The holidays arrive each year wrapped in a beautiful illusion, twinkling lights, cozy gatherings, picture-perfect meals, and families who behave exactly the way we wish they would. It’s no wonder we carry such high expectations into December.
But for many of us, especially as we get older, the holidays are not just joyful, they’re complicated. Travel plans fall apart, someone gets sick, a grown child can’t make it home, relatives argue, or memories of loved ones who are no longer here tug at our hearts.
Still, despite everything we’ve experienced, we find ourselves hoping—year after year—that this holiday season will be the perfect one just like all those Hallmark movies. How do we lower our expectations without losing the hope, joy, and enthusiasm that make the holidays meaningful?
I have been thinking a lot about this lately. Our expectations come from a place of love and longing. We want the holidays to be special not just for ourselves but for all those that we love. We want to share and create memories that everyone can hold on to one day.
But expectations can become heavy, especially when we imagine a version of events that real life simply can’t compete with. Holidays involve people— people with their own feelings, schedules, and imperfections. And people rarely act according to our mental script. When we cling too tightly to how we think things should go, we leave very little room for how things could go.
Women often carry the emotional load of the holidays and that is a heavy burden, which feels heavier when it is supposed to be fun and it doesn’t feel like fun. Travel plans shift, illness shows up, family dynamics flare and everyone has their own version of the “perfect” holiday.
And what about those who are alone, and not surrounded by family over the holidays? For many in their 60s, 70s, and beyond, the holidays look different than they once did.
Children grow up. Families move. Loved ones pass away.
And sometimes, the season brings moments of solitude we didn’t expect or didn’t choose.
Being alone over the holidays can feel especially tender in a world that tells us Christmas should always be filled with bustling homes and full tables. We don’t talk enough about how painfully lonely the holidays can feel when you’re spending them alone. December has a way of magnifying the emptiness, the silence in the house, the absence of familiar voices, the traditions that used to fill the day. It can bring up memories of people who are no longer here, of the Christmas mornings that once felt full, and of the life chapter that looked very different than the one you’re living now. If that is your reality this season, it deserves to be acknowledged, not minimized.
Loneliness during the holidays isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a sign that you’ve lived, that you’ve loved, and that things have changed in ways you didn’t choose. This kind of loneliness is real. And it hurts. But even in that truth, there are ways to soften the edges, not by pretending the loneliness isn’t there, but by allowing small moments of meaning to coexist alongside it. You don’t have to “cheer up”. You don’t have to pretend the day is merry. You don’t have to act grateful when what you feel is grief. Your emotions are not a burden; they are a reflection of what you’ve carried and who you’ve loved. Sometimes honoring the holiday means honoring your sadness.
Whether experiencing the holidays with family and friends or alone hope is what gives life sparkle. But hope isn’t about insisting on a specific outcome. It’s about trusting that joy can appear in unexpected places. Keep the hope. Keep the excitement. Lose the expectations!
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