Grief, Gathered: An Interview Series on How the Holidays Hit Differently
Ah yes, grief and the holidays.
The world’s most committed on-again, off-again couple. Universe Magazine’s Dysfunctional Couple of the Year, forever-years running.
Not all that different from that toxic, co-dependent duo from high school you still stalk on social media — the ones who break up every other month but just can’t seem to quit each other.
If Normal Grief is your neighbor who leaves their holiday lights up all year long as an ever-present eye sore and irritation for you, then Holiday Grief is your other neighbor who brings in multiple generators and times their nightly light shows to the sounds of Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
That's because Holiday Grief is also often louder, messier, impossible to ignore, and – unlike your neighbor’s choices – spectacularly beautiful and necessary.
Wait, what? Yeah – just stay with me. Don’t worry, I won’t be parroting performative assurances such as “grief is the price we pay for love” or “grief is like the ocean; it comes in waves, ebbing and flowing” – even though they’re both exasperatingly true.
Instead, I’m going to say essentially the same thing – just with a little holiday flair: Grief isn’t the Grinch — even though it sure can feel like one.
It doesn’t come to rob us of joy; in fact, it may be the thing that proves how deeply joy once lived here. In its own warped, relentless way, grief might be the most honest expression of the holiday spirit.
It’s what makes the memories matter. It’s what makes the toasts a little teary and the traditions feel sacred. It reminds us what we’ve had, who we’ve been, and what still matters. It reminds us to be kind and gentle with what we still carry in our hearts for the people we’ve lost, the places we’ve left behind, and the versions of ourselves that we’ve outgrown.
Grief always brings us back to something we can’t ignore — love, in all its big, messy, beautiful, aching forms.
And like most things we don’t want to face, it gets louder, and more costly, in December. So, I turned to my inner circle of sometimes-wise, deeply feeling humans — and asked them to sit with me in it. So, in this special holiday edition of Second Flight: In the Field, we talked about what it means to carry grief into the season of cheer.
With grief being the one and only shared human experience, what comes next is simply meant to meet you where you are — even if that place is sitting in your car zoning out as you lip synch along to Mariah’s version of Hark! The Herald Angels Sing or two steps from a breakdown in the checkout aisle at Target (get more cashiers for crying out loud!). In a season where we all strive to capture “picture perfect moments,” I hope these reflections make room for a different kind of presence — the kind that says: you’re not the only one feeling it all at once.
The answers you’ll read below were as different as the people I asked — which felt exactly right. Each expression of grief is as unique as a snowflake. It never, ever shows up the same way twice. And the range of responses I received was an important reminder to me about how necessary it is to show up for each of the people I love with openness, empathy, compassion, patience, and curiosity.
Do you notice your grief changing shape during this season? Does it sharpen? Go quiet? Morph into something else?
It intensifies or sharpens, with the approach of the holiday season. The sense of loss, that something is missing becomes heavier.
Each get together, happy event, birthday, joyful moment, etc., seems weighed down by the feeling of loss.
Honestly, I don't think about my grief much or often, so it tends to ebb and flow the same as it does, the rest of the year. There are moments of reflection, joy, and even resentment, but nothing that lingers.
I noticed I talk about the past more during the holidays. Probably because I have young kids and we're always explaining or creating new traditions. Lots of references to "when I was little, we did it this way..." and it sort of helps in a roundabout way to move through grief organically. I can reminisce, reflect, talk about the ones I've lost, but then pop back into the moment.
I am generally much more detached during the holiday these past two years than ever before; i struggle to get excited for them, I struggle with gift giving (when I’ve always been good and on the ball), and I busy myself with the mundanities of life…
How does grief show up in your body this time of year?
Grief shows up in my body: sometimes as if I was wearing a weighted blanket. Not impossible to move with it, just extra tiring.
Nostalgia, restlessness.
It shows up as this slow-growing yearning or itch to feel the familiar. It's a literal warmth in my belly and chest when I think about spending time with extended family - because it reminds me of how joyful and light it was when I was a child. It's almost an impatience - not to rush through it, but to never lose it? Hard to explain.
Fatigue, illness, tension, increase in emotions, and the rumination on the last holiday I spent with them.
It's hard to tell because this season is stressful in general. I feel the pressure to keep everything together for everyone and by the time Christmas arrives. I'm usually spent my social battery is drained and I'm comfortable saying no to anything that doesn't serve me.
Headaches and wearing my shoulders as earrings.
