By Jeffrey Zaslow

Tired of the Bragging, Some Try Reality Holiday Letters;
'I Probably Over-Disclosed'
December 9, 2004; Page D1

Here's a risk you take when you send out your annual family holiday letter: Recipients might gather in small groups to read it aloud and laugh at you.

That's what happens in a neighborhood in Hillsborough, N.J. Each December, a family that used to live there sends back its annual update, all about the husband's amazing career, the kids' achievements, the wife's terrific life. "The basic theme is 'we're so wonderful,"' says Lou Vaccaro, who in recent years has brought his wife to a neighbor's house for a theatrical reading of the pompous letters.

Meanwhile, in Roseville, Minn., Mia and Glenn McDavid have been writing holiday letters that are far more sobering. Their letters focus on their struggles raising one son with autism and another with learning problems. The McDavids want their letters to be honest appraisals of their lives, but they hold back on the complete truth. "I don't write that I wish we never had kids, although sometimes, like all parents, I feel that way," Ms. McDavid says.

The traditional holiday letter is getting a makeover. Weary from decades of receiving photocopied self-aggrandizement, some people are mounting a backlash against all the bragging and gushing. As a result, divorce, job loss, drug abuse and other less-cheery topics are showing up with greater frequency in these normally upbeat missives. This trend toward "reality holiday letters" is also a response to a broader culture of Web logs, tell-all celebrities and reality TV that makes it more acceptable to air dirty laundry.

John Alexander, a business consultant in Minneapolis, began writing holiday letters in 1983, mostly just updating his career and whereabouts. But a few years back, he felt a need to add a very personal aside in his letter. "My brother had married a woman who did a masterful job of extracting him from our family, so I wrote about that," he says. "I probably over-disclosed." Still, he's not sorry. He wanted people to understand his frustration.

His brother was among the 100 or so recipients, and never responded. "But he's divorced now, and we're communicating better," Mr. Alexander says.

Last year, in her family's Christmas letter, 24-year-old Sarah Budd of Corvallis, Ore., included news of how an ex-boyfriend attempted suicide just after they broke up. He had e-mailed her before taking a drug overdose, and she got paramedics to his home to pump his stomach and save his life. "Rumors travel fast," she says. "I wanted to tell people preemptively."

Many reality letter-writers, however, can't help but sugarcoat their revelations. If Junior's drug problem is mentioned, he's dealing with it courageously. If Grandmom died, she was a magnificent woman and the family is mourning her honorably. If the family dog was given away because the irresponsible kids weren't caring for it, the "beloved" animal is better off at its new home with the giant yard.

Almost all holiday letters are "fraudulent in a sense," says Stephen Banks, a University of Idaho communications professor who studies these letters. He and two colleagues have combed through hundreds of letters, line by line, cataloging recurring themes, such as "clever actions" by kids and "references to family members' good character." Negative aspects of people's lives are almost always portrayed to make them look more virtuous. Culpability is mitigated.

In some ways, idealized reality letters are appropriate. "We live in confusing times, and holiday letters are a way for people to build a coherent autobiography of their families, so they don't feel bad about their histories," says Prof. Banks. But reality holiday letters require a careful balancing act -- honesty without full disclosure.

H. Paul Shuch, of Williamsport, Pa., says he has been more "brutally frank" in his family's recent holiday letters. "But I de-emphasize things. I'll mention medical problems, but downplay them. I have a Jewish mother out there who'd worry."

The changing tone of holiday letters can create awkward moments. Since kindergarten, Ms. Budd has written sections for her family's annual letter. As she has matured and been more forthcoming about her triumphs and travails, she sometimes feels overexposed. Distant relatives at family reunions "know all these incredible details from my life," she says. "I know it's from these letters."

Vijay Mehrotra, a statistics professor at San Francisco State University, began sending holiday letters 16 years ago. In recent years, he's been baring his soul about parenthood, marriage and mid-life issues. "For months, sleep was fitful, anxiety oozed from my pores, and a dark cloud of doubt followed me everywhere I went," he wrote in his 2002 letter.

Many of his 300 recipients marvel at his multipage musings. "His letters challenge me to be more reflective about my own life," says his friend, Matt Stenson of Ashland, Ore. But other recipients find the letters a bit much. "He assumes you want to know everything about him," says another friend, Peter Gotsch of Chicago. "It's a lot of disclosure."

Still, Mr. Mehrotra is adamant about sharing his lowest moments with his mailing list. "There's something really insincere about involving people in all your good news, and then not leveling with them."

Back in the 20th century, when photocopiers first allowed families to slip mass-produced form letters into their Christmas cards, most were newsy updates written in a quasi-journalistic voice. They had familiar undercurrents: gratitude for life's joys, determination to overcome setbacks, and sappy recitations about swell vacations and precocious kids.

The backlash against people who send only good news has been growing since 1998. That's when an Ann Landers column railed against "ghastly" holiday letters in which people brag about their incredible homes and Ivy League-bound children. Pamela Johnson, who founded the 6,000-member "Secret Society of Happy People," fired back, saying families have a right to express their happiness. She demanded an apology, which wasn't given.

Now, to help would-be braggarts keep themselves in check, Ms. Johnson posts holiday letter-writing tips on her group's Web site (www.sohp.com). Other sites, such as christmaslettertips.com, remind letter writers not to exaggerate or show off with unnecessary adjectives. It's safe to include cute quips from your kids -- in moderation. But it's unseemly to repeat the glowing praise you received when your boss promoted you.

The McDavids, whose sons have disabilities, want their holiday letters to give a sense of their lives to friends who wonder why they don't go out to dinner or the movies much. Their letters are straightforward, but poignant. In 2001, they wrote of their son with autism: "In some ways, it is more heartbreaking when his medications are in balance and he can try [to be understood verbally]. We can see the person who is trapped inside that miserable, messed-up neurology, and we still can't free him."

Their letters are "very naked," says Ms. McDavid, "but you always feel better after you write from the heart."

• E-mail: Jeffrey.Zaslow@wsj.com. Read Moving On columns at CareerJournal.com.