Permission Slips for the Holidays

Last December, I put impossible pressure on the holidays.

Tijn was in treatment for leukemia, and I didn't know if we'd have another holiday season together. So I tried to make it perfect. Magical. Memorable enough to last.

I said yes to everything that might become a precious memory. And beneath it all was this quiet, desperate thought: What if this is it? What if we don't get another one?

If you're carrying that question this year, I see you. There's no way to make that lighter, and I won't pretend these permission slips can fix it. But maybe they can make the weight a little more bearable.

What I learned is that trying to make everything perfect doesn't actually help us hold on tighter; it just makes us more exhausted while we try.

What I'm learning instead

The holidays still amplify everything. The joy. The noise. The expectations. The family dynamics. And beneath it all, that familiar pressure to show up perfectly.

But this year, I'm asking a different question.

Instead of "How do I make the holidays better?" I've been asking: "What would make this feel just a little lighter?" Not perfect. Not magical. Just lighter.

That question has changed how I move through my days.

The permission slips I keep nearby

These are the reminders I seem to need every year. The ones I forget when I'm rushing, reacting, trying to keep everything moving.

You don't have to love every part of this season. Enjoyment doesn't need to be constant to be real. Last year, I thought every moment had to feel special. This year, I know some moments will just feel like Tuesday. And that's okay.

Mixed feelings are allowed. You can feel grateful and overwhelmed in the same breath. You can be happy for the gathering and tired by the logistics. You can love your people and need space from them. None of these things cancel each other out.

Rest doesn't need to be earned. Sometimes rest looks like sitting longer than planned. Or letting something wait. Or saying no without a good reason. It counts even when it's accidental.

Good enough isn't a failure. It's often the most honest version of showing up. The cookies from the store. The tradition you skip this year. Good enough is what keeps you present instead of performing.

I forget these more often than I remember them. I rush. I react. I try to keep things moving. But when I pause, even briefly, something shifts and softens.

A small pause that helps me

One thing I've been experimenting with this week is giving myself 90 seconds before reacting or responding. Just enough time for my body to catch up with my brain.

It's about the length of:

• one red light
• waiting for your coffee to cool
• scrolling past a few posts

I don't always remember. I don't do it perfectly. But sometimes, it changes the tone of the next moment. And right now, that feels like enough.

Here's to a lighter holiday

If this season feels heavier than it looks from the outside, welcome to the club.

Last year taught me something I didn't want to learn: you can do everything "right" and still feel like you're drowning. The magic doesn't come from the perfect moment; it comes from the moments when you stop asking so much of yourself.

This year, we get to have the holidays. That's enough. Everything else is optional.

I hope you find your own version of lighter. Whatever that looks like for you.