Welcome to the holidays, friends. Whether we adore them or dread them, here we are again at the edge of all that glittering, complicated cheer.
’Tis the season of holding tight: to loved ones, to sanity, sometimes to the peace we find in distance. For some, it might be a season of holding tight to memories of what’s gone. For others, perhaps, it’s the sharp reminder of being alone.
Whatever this season brings, consider this a reminder: we are the ones who hold ourselves gently.
With family love often comes family triggers.
Without family love, there are triggers too.
So we remind ourselves, gently, that while there is magic in the holidays, there is also stress. There are confines. There are hard-drawn lines of who we used to be pressing against the tenderness of who we have become—who we’re still becoming.
So here, right now, let’s set an intention together: instead of shrinking ourselves back into the old pieces of who we were, we can allow others to see whatever they see—and still be who we’ve become. We can give them honest permission to be themselves fully and to see us however they need to.
The people who knew us first are often the last to see who we’ve become.
They are allowed their version of us.
And we are free to be the version we like best anyway.
We are the embracers of our own selves and circumstances. We hold ourselves with love.
If we feel the tug of old patterns, the call back to who we used to be, we have the power to notice that we’re noticing. The one who notices the rise of old habits is not the one acting them out. The moment we’re aware, we’re already something new.
In the clattering of dishes, in the overwhelming sound of arguing, or even in profound quiet, we can notice the ebb and flow of emotion. We can acknowledge it and let it pass through.
We can give the trigger permission to exist, and give ourselves permission to regulate.
Both can be our true north.
And with that compass pointing our way, we can see that each one of us is stumbling toward our own North Star. We can look for the kindness in shared circumstances to help pave the way—especially when coupled with a pillar of true authenticity.
It’s our regulation that releases the mantle of worry and guardedness. We no longer have to brace for the dynamics at play. Instead, we can sit inside our own steady presence and simply enjoy what is—whether that’s noise or solitude, connection or distance, warmth or a quiet seat on the sidelines.
In this moment, before anything begins, we prepare.
We allow ourselves to be exactly who we are—even if we’re the only ones who fully appreciate it.
And we can watch triggering moments rise like waves we see but feel no need to surf. We can let them roll by, nodding in recognition. We can choose how much of our heart we share. We are the love we wish others would offer, and we can hold it, give it, or reserve it with care.
We are enough exactly as we are, with or without recognition.
Bright blessings for the holidays friends. Whatever that means to you.
