When the Festive Season Doesn't Feel Festive
As December unfolds and the world around us fills with twinkling lights, familiar carols, and invitations to celebrate, there's an unspoken pressure to feel joyful. Advertisements show us beaming families around laden tables. Social media fills with matching pyjamas and perfect moments. The message is clear: this is the happiest time of the year.
But for many people, Christmas can be one of the most challenging times of the year.
If that's you, I want you to know: you're not alone, and there's nothing wrong with you.
The reality behind the sparkle
The gap between how we're "supposed" to feel and how we actually feel can be vast - and that gap itself can become a source of shame. We might find ourselves wondering what's wrong with us, why we can't simply enjoy what everyone else seems to find so easy.
The truth is that Christmas, for all its potential warmth, also concentrates many of life's most difficult experiences into a few short weeks. Loss feels sharper. Loneliness deepens. Financial strain becomes more visible. Family tensions that simmer throughout the year can reach boiling point. And for those already managing mental health challenges, the added demands of the season can tip a manageable situation into crisis.
Grief and the empty chair
Perhaps you're navigating grief this year. The empty chair at the table. The presents you'll never buy again. The traditions that now feel hollow rather than comforting. The carol that catches you unexpectedly in a supermarket aisle.
Grief doesn't pause for the calendar, and Christmas can amplify loss in ways that catch us off guard. It might be your first Christmas without someone, or your tenth - grief doesn't follow a neat timeline. You might be mourning not just a person, but a relationship that ended, a future that won't happen, a version of your life that's gone.
Well-meaning people may encourage you to "focus on the happy memories" or "celebrate their life," but sometimes the kindest thing we can do for ourselves is simply acknowledge that this is hard. That we're doing our best. That getting through the day is enough.
Living with anxiety and depression
For those living with anxiety, the festive season brings its own particular challenges. The social demands multiply - parties, gatherings, family events - each one requiring energy you may not have. The pressure to be "on," to make conversation, to appear relaxed when your nervous system is anything but. The disruption to routines that normally keep you steady.
Depression, too, can make Christmas feel like wading through treacle while everyone around you seems to dance. The expectations to feel joy can highlight its absence. The shorter days and longer nights don't help. And the cultural narrative that this should be a magical time can make the reality of low mood feel like a personal failure.
It isn't. Depression is an illness, not a choice. And managing it through a period specifically designed around connection and celebration takes enormous strength - strength that often goes unrecognised.
Burnout and the empty cup
If you're experiencing burnout, the expectation to suddenly shift into celebration mode when you're barely managing day-to-day can feel overwhelming.
Burnout leaves us depleted on every level: physically, emotionally, mentally. The thought of adding Christmas shopping, cooking, socialising, and family negotiations to an already impossible load can feel like being asked to run a marathon when you can barely walk to the kettle.
What I've learned, both personally and through my work with clients experiencing burnout, is that recovery requires us to do less, not more. And that's a particularly difficult message to hear at Christmas, when "more" seems to be the entire point.
If this resonates with you, please know that protecting your energy isn't selfish - it's necessary. The world won't end if you buy fewer presents, skip a gathering, or serve something simple. Your recovery matters more than any tradition.
Financial pressures and the weight of expectation
The relentless messaging to spend, buy, and give can create real distress when budgets are tight. This isn't about being a Scrooge; it's about the genuine stress of trying to meet expectations you simply cannot afford.
The average UK family spends over £1,000 on Christmas. For many, that figure is simply impossible - and the pressure to somehow make it happen anyway can lead to debt, anxiety, and a January that feels even harder than December.
Children absorb more than we realise. They notice our stress, even when we try to hide it. Sometimes the greatest gift we can give them is a parent who isn't stretched to breaking point - even if the pile under the tree is smaller.
For parents and families
If you're parenting a neurodivergent child, Christmas can intensify everything. Routines change dramatically. Sensory overwhelm increases - the lights, the sounds, the textures, the unpredictability. Family gatherings may mean navigating other people's expectations and judgements about your child's behaviour.
You might find yourself managing everyone else's experience while neglecting your own needs entirely. The mental load of anticipating difficulties, preparing accommodations, and advocating for your child's needs can leave you exhausted before Christmas Day even arrives.
For those supporting teenagers through their own mental health struggles, this period can be particularly challenging. Adolescents face pressure to appear happy on social media while perhaps feeling anything but. They may be navigating family tensions, academic stress, friendship difficulties, or their own emerging mental health conditions. The holidays can feel like a spotlight on everything that's hard.
If you're worried about a young person in your life, sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is simply let them know you've noticed they seem to be struggling, and that you're there when they're ready to talk. No fixing required - just presence.
For those in caring professions
If you work in healthcare or education, you've likely spent the autumn term giving everything you have to others. December arrives and you're expected to somehow find more to give - or your own family, for festivities, for the emotional labour of the season.
Your cup may already be empty. The colleagues you've supported, the patients you've cared for, the students you've taught - they've all needed something from you. And now your own family needs you too, in a different way, and there's nothing left to give.
This isn't a personal failing. It's the predictable result of working in professions that ask more than is sustainable. If you're feeling this way, please be gentle with yourself. The world needs you whole, not depleted - and that means prioritising your own recovery, even when it feels selfish.
A different kind of Christmas
What if, this year, you gave yourself permission to do Christmas differently?
To say no to the gathering that drains you. To keep traditions that genuinely nourish you and release those that have become obligations. To acknowledge that "getting through" is an achievement, not a minimum standard. To let go of the Christmas you think you should have and make space for the one that actually supports you.
Some gentle possibilities to consider:
Be honest with someone you trust about how you're really feeling. The simple act of saying "I'm finding this hard" can release pressure we didn't know we were carrying. You don't need to perform okayness for everyone.
Protect your routines where you can. Sleep, movement, moments of quiet - these aren't luxuries, they're foundations. If certain practices keep you well throughout the year, try to maintain them through December too, even in modified form.
Notice what actually brings you comfort, rather than what should. Perhaps it's not the big family gathering but the quiet walk. Not the elaborate meal but the simple one shared with people who truly see you. Give yourself permission to follow your own instincts about what you need.
Plan recovery time. If certain events are unavoidable but depleting, build in time afterwards to restore yourself. This isn't weakness - it's wisdom.
Remember that one difficult Christmas doesn't define all future ones. This year might be about survival. That's allowed. Things can be different next year, or the year after.
You don't have to wait until January
There's often an assumption that we should push through the festive period and then address how we're feeling in the new year. That somehow seeking support now would be giving up, or making a fuss, or ruining Christmas.
But difficulties don't pause for the calendar. And support is available now - you don't have to white-knuckle your way through December alone.
Whether you're navigating grief, struggling with anxiety or depression, facing burnout, supporting a family member through challenges of their own, or simply finding this season harder than expected - reaching out is a strength, not a failure.
Sometimes even a single conversation can help you find your footing again. A space to be honest about how you're really doing. A place where you don't have to perform festive cheer you don't feel.
I offer both in-person sessions in Guildford and Horsley, and online therapy for those who prefer to connect from home. If you'd like to talk, I'm here.
Wishing you a December that's gentle with you - whatever that looks like.