Every holiday season, I find myself caught in a familiar struggle—wishing for what I don’t have while fighting to accept what is. My family dynamic isn’t traditional. Moving to Tennessee this May meant leaving my mom, aunts, and cousins behind in California. My daughter lives with her dad in Texas, and I’ve chosen to step away from my relationship with my dad to protect myself.
When the holiday season rolls around, social media bombards us with idealized family moments in picture-perfect homes. I try to stay away from scrolling, but keeping it out gets harder every year. I feel inadequate, sad, and lonely and so my instinct is to distract myself: baking cookies, decorating like a madwoman, finding the best Christmas light displays to drive through and admire...doing everything I can to create the illusion of a perfect holiday. But the truth is, it doesn’t work.
Accepting Pain Without Letting It Define Me
My husband often reminds me: Choose those who choose you back. In most areas of life, I can embrace this mantra, but it’s hardest when it comes to my daughter. Her living with her dad is one of the most difficult challenges I’ve faced. I feel judged when people ask about it, as though they think it could happen to them just by association. I try to convince them (and maybe myself?) that it’s what’s best, that she’s doing great and that’s what matters. But underneath, I don’t always believe it. It's a lot to carry.
A friend once told me that the more we resist the pain life hands us, the more we suffer. I can’t control the circumstances around me or the decisions others make, but I can choose to stop resisting. Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional. Accepting this doesn’t magically make the sadness disappear, but it does make room for moving forward.
This is my second Christmas without my daughter, and it still aches. I miss the little girl who cherished me—who cried when I left and ran into my arms when I came to pick her up. I think, deep down, that’s what I’m grieving: my little girl isn't little anymore, and I won’t have that experience again. But would I want to erase that sadness? No. It’s a sign of the love I feel, a natural part of this human experience, and something worth grieving.
Finding Gratitude in What Is
As much as I let the sadness in, I also hold space for gratitude. My husband, my steadfast partner and hero, treats me like a queen every single day. He’s the only man I’ve ever fully trusted, and his love brings safety and comfort I never imagined possible.
Then there are my friendships—new and old—that have become a source of joy and connection. Kimberly, who couldn’t attend Friendsgiving but dropped off homemade deviled eggs. Kate, who flew across the country and told me, “I just want to be with you.” Samantha, a new friend who’s brave, thoughtful, and vulnerable, reminds me that meaningful connections come in many forms.
These relationships won’t replace the bonds I’ve lost, but they bring fulfillment in their own right—if I let them.
Embracing Both Joy and Sadness
This year, I’m holding space for both. I’m letting the sadness in because it’s part of my story, and I’m choosing not to resist it. I’m finding meaning in the relationships with the people I choose and who choose me back. Life isn’t about picture-perfect moments; it’s about real ones. Life is messy, and it’s what we do with it that shapes who we are.
It’s okay to grieve the parts of life that didn’t turn out the way we hoped while also celebrating what’s right in front of us. This year, I’m working to embrace the bittersweet reality of holding space for both sadness and joy—because life is full of both, and honoring that makes each one more meaningful.
Thanks for being here with me.
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