feel raw emotions in recovery, and we don’t always know what to do with them. Sometimes we’re able to sit with them, but sometimes it seems like too much to handle and we mistake them for a symptom of something wrong with us. Most of the time, it’s our body’s way of communicating with us something we need to hear and listen to. For the Grinch, it’s a call to connect, to share the overwhelming flood of hope and love he’s been too afraid to let in all these years. He turns to Max because he can finally express what his little friend has been for him, and it’s a first step in sharing that feeling with a larger whole.
Max seems to play a sidekick role in the story, but he functions as something so much greater than that. If we look at it through a recovery translation lens, Max represents our sense of connection to self, others and a higher power. He may not be recognized or appreciated by the Grinch, but he’s there nonetheless. Though the Grinch seems alone and isolated on Mount Crumpit, if we factor in Max, we realize that he’s not truly alone. He’s succeeded in physically isolating himself, but he can’t completely disconnect himself. Similarly, while we’re still living and breathing, even in addiction, we can’t completely sever our connection with God, self and others. We can lose sight of it, forget how to access it, and definitely weaken or harm it, but we can’t get rid of it. Max doesn’t have a voice, suggesting that the Grinch’s sense of connection may be there but doesn’t have much say in his mind. He has a lot of monologues with himself; he listens mainly to his ego and lives in a way that preserves that ego at the cost of his connection to others. But even without a voice, Max nudges at the Grinch to listen to his innate sense of connection to others. Max is the one who urges the Grinch to save Cindy Lou from a gruesome death at the hands of a mail sorter early in the film. The Grinch begrudgingly listens to his dog and pulls her free, claiming he didn’t do so for her benefit but saving her all the same. Max is also the one who pushes the Grinch to attend the Whobilation, making the decision that the Grinch’s fear nearly talks him out of making on his own. And though he goes along with the Grinch’s plan to steal Christmas, Max has always been the one voicing the nudging possibility that maybe the Grinch shouldn’t. When the Grinch begins to feel, it’s Max that he embraces, partly because Max is the only one there to share in his new experience, but also because he recognizes the love for Max that has always been there.
Cindy Lou has somehow made her way up the mountain in this time and climbed atop the sled, which has begun to edge dangerously from the tip of Mount Crumpit and threatens to slide off entirely. When the Grinch sees this, he summons a superWho strength and achieves the seemingly impossible feat of pulling both the little girl and the at-risk presents to safety. He saves a life, but he’s also doing what lies in his power to amend the damage he’s done by robbing the Whos of their Christmas gifts. He can’t take back his actions, but he can return the things that have come to symbolize Christmas, and he does just that, even turning himself in to the constable for arrest when he admits his crime before all the Whos. He says he’s sorry, which pardons him in the eyes of Who law and redeems him in the hearts of the other Whos. The film ends with him taking part in their Christmas feast and joining to sing hand in hand with the rest of the community. He’s still the Grinch, still a bit bad mannered and singing off key with almost none of the correct words, but they have accepted him as he is and forgiven him his past wrong just as they have begun to amend theirs by inviting him into their community.
In the time I’ve taken to start writing this essay and publish it here, Christmas Day has come and passed. I’m so blessed to spend it surrounded by people I love, some whom I see often and others who come around a couple times a year. I found it easier to let go of the anxiety and fear that have been overwhelming me much of this winter and be present in the good around me. The Grinch-Who situation not only reflects our experience in recovery; it also holds a mirror up to any community of people - family gatherings, holiday parties, meetings, etc. I know I’m not the only one who had a hard year, but I can also see now that enjoying time with my family doesn’t erase or invalidate any of the hardships of my or anyone’s year. If you bring a Grinch-in-recovery spirit to Christmas and see only Whos at the table greeting you, it can be hard to recognize the other Grinches in attendance despite what appearances tell you. Connecting with others not only lessens our Grinch tendencies; it lets us see that we’re no different from the people we may think have it all together and are living their best lives while we struggle to get through one day in our own life. The Grinch and the Whos are really the same at heart; when they’re able to look past physical differences and accept each other, they tap into that deep sense of abiding connection that was theirs to have all along. We find our people, our fellow Whos, in the ones who make us feel like we’re home no matter how long we’ve been away, how green we are, or how hard we’ve made it to love us. The end of the film doesn’t suggest that they’re perfect and will live happily ever after without conflict. But they’re taking steps in the right direction and doing so together.
