PART 6: My Holiday Story
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— Grief, Pressure, and Learning to Breathe Again
There are some stories we don’t tell for a long time…
not because we’re hiding them,
but because we’re still surviving them.
For most of my life, my holiday story has been one of those.
Growing up in a big family, I always wanted the holidays to feel magical.
And in the beginning, they really did. We’d decorate, cook, laugh, and plan—so full of excitement and hope.
But the moment the holiday actually arrived…
everything could change in an instant.
The decorations were beautiful.
The house smelled like good food.
But the atmosphere?
That told a different story.
My mom—who wasn’t always this way—would suddenly become someone else.
If it was just our immediate family, the whole day could unravel fast:
sudden fights
yelling
walking on eggshells
verbal or physical outbursts
that heavy, suffocating silence that filled the rooms
But if company arrived?
She could switch it off like a light.
She’d smile, laugh, act warm and calm—like nothing had happened.
Everyone else got the mother we wished we had.
And we were left trying to make sense of both realities.
As the oldest of ten, I saw everything.
I tried to buffer the chaos.
I tried to shield my siblings.
I tried to make the day “okay,” even if inside, it felt like we were all waiting for the next storm.
Growing up like that taught me something I didn’t understand until much later:
Holidays are where love can become unpredictable.
A good moment can turn stormy out of nowhere.
And somehow, as a child, you believe it might be your fault.
I didn’t even realize I carried that into adulthood.
When Life Added Its Own Layers of Pain
As I got older, the holidays became complicated for new reasons too.
Nothing prepares you for:
losing my baby brother
losing my grandfather
losing a close friend to suicide
the grief that settles into December like a shadow
fighting my own mental health battles
surviving a suicide attempt in 2011 that I wasn’t sure I’d live through
I know what it feels like to sit in a room full of sparkly lights…
and feel completely numb.
I know what it feels like to decorate a tree while swallowing memories that never had a chance to be sweet.
I know what it feels like to force a smile so your kids don’t see the heaviness in your eyes.
And I know what it feels like to wonder why everyone else seems joyful while you feel overwhelmed by emotion you can’t even explain.
Holidays Bring Up More Than Memories — They Bring Up Histories
This season has a way of shining a spotlight on everything we’ve tucked away:
grief
loneliness
childhood trauma
unrealistic expectations
pressure to be “festive”
missing people
unresolved hurt
financial stress
the emotional exhaustion no one sees
Some people ache because of who’s missing.
Some ache because of what never was.
Some ache because the past shows up every December like a ghost.
And if that’s you?
Hear me clearly:
You are not broken.
You are not weak.
You are not dramatic.
You are human.
And your heart remembers what your mind tries to forget.
What Pain Eventually Taught Me
Through all of it—the chaos, the grief, the healing—I learned something powerful:
I am allowed to set boundaries.
I am allowed to say “no” to toxic patterns.
I am allowed to create new, peaceful traditions for my kids and grandkids.
I am allowed to break generational cycles.
I am allowed to breathe again.
I am allowed to choose peace over performing.
I am allowed to heal in my own time.
What once felt like a season I had to survive
has become a season I’m learning to redefine.
Healing didn’t erase my past.
But it absolutely changed my future—
and my children’s future.
A Lesson God Taught Me Through Every Layer of Pain
If grief has taught me anything, it’s this:
God doesn’t waste heartbreak.
He heals it in layers.
And He walks every layer with us.
Even in the years where I didn’t want to live, He held me.
Even in the holiday seasons that felt unbearable, He stayed beside me.
Even when I didn’t understand my mother’s pain, He helped me break the cycle for my own family.
Even when I had nothing left to offer, God carried me through another day.
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”
— Psalm 147:3
He meets me in the memories that still sting.
He softens the grief that rises without warning.
He restores what childhood tried to steal.
He turns survivors into lights for others.
And if He did it for me…
He can do it for you.
A Breath of Hope
If your holidays feel complicated, I see you.
If December brings tears you can’t explain, I understand.
If you’re learning how to set boundaries or create new traditions—
you’re doing sacred, healing work.
You are rewriting your family’s story.
You are choosing healing over hurt.
You are choosing legacy over silence.
You are choosing peace over chaos.
And you are not doing it alone.
God is with you in every single step.
Share This With Someone Who Needs Hope Today
There is someone who needs to know they aren’t alone.
Someone who needs to know their past doesn’t have to repeat itself.
Someone who needs to hear that healing is possible and their story is not over.
If this chapter spoke to you, please share it.
You never know whose heart you might soften, steady, or save.