Can I be honest with you about something?

Not everyone loves Christmas.

I know that's almost sacrilegious to say. We're supposed to love the lights, the music, the togetherness. We're supposed to feel warm and grateful and full of holiday cheer.

But for a lot of people, Christmas is hard. Really hard.

Maybe you're dreading the family gathering because of unresolved tension. Maybe you're grieving what the holidays used to be. Maybe you're walking into a room where someone hurt you deeply and everyone expects you to smile and pass the potatoes like nothing happened.

Maybe this is your first Christmas after everything fell apart.

If that's you, I want you to know something: you're not broken for feeling this way. And you're not alone.

My Christmas Eve at 11pm

December 2022 was my first Christmas after my world changed.

I was stuck in Destin, Florida, not sure what was going to happen next. My life had been turned upside down, and the holidays were the last thing I felt like celebrating.

Then my daughter Reagan called. She asked if I could make it home to be with her and her brothers.

So I made it happen.

I stayed with my boys—Cole and his wife Sierra had a place, and we made it work. But nothing about that Christmas looked like the ones before. The timing was off. The traditions were different. We didn't get to have Christmas Eve dinner until 10 or 11 at night.

And I had a choice to make.

I could spend the evening mourning what Christmas used to be. I could sit in disappointment that things weren't the way I wanted them. I could let bitterness steal whatever joy was possible in that moment.

Or I could accept that this Christmas was going to be different—and that was okay.

So I made my classic meatballs and pasta sauce. We finally ate close to midnight. Then we played Monopoly, which—as it always does—eventually got a little heated. But we laughed. We were together. And I went to bed that night grateful for what I had instead of angry about what I'd lost.

It wasn't the Christmas I would have planned. But it was still Christmas.

The Power of Acceptance

Here's what I've learned about hard holidays: fighting reality only makes it worse.

When you walk into a family gathering expecting it to be something it's not going to be, you set yourself up for disappointment. When you demand that people behave the way you wish they would, you give them the power to ruin your day.

But when you accept that this gathering might be awkward, that Uncle whoever might say something inappropriate, that the tension between your parents might be thick enough to cut with a knife—when you accept all of that going in—you take your power back.

Acceptance doesn't mean you approve of bad behavior. It doesn't mean you pretend everything is fine. It just means you stop being surprised by reality and start working with what is instead of what you wish it was.

Practical Survival Strategies

If you're heading into a hard family situation this week, here are some things that help:

Lower your expectations. Not cynically, but realistically. If Aunt Martha has made passive-aggressive comments at every family gathering for twenty years, she's probably going to do it again. Don't let it surprise you. Decide ahead of time how you'll respond—or not respond.

Choose your attitude. This is radical responsibility. You can't control what other people do, but you can control how you show up. Be the person you wish everyone else would be. Be kind. Be patient. Be reasonable—even with people who just don't get it.

Don't engage crazy. When someone tries to pull you into drama, conflict, or old arguments, you don't have to take the bait. A simple "I'm not going to discuss that today" is a complete sentence. You can refuse to participate in dysfunction without making a scene.

Protect yourself when necessary. Look, if your family situation is genuinely toxic—if there's emotional abuse, manipulation, or behavior that damages your mental health—it's okay to not go. Setting boundaries isn't selfish. Sometimes the healthiest thing you can do is stay home.

But if it's just difficult? If the people are annoying but not abusive? You can do hard things. Show up, be kind, leave when you need to, and let the rest go.

Take what you can get. My Christmas Eve dinner at 11pm wasn't ideal. But it was dinner with my kids. The timing didn't matter as much as the togetherness. Look for the good in imperfect moments—it's usually there if you're willing to see it.

Be the Change

Here's what I've learned from years of helping families navigate difficult dynamics: someone has to go first.

Someone has to be the one who doesn't take the bait. Someone has to be the one who responds with kindness when they receive criticism. Someone has to be the one who chooses peace over being right.

Why not let that someone be you?

You can't control your family. You can't make them be who you wish they were. But you can control yourself. And sometimes, when one person starts showing up differently, it gives everyone else permission to do the same.

Be the change you hope to see in others. Even if they never change, you'll leave knowing you handled yourself with integrity.

For Those Starting Over

If this is your first Christmas after a divorce, a death, a falling out, or any kind of loss—I see you.

It's not going to feel the same. It might not even feel good. And that's okay.

Give yourself permission to grieve what was while still being open to what is. Make new memories, even small ones. Show up where you can, protect yourself where you need to, and remember that this season won't last forever.

Hard Christmases don't stay hard forever. I know because I've lived it.

That 2022 Christmas taught me something important: joy isn't dependent on circumstances. You can find it in late-night meatballs and a Monopoly game that almost ended friendships. You can find it in simply being together, even when together looks nothing like it used to.

You're going to get through this week. And you might even find moments worth holding onto.

I'm believing that for you.

Merry Christmas, fellow sojourner. You're not walking this path alone.

If the holidays are bringing up stuff you need to process, I'm here. Check out the Smalley Sojourners community at smalleyinstitute.com or reach out directly.

You can text me at (303) 435-2630  or email [email protected].

What's helping you get through the holidays this year? Or what are you dreading most? Share in the comments—sometimes just saying it out loud helps.