Whether it is the amount of cynicism I carry on my shoulders since turning vegan, or simply due to growing older; Christmas doesn’t excite me the way it used to. Since I left home and Santa Claus deemed me officially too old to receive a Christmas stocking, I have almost come to dread the festive season; it brings a dent in my wallet, a spike in my anxiety levels during the extreme sport of last minute present shopping, and an unshakeable feeling of guilt that I can never afford to gift my loved ones anything that accurately represents how grateful I am for them.

I know, I know: where’s my Christmas spirit? Although I have undoubtedly grown to become a twenty-two-year-old Ebenezer Scrooge (something that my mum reckons makes me sound even more like my Dad than I usually do), there are two things I have always looked forward to when it comes to Christmas: spending time with my family, and that infamous, widely-celebrated Christmas dinner. My mum cooks a mean roast dinner, and the Christmas variation is nothing short of a culinary masterpiece.

Or, at least, I thought it was, before I turned vegan.

This Christmas will be my first since giving up animal products, and it adds an undeniable extra element of stress to an already tricky time of year. For admittedly the first time, I have begun to really contemplate whether or not I can bear to sit at a table that hails the dead body of a beautiful bird as its centrepiece. The thought is enough to turn my stomach, but so does the question that follows it: what if I decide that I can’t?

I have shared many a meal with omnivores since turning vegan, and aside from the often-nauseating smell, or remnants of blood on a plate from someone’s steak, I have been able to cope. Sitting at a table with those who choose to eat the animals I want desperately to protect is a sad truth that I needed to come to terms with if I didn’t want to sever relationships with my closest friends and family. Besides, it’s not as if my loved ones haven’t been supportive of my change to veganism; they are more than happy to enjoy a vegan meal with me when I come to visit, or at the very least prepare me something separate. They will ask for the recipe when my boyfriend and I serve them one of our vegan specialties, and send me recommendations of restaurants they’ve dined at that offer vegan options on their menu. Some might say that, realistically, what more could I ask for, short of turning vegan themselves?

Yes, I could have it a lot worse. The family I am lucky enough to be able to spend my Christmasses with are intelligent, compassionate and loving people. They respect my stance on animal welfare even if their own lifestyles contradict it. There are vegans whose families refuse to even acknowledge the movement, let alone cater to it. There are vegans that won’t have the opportunity to share a Christmas dinner with family at all. So, being that I am far luckier than most, should I not just shut up and accept my vegan meal gracefully, despite what those around me might be eating?

Many vegans have, at some point, had to make peace with the people around them eating non-vegan food, but there is something about doing so at Christmas time that doesn’t seem befitting of the holiday. It seems strange to me that the one day of the year that radiates themes of love and peace, will also see over ten million turkeys to slaughter in the UK alone. Throughout the month of December, our televisions, radios and high street shops will sing of Christmas cheer, all whilst we sentence millions of defenceless animals to their deaths in preparation for a single, indulgent feast on Christmas Day.

However, the alternative to making peace with this contradictory tradition means potentially spending Christmas alone. While we may wistfully wish for the day when our families turn on Christmas afternoon with a seitan roast and vegan-friendly roast potatoes in tow, for many vegans this will never be a dream come true. So, is it our duty to isolate ourselves from the festivities that comprise of meat-eating and trading non-vegan gifts? Should we feel guilty for choosing to spend the holidays surrounded by the practices we spend the remainder of the year fighting against?

The Ebenezer in me says there’s enough to feel bad about at Christmas as it is, without punishing ourselves for wanting to be with our non-vegan family and friends during a time of togetherness. While we may mourn the lives of animals that are lost during the festive period, we must also consider the human beings who won’t have the opportunity to enjoy a Christmas dinner with their families this year. As ironic as it may sound during a holiday of gift-giving, it is so important that we are grateful for what we already have. Whether my family consists of meat-eaters or not, I am so thankful that I have them to share a dinner with.

Besides, without the vegan of the family, how will our non-vegan relatives ever discover how beautiful a vegan Christmas dinner can be? Without us, who will be there to encourage them to choose veganism as one of their New Year’s resolutions? Perhaps this year won’t be the one where every plate on the table is vegan, but that’s not to say that that year will never come. Remember, it makes no difference how many Christmasses we may have spent eating meat; it only took one simple decision to put a stop to it forever.