I recently spoke with my biological sister with whom I’ve been in reunion for over two years. She had just read my latest blog post in which I fantasize about smashing everything I associate with childhood Christmases, especially those connected to the families of my adopters, with a baseball bat. Granted, at the end of the post, instead of smashing everything to bits, I drop the baseball bat, drop my rage, and walk away as a gift to myself. I actually thought this was a very hopeful, healing piece of writing because I gave myself what I truly wanted, to be done with my adopters, full stop, to not even give them my resentment. My focus was on the end of the post, the resolution, but my sister’s attention lingered somewhere in the middle. She lamented that I harbored such negative feelings around Christmas and family and wondered what she could do to help, to generate positive family experiences for me around the holidays to displace the negative. “Maybe we can Zoom on Christmas Eve! Dad will be here. It will be great!” Inwardly, I cringed.

The fact is that I have not found a strong sense of belonging among biological relatives, and very little mirroring beyond shared physical characteristics. Yes, this is a disappointment, but I am also learning something very important about myself in the process that may sound shocking to some: I actually find value in my family-less-ness. Let me explain.

My wife and I live on the margins of a Catholic monastic community. In this unique place, we have grafted our values and our way of life onto that of the monastery, centered on the ageless quest to plumb the depths of ultimate questions in a community that is part of a centuries-old spiritual tradition. We live rhythms of prayer and work that bind us to a deep, wide historical lineage, within which I find meaning and roots that transcend family and biology.

Broadly speaking, such an intense emphasis is placed on participating in family gatherings, events, and activities during the holiday season, which can be a source of much grief for many adoptees, including myself. Yet the ancient roots of the season—anchored in the Winter Solstice and the many ways human cultures have celebrated our participation in these great cosmic rhythms—are all but forgotten, or reduced to a handful of communal or religious gestures amidst a frenzy of consumerism.

At the monastery, the situation is markedly different. Here, the holiday season is charged with cosmic and spiritual significance, as we steep ourselves in darkness and quiet, anticipating and celebrating the coming light—for us, the birth of the Divine in and through the flesh of the world. Shared ritual, reflection, and meditation take pride of place. Mindfulness is fostered over busyness. While not detracting from the value others experience among family during the holiday season, this contrast reflects my choice to live outside conventional patterns of family life, choosing an alternative in pursuit of what is truly meaningful to me.

As an adoptee, I was severed from my biological heritage at my roots. There is no remedying this loss. And I am learning to let that be okay, even as I still grieve. Perhaps because of this early dislodgement, I have sought, and found, meaning and belonging elsewhere than family, in communities, practices, and traditions that connect me to deep time and the interconnectedness of all life. These are roots that I cherish. This is what I celebrate this holiday season.