You might be reading this on Christmas Eve feeling calm, surrounded by people you love, with a sense that things are steady and warm and more or less as they should be. If that’s you, I’m genuinely glad. I know that feeling too. I’m lucky to have people around me, and I’m aware of that. And even in those moments, I think most of us recognise that Christmas doesn’t feel like this for everyone. That awareness often shows up quietly, in the way we notice our neighbours, think about who might be on their own, or hold others in mind without needing to say anything out loud.
But you might also be reading this feeling very differently.
For some people, Christmas brings grief. It might be grief for someone who is no longer here, for a relationship that changed, or for a future you once imagined and quietly had to let go of. For others, it brings exhaustion, the kind that sleep does not fix and encouragement does not touch. It can be the tiredness that comes from holding things together for a long time, often without anyone noticing how much effort that takes.
For some, Christmas brings loneliness, even if they are not physically alone. It can sit quietly alongside conversation and noise, leaving a feeling of being unseen or slightly out of place. For others, it brings memories that were not invited, or a heaviness that is hard to explain. And for some, it simply brings a deep weariness with coping, performing, or pretending that this day feels the way it is supposed to.
Whatever you are carrying today, there is nothing wrong with you for carrying it.
Over the past few weeks, I have written about the ways Christmas can unsettle us. About anxiety, perfectionism, family dynamics, grief, and burnout. If any of those words landed for you, I want you to hear this clearly. You were never meant to do this season perfectly. You were never meant to cope endlessly. You were never meant to be unaffected. You are responding to life as it is, not as it is advertised.
If today feels quiet, heavy, or strangely flat, that does not mean something is missing from you. It may simply mean your nervous system is resting after a long year. It may mean you have loved deeply. It may mean you have survived things you do not often speak about. None of that needs to be fixed tonight.
So if you can, let today be enough just as it is. Eat what you want. Rest when you can. Step outside if you need air. Leave early if you want to. Stay quiet if that feels safer. Cry if it comes. Laugh if it surprises you. And if none of those things happen, that is okay too. Christmas does not get to measure your worth.
If you are alone today, being alone is not the same as being forgotten. If you are surrounded by people but feel unseen, that does not mean you are invisible. And if you are counting the hours until this day passes, you are not failing at anything. You are human.
There will be time later to think about next steps, fresh starts, or what comes after. Today does not need a plan. For now, it is enough to let the snow settle in whatever way it needs to.
You have done enough. You are enough. And you do not have to carry everything alone.
With warmth,
Claire
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