I get stuck in “the lasts” and it makes me physically wanna crawl out of my skin.
Which traditions feel like salt in the wound, and which ones actually help?
Truthfully, all the traditions hurt in some way…being together helps.
Decorating the Christmas tree is more or less the kick-off to the heavy waves of grief. Mom loved that tradition and for many years she did it alone, and looking back, I wish I could have all those years back where I was not selfish.
At this stage of life, I accept that traditions evolve. I adapt to what's best for everyone around me, so very few traditions feel painful. I don't hold onto them tightly. I also am excited about setting new traditions with younger generations. It comes full circle.
I don’t love the traditions. They make me sad and feel avoidant, but once we are together, I always feel better and a little embarrassed I made it such a big deal beforehand.
I like carrying on the traditions with extended family because being together is always colorful and joyful, but I really love creating new traditions with my own unit - just the four of us. In truth, the holidays were a source of stress growing up - they were magical and fun, but also had a degree of tension and craze to them - so, I am cautious about overdoing the traditions or setting unrealistic expectations. I don't want to repeat that pattern.
Is there a phrase or platitude people say this time of year that drives you absolutely nuts?
That “time will make everything better” - that’s total BS.
"Let me know if you need anything" - this is false. Generally speaking, people do not know how to show up for those that are grieving and think they are helping when really they aren’t. Asking me if I need them to do anything will always get a ‘no, I am good.’ Showing up, reaching out with productive questions such as ‘what is your favorite memory?’ or being present is a lot more powerful.
Not really, I understand that everyone carries some kind of grief of their own. Mine is not bigger or smaller than anyone else else's and I have full agency of myself when I want to talk about things I have my own circle of trust that I do and it's vice versa.
I hate almost everything anyone has ever said to me about grief.
I try to cut people slack when it comes to grief. It is such a hard thing to name and emotionally navigate - and almost everyone means well, even if/when they say dumb sh*t.
My mother-in-law told me once 'it never goes away, but it does get easier' - about missing your parent. So far, that's the only accurate bit of wisdom I've heard on grief - but I'd add "...easier to move through."
The holidays sometimes feel like a lifetime’s worth of heartbreak re-appear at once. What do you do when the layers of loss start to overlap?
I usually go to beach, no matter what time of year. It clears my head and allows me to breathe.
Go out in nature, journal, share my feelings to those closest, and do the things that always provided me a sense of safety.
I slow down with intention and reset. This could mean go outside, exercise, talk with a friend, step away from the spiral. I let myself feel it then settle down.
I just try to be honest about my grief. It exists and it doesn’t help when I try to pretend it doesn’t.
Aspirationally? Cry when the moment strikes, write or journal, communicate with my partner or loved ones instead of going insular. Realistically? Do some pilates, take a walk, and then probably make a martini. Maybe window online shop.
If you could write a note to your past self in a past December, what would it say?
That I have come through a sad, difficult and dark time in pretty good fashion, dealing with multiple life changing events, and I am now a stronger person for it. I would tell myself that I am proud of me; that I was and I am lucky in many ways; that although my relationship wasn’t perfect, it was very deep and real and I am extremely grateful and that I couldn’t have done it without the love and my family.
Brace yourself, girl. And in Feb of 2025, don't cut your hair like Peter Pan.
Letting go of the past is very painful, however, once you start learning you are worthy of love, joy, happiness and safety, the world starts to change. There were years where I did not want to return home for the holidays out of self-preservation (or so I thought). I wanted everything to be hunky dory, when in reality it was not. Actions have consequences, and owning, accepting and moving forward from what happened is what works. Avoidance is never helpful. I wish I could have told my much younger self that, showing up, being present, being honest and open to receiving would have made many family events a bit happier.
You've lived through dark days, bright days and everything in between. As my Dad always said, “this too shall pass”. Let grief come, but don't dwell in it. It will consume you and that's not what our loved ones would ever want for us.
You're as resilient AF and even if you made mistakes, be kind to yourself, give yourself the same forgiveness you give others, and do not stop moving forward.
Everything has changed. You have changed. Everything will change again. You will change again. You have everything you need, to navigate the discomfort of how temporary this human experience is.
So – do you agree with me now? That Grief isn’t the Grinch? It doesn’t steal the presents. It just rewrites your presence. (oOooO – admit it, that was a nice one).
And maybe, just maybe, it cues up a track that reminds you: You’re still here. Still feeling. Still loving.
That’s a gift, too.