The past few years, my family has spent Thanksgiving day at my Grandpa's house with my mother's side of the family. We set up a big, long table in his small, upstairs room and squish together around it. The table is crowded full of our feast, which we pass around, careful not to bonk elbows as we move.

Last year, I got sick on Thanksgiving day. I don't know with what, I just woke up that morning with a terrible pain in my stomach and no appetite. I didn't go to the feast that year. I remember thinking, "Of all the days I had to get sick, it had to be on the day with the best meal of the year." But my stomach eventually calmed down and I entertained myself in the quiet house, alone.

This year, my whole family got sick with some sort of bug, just days before the feast. We all had terrible diarrhea and my dad and I were both throwing up. Naturally, none of us felt like eating much for a couple days. But Thanksgiving rolled around and most of us felt well enough to eat again. I didn't - not exactly. I had a weird pain in my belly, like clawed fingers were pinching it. And it was burning. In the end, I discovered we were meant to leave earlier than I realised so I wasn't ready and ultimately decided not to go. I spent another Thanksgiving waiting for my stomach to quiet and kept myself entertained, alone.

Its not fun being sick, even a little bit, but every time it's happened to me, I've always felt a little bit grateful. Illness is one of the only viable excuse to get you out of pretty much anything. When I was a kid, if I was sick enough, I didn't have to go to school. As an adult, if I'm sick, I don't have to sit at overcrowded tables full of food and noise. Its the only dependable escape route. People can't really get mad at you for being ill, after all.

Holidays are meant to be a joy, but with social anxiety disorder, you have to look for them in different ways. Holidays usually mean large gatherings, social interaction - even with people you love, it can be hard, because you may not fully trust them. So, holidays quickly lose their obvious charm. Where do you find merriment in family when people are essentially what you fear most?

The answer is that you look for it somewhere else. This year, though I had to endure my family's disappointment when I didn't attend the feast, I was grateful for the time alone I had. It was the first unadulterated silence I had been granted for months. It gave me the chance to cry as fully as I needed to so my bottled up pain wouldn't kill me. Complete solitude is often the only place to find true rest, and I was grateful to my family for granting me that.

But with Thanksgiving's end, the holiday season isn't over. There's still Christmas to come, which usually means endless parties, numerous family gatherings, people stopping you to wish you a Merry Christmas - in short, a protracted nightmare waiting to happen.

So, I guess I'm also thankful that Christmas is so easy to feel. Whether you spend it with someone or not, there's something in the air that changes when December comes rolling in. The snow falls, cheery lights illuminate the night, and it's the one time of year when people are truly gentle. I'm grateful for those gentle people for making the holidays a little less of a weight. For not judging, condemning, or being at all bothered by the quirks of those of us whose hearts are breaking. You can feel how people become kinder and more generous during the Christmas season. It almost makes the wretched parties and social torments worth it.

The holidays are hard when the classic joys are what bring you so much harm, but they don't have to be bad. There's always something to be grateful for. We just have to look a little harder to find it, sometimes.