It's the most wonderful time of the year?

But is it?

I don’t mean to sound negative here so hang in there. I love this time of year. Even when I was single and wasn’t sure who I’d spend the holidays with, I always found (some) joy in this season. I found a way to claim the pieces that felt good and made it my own. I carried a tree home and up 3 flights of stairs, and threw a Christmas party. When my daughter was in treatment for Leukemia during the pandemic, I found joy again.

So what if we put less pressure on the holidays to be the most wonderful time of the year? What if it was a time we found joy – if and when we could – and if we gave ourselves a little space to feel the hard, too?

There’s something about the holidays that magnifies grief, loss, and difficult family dynamics. It’s a reminder of what or who we’re missing. It feels so complex to wish I had parents to go home to during this season of my life. A reminder that we can be grateful to have the life we hoped for, while still acknowledging what’s missing. I have a home, children, a husband, and his (our) extended family. I have my sisters. This is my daughter’s second Christmas off Chemo – we can gather normally and enjoy this season in a way we couldn’t years ago. And our family has grown – we have our son.

I think part of me thought I’d miss the idea of my mom less once I had a family of my own. My children have definitely brought joy and healing, but there’s something about becoming a parent and wishing you had your parents in your life. It’s hard.

I’ve had too much time to think this week.