When Christmas Feels Different

When Joy and Grief Sit at the Same Table

Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

This Christmas feels different for me.

It’s my first Christmas without my mother.

And yet, in a strange way, it’s not.

For the past five years, Christmas has been slowly changing. My mom was here physically, but her mind had slipped away. Morning phone calls stopped. Traditions faded. The woman who made Christmas feel like Christmas was no longer present.

So grief didn’t arrive all at once.
It came in pieces.

I share this because I know I’m not alone.

Many of us come to Christmas carrying layered loss. Not just death, but slow goodbyes. The gradual changes. The holidays that stopped feeling familiar long before we were ready.

And this is where the right mindset matters.

For the last few years, I thought the “right” way to approach Christmas was to push through it. To smile and fake being happy. To be grateful. To make it meaningful anyway. But the truth is, Christmas doesn’t ask us to make believe.

The very first Christmas held uncertainty, fear, exhaustion, and hope all at once. God did not wait for a tidy moment to arrive. Jesus came into the world messy, born in a stable.

This year, my Christmas mindset is not about forcing joy.
It’s about allowing honesty.

One of the most grounding things I’ve learned is to name the season I’m in, without judgment.

Not rushing past it.
Not trying to reframe it too quickly.
Just telling the truth.

This Christmas, I am in a season of grief layered with gratitude.
And naming it has brought more peace than pretending ever did.

Grief and gratitude can coexist.
Sadness does not cancel faith.
Missing someone doesn’t mean I’m going to miss Jesus.

One of the quiet consequences of grief is the loss of expectation. Not just losing someone, but losing the version of Christmas we once knew.

I’ve had to make peace with the fact that Christmas hasn’t been the same for a while. And it won’t be again. That doesn’t make it wrong. It makes it different.

Instead of longing for how it used to be, I’m learning to release the Christmas I’ve been chasing. The one that lived in the past. The one I thought I was supposed to recreate.

And in letting that go, I’ve been able to ask a new question.

What is God offering me now?

Sometimes it’s peace.
Sometimes it’s rest.
Sometimes it’s simply permission to feel what I feel.

This season, I’m practicing something new. I’m letting Christmas come to me.

Not in perfectly wrapped moments, but in quiet ones. Through stillness. Through memories that rise up without warning. Through a deeper awareness that God is still with me, even in loss.

Especially in loss.

When the pressure starts to creep in, I gently remind myself to choose presence over performance.

Not fixing the moment.
Not managing the emotions.
Not getting pulled into the chaos of the season.
Just being here.

A candle.
A song.
A quiet prayer whispered under my breath.

That is enough for today.

I don’t need to perform Christmas this year.
I don’t need to recreate it.
I only need to make room.

And maybe that’s the invitation for all of us.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
Psalm 34:18

If this Christmas carries grief for you, whether fresh or familiar, you are not doing it wrong. You are simply living it honestly.

Peace does not arrive by erasing what we’ve lost.
It comes by meeting us where we are.

This year, I’m choosing honesty over pretending.
I’m naming the season I’m in.
I’m choosing presence over pressure.
And I’m allowing Christmas to be my own.

How are you approaching Christmas this year?

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The Writing to Heal Workshop begins January 11.
A small, faith-centered writing workshop for women who feel stuck and need space to breathe and process.