It was December 1st, 2021 and I was standing alone in my new apartment.
My husband and I had been preparing for this moment for a while. Our marriage wasn’t working. We’d tried everything to no avail, so our last remaining option was a trial separation. My husband hoped the separation would rescue our drowning marriage; I hoped it would provide a smoother transition into what I perceived to be our inevitable divorce.
Since our home held a lot of triggering memories for me, I decided to be the one to move out. So there I was, twenty-four days until Christmas with a family that was now visibly falling apart.
Our agreement was that we would divide our time with the children equally with each of us having them for a week at a time. We also agreed that, for the sake of the kids, we would do Christmas together as a family that year. My husband and I were in an amicable enough place that we were able to offer that one Christmas comfort to our children despite how strange it felt.
It turned out to be a lovely time. There was joy and laughter, even with the unspoken undercurrent of grief we all carried. I was happy to make one last Christmas memory with my family just as it was. I was equally happy when it was time to go back to my new little apartment-sanctuary when all the events were over.
It turned out that our separation only lasted about six months. Spending time apart, it turned out, was the catalyst for us to both finally do the healing that had been so hard to do when we lived together. In June of 2022, we moved out of my apartment and the house that held the bad memories, found an apartment in a new city, and began a new life as a reunited family. I could fill a hundred books with all the events—both good and bad—that took place during that six-month separation, but that’ll be for another time.
Now, as we prepare for Christmas in 2024, it’s hard to not be haunted by memories of the grief-tinted one I thought would be our last. Every year, it serves as a reminder that the holidays are not a time of joy and cheer for everyone. Somewhere out there, a family is having their first post-divorce Christmas. Somewhere else, a family is having their first Christmas without a loved one—who will have to try to be present with the remaining family members while remembering the one they lost. Someone has been laid off and is wondering how they will pay off the Christmas credit card charges they made when they thought they’d still be employed next month. The list of traumatizing things that can make the holidays hard to survive seemingly has no bottom to it.
I’ll probably never forget that sad Christmas three years ago. It pains me to realize that my family’s Christmas traditions will likely always carry the ghost of that one unhappy year. But that year also serves as an important and powerful reminder to appreciate what I have, to stay present in each moment, and to soak up every happy memory I can.
My parents are getting older. My children are getting older. Family members have ailments that never really release the threat of taking them suddenly. There is no guarantee that next Christmas will look like this one. In fact, I am coming to terms with the reality that, at any moment, I could find myself stepping into a season of life that is typified by loss of one kind or another.
I’ve learned, therefore, to treat the holidays with seriousness and reverence. For me, that looks like this:
- Using my phone for taking pictures, not doom-scrolling on social media.
- Prioritizing my time toward making memories with my loved ones, even if that means the house is cluttered or the food presentation isn’t just so.
- Forgiving and asking for forgiveness, making amends with the people I love—even if we do so imperfectly.
- Releasing myself from the pressure to make magic for my family and instead choosing to be the magic. It turns out that the only magic my loved ones need is for me to be there and to be present.
- Reminding myself that my kids won’t remember how the food tasted, but they’ll remember cooking it with me (so I’m going to let them, even if we ruin it all).
- Allowing myself to rest, because I cannot embrace all the blessings of this time together if I am worn out and overwhelmed.
Of all the lessons the holidays can teach us, perhaps the most profound is the power of grace. Grace for ourselves when we’re overwhelmed, grace for others when they’re struggling, and grace for our lives unfolding in unpredictable ways. This season is not about perfect meals, flawless decorations, or curated memories—it’s about connection, love, and resilience. Whether your holiday table is full or missing someone dear, whether your heart feels light or heavy, grace can be the anchor that keeps you grounded in what truly matters.
Let’s also remember to be sensitive and compassionate to those we encounter this season. Even the happiest person you know carries heartache, grief, insecurities, or fears that they may not share but that burden them nonetheless. This time of year can amplify those burdens, and it’s important to remember that. That curmudgeon at the grocery store, that miser at the post office, that Scrooge on the internet, may be profoundly suffering. (They might also just be an ass hole, but who knows).
So, this holiday season, let’s choose to soften. Let’s show up for our loved ones in ways that feel authentic, even if messy. Let’s embrace the joy of presence over perfection and remember that every moment—no matter how fleeting or imperfect—is a gift. Life doesn’t always give us the holidays we envision, but it always gives us the opportunity to lean into love. Here’s to making the most of whatever this season brings, one graceful moment at a time.
