Joy, Grief and the Space Between 🤍

If this season feels quiet for you — not busy, not chaotic, just still — I want you to know that I see you. I get it. I understand it. In many ways, I am you.

There’s so much conversation this time of year about overwhelm coming from too much — too many events, too much noise, too much to do. But for many of us, the overwhelm comes from the opposite. From the absence. From the silence. From waking up on Christmas morning and realizing it feels like… just another day.

And that can feel incredibly lonely.

People often say the first holiday after loss is the hardest — the first is always the worst. I’m not sure I believe that. The first can feel incomplete, yes. But it can also feel numb. Like you’re moving through the season without fully landing in your body yet. Like part of you hasn’t caught up to what your life already knows.

Grief doesn’t follow a holiday schedule. There isn’t a magical number of Christmases where it suddenly becomes easier or lighter. Some years are heavier than others. Some moments catch you off guard. And some days, simply getting through is enough.

So if you don’t feel like putting up the lights this year… If the garland stays in the box…If you don’t have the energy to embrace the chaos or recreate traditions that no longer fit…That doesn’t make you a Grinch. 🤍

It doesn’t mean you’re doing the holidays wrong. And it certainly doesn’t mean there’s something broken in you.

What I’m learning — slowly, imperfectly, is that it’s okay to make space for grief without trying to push it away or tidy it up. And at the same time, to allow joy to exist alongside it.

I’m learning that joy doesn’t replace grief. Sometimes it just comes in quietly and sits nearby, even if they don’t know how to talk to each other yet. Some days that balance feels possible. Some days it doesn’t. And both are allowed.

On the days when the quiet feels especially heavy, I lean on a few small things. Nothing that fixes it. Just what helps me stay grounded.

Sometimes it’s lighting a candle and sitting with it for a few minutes 🕯️ Sometimes it’s a slow walk, even when I don’t feel like going. Sometimes it’s writing a few honest lines — not to make sense of anything, just to let it exist. And sometimes it’s giving myself permission to skip what feels like too much.

Take what fits. Leave the rest.

If this season feels tender for you…If the quiet feels loud…If you’re finding your way through a holiday that looks nothing like it used to…You’re not invisible here 🤍

You’re not alone in it. And you don’t need to perform joy to belong.

Maybe this year isn’t about doing more. Maybe it’s about trusting that even in the quiet, something gentle is still unfolding.

🕯️ If you’re reading this quietly, know that I’m sitting with you in it too.