There’s something about the holidays that brings everything to the surface—the good, the bad, and the parts we try hard not to think about. Maybe it’s the pressure to feel joyful, or the memories tied to previous years, or the quiet ache you try to swallow when things don’t look the way you imagined they would.
This year has been harder than most.
If I’m being completely honest, I’ve had moments where I daydreamed about running away to some tiny tropical island—just me, a hammock, and the sound of waves drowning out the noise of… everything. No expectations, no hurt feelings, no wondering what I did wrong. Just peace.
Because even though I have children—grown ones who have built their own lives—I still somehow feel like an afterthought. Not always, but often enough that it stings. Sometimes I feel like an obligation, a box that needs to be checked off, a holiday commitment they squeeze in because it’s expected. And that hurts more than I’d ever say out loud.
Feeling Like an Outsider in Your Own Family
The hardest part is the imbalance. If my husband and I make plans without them, it somehow turns into us excluding them. But when they make plans without us—plans they make often—we’re left home, uninvited, watching from the outside. And I try not to take it personally, but sometimes… it feels personal.
Last year, we spent Thanksgiving at someone else’s home. This year, we chose to stay home and have a quiet holiday. Somehow, even that decision left me feeling lonely in a way I didn’t expect. Someone I love chose to be elsewhere again. And something inside me cracked just a little.
So I did what I sometimes do when I’m hurt:
I pulled back.
I got quiet.
I distanced myself so no one would have to see how deeply it affected me.
Protecting Your Heart During Holiday Stress
I know I shouldn’t retreat. I know running away—physically or emotionally—isn’t the answer. But sometimes, that’s the only way I know how to protect my heart.
The truth is, I’m not angry because I don’t care. I’m angry because I care too much. I love deeply, maybe too deeply, and when things feel unbalanced or one-sided, I break quietly behind the scenes. I’m human. I’m flawed. And I’m learning that the holidays can be complicated, even in families that love each other.
Maybe someone out there needs to hear this:
It’s okay to feel hurt. It’s okay to feel forgotten. It’s okay to need space.
It doesn’t make you a bad parent or a bad person—it makes you human.
I’m still sorting through the emotions. I’m praying. I’m breathing. I’m trying to give myself grace while also recognizing that my worth isn’t defined by who includes me or who doesn’t.
Maybe next year will feel different.
Maybe it won’t.
But this year? This year I’m honoring my feelings—messy, raw, imperfect—and giving myself permission to acknowledge the ache without drowning in it.
