Itâs been a couple of decades since I stopped celebrating Christmas â and every year, the freedom deepens.
No shopping frenzy.
No traffic madness.
No decorations.
No party politics.
No gift obligations.
No outfit stress.
Just quiet. Just clarity. Just me.
Christmas Day is an ordinary day in my calendar. I stay in (as I usually do). I have my special meal delivered on the 24th, warm it on the 25th, and binge-watch whatever I feel like â while having my creamy hot cocoa with marshmallows! I say a quiet prayer of thanks â not for the season, but for the fact that I am no longer part of its craziness.
This is not bitterness. Itâs sovereignty.
There was a time I joined a friendâs family for their Christmas celebration. It brought back memories of the performative years with my own family of origin. I also once asked a friend to attend a Christmas Eve mass with me. Both experiences felt inauthentic and forced. The celebrations were obligatory, and none of them carried real meaning.
What about handling the greetings? Over the years, Iâve gone back and forth on how to respond when people greet me with âMerry Christmas!â At first, I felt the need to explain myself: âI donât celebrate Christmas, but thanks for the greeting. Wishing you and your family a joyful, peaceful, and meaningful Holiday Season.â That response was clear, but it also took energy.
In passing encounters, Iâve learned that a simple âHappy Holidaysâ works just as well. Itâs neutral, it acknowledges the greeting, and it doesnât pull me into the script of the season.
I now treat these responses as part of my boundary toolkit. Sometimes I use the longer version when I want to be transparent, and other times I use the shorter shield to conserve energy. Either way, Iâm no longer caught in the obligation to perform joy or explain myself. I respond on my own terms.
And for those moments when humor feels right, I say: âMay your season be merry, and your shopping cart and wallet empty.â
I donât sweat the small stuff anymore â and Christmas, for me, is the small stuff. The pressure to perform joy, to attend the ârightâ â and all â parties, to stay in a jolly mood, to reciprocate gifts I didnât ask for, to wear the festive outfit, to smile through the noise â all of it used to drain me.
And then there was the expectation of forgiveness, offered not because it was real but because the season demanded it. That kind of feigned forgiveness and forced reconciliation felt hollow and performative.
Now I opt out.
And in that opting out, I reclaim something deeper â my energy. My rhythm. My truth.
I donât need a holiday to feel grateful. I donât need decorations to feel joyful. I donât need a crowd to feel cheerful.
Iâve created my own ceremony â one that honors peace, solitude, and the joy of not being pulled into the seasonal vortex and commercialism.
No carols, no chaos, no credit card damage, no madness â just the bliss of not sweating the glitter-coated small stuff.
This is my Christmas.
My kind of holiday.
And hereâs hoping youâre having your kind of holiday!!
Peace and Blessings,
â Thea đ
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