I love being at college. Well, I don’t like the stress. Or the finals. Or exams in general. But I love being at college. All my friends are here, all my activities are here, and, most of the time, my interests are, too. I have a certain freedom to do whatever I want at college; the only person breathing down my neck is my Residential Living Coordinator (and occasionally my professors breathe down the neck of my grades) – but other than that, I am fully and completely beholden to no one. I am free to be me.

But, in a week, I will close the blinds on my dorm windows, unplug my lights and electronics, pack up all the clothes I need for three weeks, and climb into the car with my mother for the long commute back to the place I still list as my permanent address (even though I am barely there anymore). I do this, not voluntarily, but because my RLC tells me I have to, and my family expects it.

For those LGBTQ college kids whose parents don’t exactly see “eye-to-eye” with them, the holidays can be an incredibly try and anxious time. I myself have more anxiety about going home than I do about my finals. And it’s not just parents and immediate family that is anxiety-riddled. Holidays mean parties with extended family you’ve not seen for twelve months and don’t really know how to (read: want to) explain yourself to. For me, it means three weeks of deadnaming and misgendering (and head-banging).

My mom doesn’t understand this. When I slid into the waiting car, my mom will lean over and hug me (and hug me and hug me) and when she drops me back off, the process will repeat with a “I don’t want to leave you here yet.” While my mother is also particularly clingy, this failure of parents to understand why their child doesn’t want to come home for the holidays while simultaneously creating an unwelcoming environment is an irony of the highest order – worthy of its own Shakespeare play. It also sucks. And yet, we college-aged queer kids endure it because we are in that awkward place of “no where else to go” and “family obligations still expected by the people paying my tuition.”

I wish I had some reassuring words or quick tips to make the holidays easier. Programs such as “Your Holiday Mom” can help ease some of the pain and provide words of comfort – but when you’re staring down Conservative Uncle #3 and no one has gotten your name right all night, there’s not much that can take that special kind of hurt away.

But, I am slowly learning, for as much dread that comes before you leave and as much frustration, anger, and sadness is felt while you’re there, the joy of coming back to campus is far greater – and it will come, eventually. No matter how trying, holiday breaks don’t last forever. And so, when everyone else is lamenting how fast the break was or how they’re not ready to start the Spring semester, you can look forward to it with happiness – you already paid your misery dues, and the start of the semester will be nothing but a long time coming for you. For come it will. I promise.