When the Holidays Stir Old Wounds
The holidays have a way of sneaking up on us.
One moment you’re going about your daily life, and the next you’re surrounded by twinkling lights, cheerful music, and a world that seems to be celebrating something you can’t quite feel.
Maybe you’ve noticed it the heaviness in your chest, the tightness in your throat, the familiar ache returning in a season where everyone else seems to be reaching for joy.
And maybe part of you is wondering:
“Why now?”
“Why again?”
“Why can’t I just enjoy this the way others do?”
The truth is:
the holiday season can stir emotions we thought we’d already processed.
Grief has a remarkable memory.
So does loneliness.
So does the child inside us who remembers what this season used to feel like or what we wished it had felt like.
This time of year has a way of holding both the magic and the ache.
The Weight You Feel Is Real
The holidays create contrast.
They amplify what’s missing.
They highlight where connection feels fragile.
They bring old wounds into focus, not because you’re going backward, but because your heart is recognizing something tender.
Even if nothing dramatic happened this year.
Even if you’re “fine.”
Even if you’ve done so much healing already.
Your body remembers what your mind tries to forget.
This isn’t regression.
It’s an echo.
Let This Be a Season of Gentleness
If the holidays feel complicated this year, consider giving yourself permission to move through them in a way that truly supports you.
Maybe that means stepping back.
Maybe it means being quiet.
Maybe it means letting one person in.
Maybe it means holding your boundaries with a little more courage.
Maybe it means resting more than usual.
Maybe it means letting yourself feel something you’ve been avoiding.
Gentleness is not avoidance.
It’s care.
Especially when your heart is stretched thin.
You Don’t Have to Navigate This Alone
If this season is stirring something unexpected—old grief, unmet longing, emotional fatigue, or memories you thought were resolved—there is nothing wrong with you.
You’re responding to a season that asks a lot of the heart.
A season that reminds us of who’s missing, what’s changed, and the versions of ourselves we’ve outgrown.
A season that holds both beauty and ache in the very same breath.
And if your heart feels heavier this year, it doesn’t mean you’re failing.
It means you’re feeling.
It means you’re alive to your own tenderness, your own truth, your own story.
Healing isn’t linear.
Growth isn’t loud.
And peace doesn’t always feel peaceful at first.
But you’re moving.
You’re shifting.
You’re becoming someone who can hold complexity without collapsing under it.
And if you need a space to talk through what’s coming up—
to feel supported, to find steadier ground, or simply to breathe without pretending—I’m here.
You don’t have to navigate this season alone.
Brighter days are coming.
And even now, in the middle of the heaviness, you’re doing better than you think.