The Loneliness No One Talks About During the Holidays

The quietest moments often hold the truest parts of us.

There is a kind of loneliness that wakes up during the holidays, quietly, like a familiar ache moving through cold air.

It does not always announce itself.

Sometimes it waits until you see a glowing window, or a family gathered around a table, or a couple laughing on the sidewalk.

Sometimes it hits when you pull out the decorations, or when you hear the same song your person used to sing off-key in the car.

And if you’re feeling that ache this season, I want you to hear something without hesitation: There is nothing wrong with you for feeling lonely.

Not now, not ever.

Loneliness during the holidays is human.

It’s honest.

It’s a sign of how deeply you’ve loved and how deeply you still long to feel connected.

Why Feeling Lonely During the Holidays Hits So Deep

Grief and stress become louder in December.

The world seems to accelerate, and yet internally, everything slows down.

Memories rise with sharper edges.

Old heartbreak feels fresh again.

And the pressure to be cheerful can feel like another weight sitting on your chest.

When Derek passed, I learned this firsthand.

We used to do everything during the holidays, from little traditions to long drives just to look at lights.

That first year without him felt like being dropped into a world that kept spinning while mine stood still.

I couldn’t sit in the apartment, not with that kind of silence.

So I created a ritual without even realizing I was doing it.

I drove to New Hope or Bethlehem, PA, wandered the streets alone, let the cold air sting my face, and moved at a pace that matched my heart.

I talked to strangers, lingered at small shops, followed the rhythm of my body instead of the rhythm of the world.

Some journeys teach us we were never as alone as we thought.

And by the end of those days, I realized something important:

Feeling lonely during the holidays doesn’t mean you’re broken, it means you’re human.

When Grief Shows Up During the Holidays

Grief has a strange way of making a room feel crowded and empty at the same time.

You can be surrounded by people and still feel the hollow spot where your person should be.

You can laugh at a joke and feel a pang in your ribs because the sound of your own joy reminds you of who isn’t here to hear it.

One thing that helped me was creating small rituals that made the day feel intentional instead of hollow.

On New Year’s Eve, I started setting a table for the loved ones who are no longer physically here.

I cook the foods they loved, play their favorite music, and speak to them the way you’d talk to someone you miss with your whole chest.

Rituals turn empty spaces into places where love can return.

I also write.

Little notes of love, memory, gratitude, even frustration, when they need somewhere to land.

On the holiday itself, I open those notes and let myself feel whatever rises.

Sometimes it’s warmth.

Sometimes it’s tears.

Often, it’s both.

That is the real truth of grief.

Not healing in a straight line, but learning to carry the ache and the beauty side by side.

If You’re Grieving a Relationship, Friendship, or Family Member

Loss doesn’t only come from death.

It comes from distance, disconnection, betrayal, endings we didn’t want, and endings we needed but didn’t expect to hurt this much.

Holiday loneliness sharpens that, too.

If your heart is grieving someone who’s still alive, someone who walked away, or someone you had to walk away from, please hear this:

Your longing does not make you weak.

Your pain does not mean you failed.

Your capacity to love is not something to apologize for.

Creating rituals helps here as well.

Write a letter you never send.

Say the words out loud.

Let them move through you instead of staying trapped inside.

Grief is not meant to be swallowed.

It's meant to be honored.

If Social Connection Feels Hard Right Now

Some of us thrive in small circles.

Some in solitude.

Some are tired.

Some feel overstimulated before they even step into a room.

If the connection feels overwhelming this year:

• Choose one or two people who feel safe. You don’t have to brave the whole world.

• Arrive early if you do go somewhere. The quiet before the crowd can be more grounding than you think.

• Give yourself permission to leave early without guilt. Your energy matters too.

• Let connection be gentle, not performative.
  

  

  Some days, comfort is as small and steady as warm hands around a cup.

  
  

Your worth is not measured in group photos, big gatherings, or how long you stay at a party.

If Social Media Is Making You Feel More Alone

Holiday feeds can make you feel like everyone else is living inside a snow globe of love and connection. Perfect families.

Perfect relationships.

Perfect moments.

But we both know this:

Social media shows the holiday, not always the truth.

And what you are feeling is not a failure; it is a reaction.

If you need to step back, set limits, or curate what you see, that is not avoidance.

That is emotional care.

The ache of absence is real, and still, so are the ways we make space for love.

Ask someone you trust to be your “gatekeeper” if needed.

They can tell you if anything matters, so you don’t have to carry the weight of every image.

Your heart is allowed to have boundaries.

How To Create New Meaning When You Feel Alone

One of the most healing things you can do is create a ritual that belongs only to you.

• A day trip

• A slow morning

• A handwritten list of memories

• A walk through a nearby town

• Cooking something comforting

• Lighting a candle for your person

• Listening to music they loved

• Reading something that brings you back into your body

  
  

These small things can turn a day that might feel empty into something grounded, warm, and meaningful.

Rituals give shape to the hours.

They give your heart something to hold.

Because loneliness is not asking you to pretend.

It's asking you to listen.

You Are Not the Storm

Loneliness can feel like weather, like something powerful and uncontrollable moving through your life.

Even in the quietest winters, there’s still a path leading you back to yourself.

But you are not the storm.

You are the ground beneath it.

You are the quiet center that remains even when the sky is heavy.

You are the one who keeps choosing yourself in small, brave ways.

You are the one who keeps showing up to your own life.

That is the opposite of being alone.

You are held, even in the ache.

You are seen, even in the quiet.

You are connected, even when the world feels out of reach.

And this season, may you find even one moment of warmth returning to you, tiny but real, soft but steady, enough to remind you that you are still here, and you are still worthy of love that feels like home.

A Gentle Companion for the Harder Days

If you’re craving grounding, gentleness, or something to hold onto during the harder moments this season, my digital journal You Are Not the Storm was created for exactly that.

It’s filled with calming prompts, space for reflection, and practices to help you feel steadier on the days that feel too loud or too heavy.

Get the Journal