When Christmas becomes sad, unbearable

Photo: Gerald Farinas.

I want to start by saying something incredibly simple, but profoundly true: If you are carrying sadness, grief, or emptiness right now, you are not alone.

The holiday season is often painted in dazzling gold and relentless cheer. We see images of perfect families, perfect snow, and obligated joy. For many of us, this picture is a painful contrast to what we are actually feeling inside.

If you are veiled by hopelessness, if you feel plunged into a great chasm of darkness, please know that you are seen, and your feelings are valid.

The holidays don't magically pause our struggles. They don't erase the grief of lost loved ones, the weight of loneliness, or the persistent ache of mental health challenges. In fact, all that forced cheer can act like a spotlight, making our internal darkness feel even more intense, more isolating.

It is okay if this season is hard. It is okay if you feel disconnected from the "spirit" of things. Your sadness is not a flaw; it is simply a true reflection of the struggle you are enduring right now.

Permission to choose quiet

The greatest gift you can give yourself this month is permission. Permission to lower the volume on expectations, and permission to choose peace over performance.

1. Permission to say No: You do not have to attend every event, bake every cookie, or smile for every photo. If an activity feels like it will drain you, it is your right to step away, quietly and without explanation.

2. Permission to grieve: If you are missing someone, let yourself miss them. Don't feel obligated to rush through your sadness to keep up appearances. Light a candle, look at a photo, or simply sit with the memory.

3. Permission to define your own light: The holiday "light" does not have to be a brilliant bonfire. Maybe your light is a small, quiet lamp in a cozy corner. Maybe it’s a single cup of hot tea, a good book, or ten minutes of silence. Focus on those small, real glimmers of comfort.

Finding connection in the quiet

In the deepest chasms of darkness, it is easy to believe you are the only one struggling. But I promise you, we are surrounded by countless others who are hiding the exact same hurt.

If you can manage one small thing, make it a quiet reach for connection. Not for grand, forced celebration, but for genuine, shared humanity.

This might look like:

• Sending a simple, honest text to one trusted person saying, "I'm having a hard day."

• Making eye contact with a stranger and offering a genuine nod or small, soft smile.

• Focusing all your energy on a simple, physical sensation: the warmth of a blanket, the sound of rain, the taste of a piece of bread. These anchors tether us to the present when our minds drift into the darkness.

This moment of darkness is real, but it is not permanent. You have survived every day that came before this one, and you possess the endurance to see this season through. Hold on to the knowledge that you are strong, you are valuable, and you are worthy of peace, even if that peace is just a whisper today.

A quiet hope

Let us take a moment, now, to anchor ourselves with a quiet hope—a simple prayer for peace and acceptance, however you define those words.

A Prayer for the Season's Silence

May we recognize the immense strength it takes to simply exist when everything feels overwhelming.

May we be gentle with ourselves and grant permission for rest.

May the burdens we carry feel a fraction lighter tonight.

And may we find a small, honest whisper of light in the quiet corners of our hearts.

May we be kind to ourselves, and may we be kind to one another.

Amen.