Give Yourself Permission This Holiday Season: The Gentler Way to Celebrate (or Not)

When the Season Arrives but Your Heart Feels Quiet

The lights come out. The music starts. Invitations fill your inbox. And somewhere in all that glitter and noise, there’s a voice inside you whispering, I don’t know if I can do this.

For many, the holidays carry joy. But for others, they stir exhaustion, financial strain, or quiet heartbreak. Maybe you’re grieving someone you love. Maybe your body is tired, your bank account is stretched, or your soul is simply asking for something gentler this year.

The truth is, you have permission to celebrate differently. You have permission to rest, to slow down, to create new rituals that honor where you are, not where the world expects you to be.

The glow of the season doesn’t have to mean constant motion. Sometimes it means choosing stillness.

Permission to Feel What You Feel

The holidays have a way of magnifying what’s missing. When someone you love is gone, whether through death, distance, or change, every carol and gathering can remind you of what used to be.

After Derek passed away, I remember people inviting me to parties and dinners. I wanted to go, or maybe I thought I should want to go, but I didn’t have it in me. There were traditions I longed to continue, like walking through New Hope or visiting Bethlehem to see the lights. But I also didn’t want the awkward conversations or the quiet stares when someone said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

So, I learned to say no. I learned that my healing required boundaries.

Some people misunderstood, thinking I didn’t like being around others. One even apologized for inviting me, and I told them, “Don’t be sorry.”

That was a turning point, realizing that grief doesn’t mean isolation, but discernment. I started making my own small rituals: cooking dinner while listening to jazz, decorating my home in quiet reflection, or taking a solo trip somewhere new. Each choice became a way to honor both Derek’s memory and my own aliveness.

You don’t have to “move on” to participate in life. You simply have to move with honesty.

Light for what was, light for what is — both belong at the same table.

Try this reflection:

I give myself permission to feel what I feel, even if it doesn’t match the mood of the room. I give myself permission to grieve and to celebrate, to laugh and to cry, to skip the things that feel heavy.

Permission to Protect Your Energy

Every season brings invitations, dinners, work parties, gift exchanges, and family visits. But your energy isn’t infinite, and saying yes to everything can mean saying no to yourself.

Boundaries are not barriers; they’re sacred containers for peace.

If your body says rest, rest. If small talk feels like too much, it’s okay to decline. You don’t need to explain or justify your no.

The people meant for you will understand that your energy is precious. The ones who don’t, well, they may need to learn that love includes respecting another’s limits.

Try creating one new boundary this season. It might sound like:

• “I’ll come for dessert, but I’m leaving early.”

• “This year, I’m not hosting.”

• “Thank you for thinking of me, but I’m spending this one quietly.”
  

Each boundary is an act of self-respect, and an invitation to those around you to do the same.

Sometimes protecting your energy looks like choosing quiet over company.

Journal prompt:

What is one gathering or expectation you can say “no” to this year, so you can say “yes” to something that restores you?

Permission to Keep It Simple (Financially and Emotionally)

Money is one of the most tender parts of the holidays, and one of the most hidden sources of stress. The pressure to buy, to prove, to match what others give can quietly erode your peace.

Years ago, I stopped giving expensive gifts. Instead, I started creating them. Homemade pies. Hot chocolate kits. Batches of cookies tied with ribbon. I used to host a “cookie party” where people came not for big presents, but for connection. They’d leave with crafts, laughter, and something warm to take home.

Later, I began donating to charities in loved ones’ names, gifts that rippled outward. And you know what? No one missed the store-bought things. The memories were the real gifts.

Your presence matters more than your presents.

You don’t owe anyone a performance of abundance.

Meaning doesn’t need a price tag. Simplicity is its own kind of beauty.

Try this:

I give myself permission to honor my financial reality with grace. I give myself permission to redefine generosity, not by what I spend, but by how I show up.

If you want to give but your budget is tight:

• Bake something from your kitchen.

• Write a heartfelt letter.

• Share time or help with a task.

• Donate gently used items to those in need.
  

Love isn’t measured by receipts. It’s measured by intention.

Permission to Create or Rewrite Rituals

Traditions can be comforting, but they can also feel confining if life has changed. This year, you might feel drawn to rewrite what celebration looks like. That’s not failure; that’s evolution.

You’re allowed to let old rituals fade and new ones form.

Each December, I keep a small gratitude jar. From now until New Year’s Eve, I fill it with little notes, things that made me smile, lessons learned, tiny moments of grace. On December 31st, I read them all. Every time, I’m reminded of how far I’ve come and how much light still found me, even in the hardest seasons.

I also set a table for my loved ones who’ve passed, a simple place setting, a nod to the family tradition we had when I was younger. It’s a quiet way of saying: You’re still here with me.

Maybe your ritual is a morning walk. Maybe it’s lighting one candle for every person or thing that shaped your year. Maybe it’s doing nothing at all, and letting that, too, be sacred.

Ritual doesn’t have to be grand. Sometimes it’s as simple as showing up to the quiet.

Ask yourself:

What would this season look like if I designed it for the version of me that exists right now — not the one from before, or the one others expect?

Permission to Rest, to Remember, to Begin Again

There is no single way to do the holidays “right." There is only what feels true to your heart.

Give yourself permission to pause, to protect, to preserve your peace. You don’t owe anyone your joy — but you do owe yourself your honesty.

If you spend the holidays surrounded by people, may it be because you want to. If you spend them quietly, may it be because your soul asked for calm. And if you’re somewhere in between, learning, grieving, simplifying, may you know that you’re not alone.

Even in stillness, you are part of the light.

🌿 FAQ: Giving Yourself Permission During the Holidays

Q: Can I celebrate the holidays and still honor my grief or limitations? A: Absolutely. Celebration doesn’t have to mean pretending everything’s fine. It can mean creating moments that feel nurturing, honest, and aligned with where you are.

Q: What if I feel guilty for skipping events or not giving gifts? A: Guilt is just the echo of expectation. You are allowed to prioritize peace over performance. The people who truly love you will understand.

Q: How do I tell friends or family I’m doing things differently? A: Honesty and kindness go a long way. You might say, “This year, I’m choosing a slower pace. I hope you’ll understand.” You don’t owe a long explanation.

Q: What if I don’t know how I want to celebrate? A: Start small. Choose one comforting thing, a candle, a walk, a journal ritual, and let that be enough. Clarity comes from gentleness, not pressure.

A Gentle Companion for Your Season

If this season you’re craving simplicity and warmth, my Fall Vibes Journal is a beautiful place to begin. It’s filled with comforting rituals, gratitude prompts, and self-care ideas that help you create meaning, not pressure, as the holidays approach.

Bring Fall Vibes into Your Season