To All The Moms Who Fill Their Own Stockings

Growing up, my siblings and I had these really beautiful, intricately hand-embroidered Christmas stockings made by my mom; mine depicted Santa halfway down a chimney with a sack of gifts. And each year each of these stockings were lovingly filled with tiny wonderful things, from ring pops and playing cards to earrings and snap bracelets.

I don’t remember what my mom’s stocking looked like. And I certainly don’t ever remember her opening her stocking on Christmas morning. And in all honestly, my mom was the kind of mom who just mainly got a robe and slippers under the tree, collectively from everyone, more often than not. And she seemed thrilled about it.

Now that I’m a mom — and, more recently, a single mom — I wonder about her stocking a lot. And also about just how thrilled she really was to get that robe each year. As an adult, I’m now in on the very crappy holiday secret: the person in charge of the Christmas magic is sometimes also the person with the empty stocking. The person playing Santa doesn’t get a visit from Santa, now does she?

My mom and I are far from alone. It turns out that there are a lot — a lot — of empty stocking moms out there. Moms who give a ton during the holiday season, who make sure that everyone else wakes up to magic, who stay up late wrapping the perfect presents and then get up early to cook. And they exist for a lot of different reasons. Many are divorced like me. Many others are some form of single or separated or independent or uncoupled. Some are widowed. Some have partners who are away from home or sick.

And in the final category, some moms just have partners who — whether it’s because of socialization or their personality or crappy gender assumptions or the patriarchy — can’t get their sh*t together to put some damn candy in a sock for their loved one once a year.

It can be embarrassing to talk about. No one wants to admit that they’re passed over or that they care about something as silly as a little tradition for kids and some trinkets. And like most moms, we certainly don’t want to put a task on someone else’s plate or to complain on a day that’s supposed to be carefree. Like so many things in life, moms choose to grin and bear it, shrug it off, or, of course, fix it themselves.

There’s a whole segment of empty stocking moms who take things into their own hands and fill their own stocking. Some do it out of self-love, some do it so their kids don’t figure out who Santa is, some do it in hopes that when their girls grow up, they’ll know that they deserve a full stocking, too.

I stumbled upon some moms on Reddit in the “Empty stocking club,” who have swapped ideas about their holiday situation. Some found it easiest just to not put up their stocking at all, taking the conversation, and their sadness, off the table. Others filled their stocking with random crap around their house — like, wow, a power bar and a used chapstick, just what I wanted! And others go all-out and truly treat themselves with nice make-up, jewelry, and other little things that are special for them. Love that self-love and confidence and screw-everyone-else attitude.

And many have found that as soon as their kids are old enough — like around 14 or 15 — their empty stockings are filled for the first time. By kids who love their mom and who have been taught how to show their love.

And I couldn’t love that more.

Last year was my first Christmas living on my own as a single mom. Throughout the year alone, I had found out that there were lots of “empty stocking moments” in my life now that I was divorced. I spent Mother’s Day alone, uncelebrated, and away from my kids — and I decided to take myself out to dinner alone. Even though it was better to go out than to stay in my quiet house, it was still a bit sad. And on a camping trip with my kids that summer, I struggled to put up my family tent all alone in an attempt that was a little too symbolic for comfort.

It seemed pretty clear leading up to the holiday that the empty stocking was in my Christmas Future — and I was preparing myself. Would I fill it myself? Would I not hang one up at all?

A few days before, Christmas, though, I found a bag sitting on my front stoop. It was filled with tiny presents: bath bombs, fun trinkets, a few self-care items, and a tube of bright red lipstick that I loved but that I would have never bought for myself. It was addressed to me and left anonymously. Over the next day or so, I found out that a few of my other “empty stocking” moms in town had received the same package.

We still don’t know who sent the rescue stocking gifts. But you know what? I kind of think it was from Santa in a way, and I know for sure, absolutely 100%, that it was from a mom.