When Life Doesn’t Pause for the Holidays

The holidays have a way of making the world look brighter. Streets glow, families gather, music fills the air, and there’s this gentle assumption that everyone is stepping into December with joy. It’s a lovely idea, but life doesn’t soften simply because the calendar says it’s time to celebrate. Emotions don’t take a break, and difficult moments don’t rearrange themselves to fit the season’s expectations.

For me, Christmas carries a bittersweet significance because it marks the day everything changed.

On Christmas Eve, 11 years ago, I walked out of a psychiatrist’s office with the diagnosis that would shape the early stages of my recovery. It was disorienting. I stepped from a quiet room filled with heaviness into a world buzzing with last-minute shopping, carols, and anticipation. Everyone around me seemed plugged into a joy I couldn’t access. I remember wanting to feel what they felt but not being able to grasp it, yearning for a sense of happiness or stability I didn’t yet understand.

Instead, I felt distant. Not in a dramatic or obvious way, just quietly out of step. It was as though I was watching the holiday season unfold behind a glass that kept me from fully connecting. Layered over that distance was the immense pressure to be “on.” To smile, to be pleasant, to keep things cheerful so I wouldn’t worry anyone. I was trying to appear okay while internally navigating something that didn’t fit the festive script.

That’s where disconnection can quietly grow. You can be in a room filled with people you care about and still feel alone. You can sit at a crowded table and feel completely detached from the moment. It is a strange, painful experience, and one many people move through silently.

The truth is, the holidays can be especially confronting in recovery. Routines shift. Gatherings stretch across several days. Food becomes the centre of attention in ways that can feel overwhelming. Well-meaning comments about plates or bodies can land harder than intended. Even simple disruptions to structure can shake your grounding. When you are expected to blend into the celebration as though everything is fine, the internal pressure sharpens.

Many people, not only those in recovery, end up performing joy during this time of year. You smile to avoid “bringing down the mood.” You soften your feelings so others won’t worry. You tuck away sadness or fear, telling yourself you will revisit it later. You try to match the room even when your heart is moving in a different direction.

Over time, I’ve learnt how isolating that can be and how important it is to have people who can hold space for honesty. People who welcome the full spectrum of your emotions instead of only the ones that are easy. People who help you stay connected to yourself rather than asking you to pretend.

As my recovery deepened, my relationship with the holidays shifted in ways I never expected. I found new meaning in this period, not by forcing joy but by meeting myself where I was. I began to redefine what the holidays looked like for me. I reframed old traditions and created new ones that genuinely felt grounding. I learnt what helped me feel connected to myself during the holidays, rather than simply trying to match the mood around me.

Some years still felt tender. Some still hold echoes of the Christmas eve where everything changed for me. But slowly, the season became less about performance and more about presence. It became about showing up honestly, even if that honesty was painful.

The holidays will always be a mix of emotions. They can hold joy and heaviness at the same time. They can bring connection and loneliness, gratitude and grief, ease and discomfort. None of these feelings make you wrong, dramatic, or ungrateful. They make you human.

If this season feels complicated for you, I want you to know there is room for that. You don’t need to hide the parts of you that feel tender or overwhelmed. You don’t need to perform joy to deserve your place at the table. You most definitely don’t have to carry your emotions alone.

You are allowed to feel exactly what you feel, even when the world around you is wrapped in lights and celebration. You are allowed to take up space with your truth. You are allowed to create boundaries, soften expectations, and shape the holidays into something that supports you rather than drains you.

Life doesn’t pause for the holidays, but you can meet it with honesty, compassion, and a little more room for yourself than you did the year before.

With love,

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