the most wonderful time of the year

or is it?

Hello love,

Lights twinkle in homes across the world, Christmas trees proudly wear their shiny ornaments, and cinnamon cookies are impatiently waiting to be baked and shared. Mariah Carey is back on the radio, and my wallet is much lighter than a week ago.

It’s undeniable, the holiday season is upon us. We’re wrapping up the year’s load of projects and goals, while flash sales, promotions, and the pressure of “finishing the year strong” start to feel like an ocean of tangled ribbons tightening around our hearts.

It’s not just the tasks on our list that make this time feel heavy. It’s the feelings we carry with us.

Whether we want it or not, the holiday season stirs up contrasting emotions, making it harder to navigate than any other time of the year.

For me, the holidays have often brought joy, but are also vivid reminders of what’s missing. Of loved ones no longer here, of the things I wished for as a child but never had, and the ache of what could have been.

Yet, this is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year.

Joy, happiness, love and warmth are all desired, welcomed and celebrated feelings. Ones we are encouraged to display. But that means we’re tempted to lock away the rest - grief, sadness, anxiety and anger - stuffing them into tidy boxes with pretty red bows on top.

Photo by Kira auf der Heide on Unsplash

This year, I feel the contrast more strongly than ever. One side of me truly wishes to bathe in the cocoa smell, join in the playfulness of my kids, act all bubbly and joyful, like I used to be. But I can’t. I feel it for a minute, and then it evaporates as fast as it came.

My dad passed away last summer, and there’s so much I wish I could say. So much that I have no words.

Of course, I miss him. Of course his absence feels louder now. Every day, as I walk in the historic streets of my new city, I think of him. Of how he would have loved it here. Of how he’ll never see it. Of how he never saw me. I think of all the things that could have been but never were. Of how he only met my son twice, probably as much as he’d seen me when I was his age. I think of the memories we shared and those we never had the chance to create. Of how his smile made me feel safe. Of how cold it feels inside despite the sunny weather.

It’s so heavy sometimes that I intentionally bury myself in work to avoid sitting with all this. Stress and pressure seem easier to deal with.

And I know I’m not the only one.

Not the only one to have lost someone. Not the only one to feel uncomfortable emotions at this time of the year. Maybe you’re also feeling grief, or maybe it’s anxiety that shows up unannounced on your doorstep, like an angry aunt you wish had forgotten about you.

And it’s ok. It doesn’t mean anything about you, it doesn’t mean you’re broken.

It’s simply means you’re human.

The holidays are complex to navigate

The holidays have this way of shining a spotlight on everything we’re carrying.

The child-like excitement and anticipation of warm moments of connection, and the remains of the past : the innocent image of what family is supposed to feel like and the adult awareness of how it actually is. All we’ve been through. All the pain of our unmet needs. And the very real fear to repeat patterns with our own kids.

So we double down on the gifts. We hang on a few more lights on the chimney. We put on that extra pound. And that’s fine.

Sometimes that’s all we can do.

But what if there was another way? A way to stop forcing ourselves into those small boxes. A way to finally acknowledge the complexity of what it means to be human. Messy, grieving, joyful, and everything in between.

So much of our human pain comes from denying ourselves the permission to feel everything that demands to be felt, as well as from attachments and unreasonable expectations.

We create an image of how we think we should feel and act. We stay attached to the past. We regret that things weren’t how we wanted them to be. We carry grudges and disappointments like fragile ornaments we dare not drop, even as they weigh us down.

We hang on to the expectations we place on others, the ones placed on us. We all have expectations but we rarely understand their nature. We see them as conditions that must be fulfilled and we fail to see that they’re only our mind’s attempt to create a sense of control out of chaos. A voice in our minds whispering, “If I expect this, if I plan that, everything will stay manageable.” But expectations don’t just organise life; they tether us to outcomes we can’t guarantee, like delicate invisible threads that tie us and pull us into resentment and heartbreak.

So what if we let go?

Not of our dreams, desires or hopes but of the tight grip we keep around how they should take shape. What if we allowed ourselves to trust and hope instead?

Turning towards hope

Hope is an invitation. It doesn’t demand, control, or hold us captive. Instead, hope calls us to open up, to believe in possibilities without clinging to specifics.

When we hope, we step into trust. Not the naïve kind that insists everything will always be perfect, but the quiet kind that believes, “I may not know what’s ahead, but I trust I’ll get through it.”

When we turn to hope, we free ourselves from needing the universe to follow our script. Hope teaches us to hold space for both joy and disappointment, for grief and gratitude. It encourages us to place our trust in the idea that we are supported, even when life feels unbearably heavy..

Universe is always here, holding us. Not when we’re happy. Not when we’re perfect. Not when we’ve got it all figured out.

Just as we are now.

Making space for all that is inside of you

Just as the universe holds us and makes space for us, how would it look like if we also tried to make space for everything that’s inside of us without boxing anything away.

It starts with letting go.

Letting go of the stories we tell ourselves about how things “should” be. Letting go of the urge to control, to prove, to perform.

And then slowing down, listening within and and noticing what we need and meeting those needs with care. Nurturing ourselves in small, tender ways: a quiet cup of tea, a slow walk under the lights, a moment to breathe and simply be.

Pause and breathe

Stop for a few minutes, close your eyes, place a hand on your heart, and take a few deep breaths. As you exhale, silently say to yourself:

• I am safe.

• I am allowed to feel everything.

• I can hold space for all my emotions.

• The universe is always holding me.

Journal through the emotions

Writing can be a powerful way to process the complex feelings that arise for you. Here are some prompts to help you explore. There’s no need to make sense of everything right now, let the words flow freely without judgement.

• What am I feeling right now, in all honesty?

• What do I need right now? How can I meet these needs?

• Hope without expectations, what does that look like for me?

• How can I show extra care and nurturing for myself?

Whatever you’ll uncover, my invitation for you is to take it one moment at a time. Feel what you need to feel, ask for presence and help if it looks too much to explore on your own. I know having my therapist by my side for instance is such an important support to lean on.

Finally, choose one small act of care for yourself today. Wrap yourself in a blanket. Book yourself a massage or a Reiki session. Go to bed one hour earlier with a lovely book. Join a book club! Write one sentence in your journal. Whisper one affirmation that feels true to your heart.

And remember.

No matter how heavy the load, or how messy the journey, you’re not alone.

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Celebrate Plan Manifest Journal 2025

This winter, step away from the holiday craze and create that space within yourself. The Celebrate Plan Manifest Journal 2025 has been designed to guide you through these important reflections about your journey so far, about your true joy and create a simple, aligned plan for the year ahead..

Coming up on December 15th, 2024.

Power and light,

Jessica