When the Holidays Hurt

A Letter to Everyone Just Trying to Survive December

They call it the most wonderful time of the year, but for a lot of people, December feels more like an endurance test than a celebration.

Some of our closest friends are facing the end of their marriage this holiday season. They’re trying to navigate family gatherings, questions from their kids, the empty chair at the table. So, while the rest of the world is posting matching pajama photos and talking about the magic of Christmas, they will just be trying to survive the next conversation. Watching them carry this weight into December has broken something open in me. Everyone else is ramping up for joy, and they’re trying to figure out how to breathe.

Maybe your December doesn’t look just like theirs. Maybe it’s grief, or estrangement, or a crisis of faith that has you feeling untethered. Maybe it’s chronic illness, financial strain, or the exhausting work of pretending everything is fine when it’s not. The details are different, but the weight is the same. And the expectation that you’ll show up cheerful and grateful makes it all so much harder.

Why the Holidays Hit Different

There’s something about Christmas that amplifies whatever pain you’re already carrying. Part of it is cultural. Part of it is the relentless insistence that this season should be magical, that families should gather in perfect harmony, and that faith should feel warm and certain. The songs, the movies, the social media feeds all reinforce this narrative: if you’re not experiencing wonder and joy, something is wrong with you.

But for those of us who’ve deconstructed our faith, or who are grieving, or who are navigating family conflict, that narrative feels like a lie. The holidays don’t pause for devastation. They don’t wait until you’re ready. They barrel forward with their demands for performance, and if you can’t keep up, you’re left feeling even more isolated than before.

What Doesn’t Help

Let’s be honest about what makes it harder. Toxic positivity doesn’t help. When someone is carrying real pain and you respond with “just focus on your blessings” or “God has a plan,” you’re not offering comfort, you’re dismissing their reality. You’re asking them to perform gratitude they don’t feel, and that’s exhausting.

Forced gatherings don’t help either. The expectation that you’ll show up for every family event, sit through every church service, smile through every conversation about “how you’re doing”, it’s too much. Sometimes the kindest thing you can do for yourself is skip the things that will harm you. And if people are offended by that, their comfort is not your responsibility.

What Actually Does Help

So what does help? Let me offer a few things that might make December a little more bearable.

1. Give yourself permission to do less. You don’t have to attend every gathering. You don’t have to send cards or decorate or participate in traditions that feel hollow right now. Protect your energy. Say no to what drains you. It’s not selfish.

2. Find small rituals that feel meaningful to you. Maybe it’s lighting a candle on the darkest night of the year and acknowledging that darkness is okay. Maybe it’s reading the Christmas story slowly and letting yourself notice the fear and uncertainty in it. Maybe it’s a quiet walk or a conversation with one trusted friend. You get to decide what feels sacred.

3. Seek out people who won’t spiritually bypass your pain. Find the ones who will sit with you in the mess without trying to fix it or explain it away. This might mean avoiding certain family members or church communities for a season. It might mean building your own chosen family of people who understand what you’re walking through. Community isn’t just nice during hard times, it’s necessary. And if you don’t have that in person, find it online. Find spaces where your questions are welcome, where doubt isn’t treated as failure, where you can be honest about how hard this is.

That’s part of what this community is about. It’s a place where you don’t have to pretend, where deconstruction isn’t a dirty word, where you can be in process without pressure to have it all figured out. If you know someone who needs that kind of space this season, someone who’s questioning or grieving or just tired of performing faith they don’t feel, consider gifting them a subscription.

The Real Christmas Story

Here’s what I keep coming back to: the actual Christmas story is about God showing up in darkness and vulnerability. Mary was probably terrified. Joseph was confused. They were displaced, poor, vulnerable. The incarnation isn’t a story about everything being cozy and resolved, it’s about God entering into the mess and the pain and saying “I’m here.”

That’s the theology I’m trying to hold onto this December. That God doesn’t wait until we’re okay to show up. God comes into the hardest seasons, the darkest nights, the moments when we have nothing left to give. And presence is enough. (I will be writing more about this soon)

If you’re barely holding it together this December, you’re not alone. The holiday demands are real, the pain is real, and you don’t have to pretend otherwise. Do what you need to do to survive this season. Find your people. Protect your peace. And don’t feel guilty about any of it.

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