Navigating the Holidays, Part 2: Letting the Season Fit You

There’s a particular kind of busy life that arrives as the holidays approach. Trees and lights go up. Calendars fill. The world seems to move in a synchronized rhythm of gathering.

But maybe your rhythm is different this year. Maybe something inside you is weary. Maybe you're grieving. Maybe you're changing. Maybe the old traditions don't feel like home anymore.

Or maybe they never did.

No one teaches us that it's okay to let the holidays evolve. We inherit a script before we're even old enough to read it. Many of us try to follow it: show up, smile, participate, and perform connection even when it doesn't feel safe or real.

But life shifts. We shift. And the holidays ask us, sometimes quietly, sometimes urgently:

Who are you now?

What do you need now?

The Quiet Celebration

There's a celebration that happens in stillness, though most of us weren't taught to value it.

A holiday can be:

• A day spent in pajamas, not rushing for anything

• A warm drink held with both hands, with your favorite holiday music playing

• A quiet call with someone who really knows you

• A small meal cooked slowly

• A walk outside to watch the winter light change

There's no audience for these moments, but they are real. Sometimes, they are the most honest form of joy we get.

Smallness is not a failure. Smallness can be tender, intentional, and complete.

The Role You No Longer Have to Play

If you've always been the one who plans all the holiday events, who makes sure everyone else feels comfortable, who shows up to keep the peace: this may be the year you set that down.

Stepping back is not selfish. It is self-recognition.

You are allowed to say:

"This year, I need something different."

Even if no one else understands, if you have to disappoint someone to stay true to yourself, or if there's pressure to do the holidays like you used to, you can honor what you need.

Grief, Memory, and the Table with Empty Chairs

The holidays have a way of calling forth every version of us we've ever been. They remind us of what we've lost, what we've outgrown, who is no longer here.

Grief does not need to be tucked away like it's inappropriate for the season, but rather, grief belongs here, too.

Light the candle. Say the name. Tell the story. Let a tear fall if it needs to. Grief for a loved one is simply love.

Let that love sit beside you. Let it breathe with you. Grief does not ruin the day. It makes the day real.

Rewriting What Tradition Means

Traditions only matter if they nourish us, so ask:

What feels good to my body this year? What feels emotionally safe? What feels like care?

This might be the year your holiday becomes:

• Shorter visits

• Gift-free exchanges

• More phone or Zoom calls than travel

• More quiet than conversation

• More laughter in small corners than in big rooms

The first time you change a tradition, it might feel strange. Over time, it may become the thing that finally fits. You are not betraying your history by choosing what supports you now. Instead, you are tending to your life as it is.

A Closing Thought

There is no single right way to move through the holidays.

There is only:

• Your pace

• Your truth

• Your body's wisdom

• Your heart's capacity

Maybe you are surrounded by people this year, alone, or somewhere in between.

Whichever it is, you are not doing the holidays wrong.

You are allowed to shape the season around your real life, not the Hallmark Christmas movie fantasy life.

And if this year is soft, quiet, gentle, ordinary?

That is still a holiday.

That is still you choosing yourself.