Reframing the holidays

The holidays have a way of stirring up the deepest parts of us—the joy, the nostalgia, the longing, and sometimes, the ache for things we imagined our life would hold by now. For many of us who are childless, the season can bring a quiet heaviness we didn’t plan for. It’s not always the big moments that trigger it, either. It’s the little ones: the Christmas jammies you scroll past, the family photos piling up on social media, the traditions centered around kids, the questions that sting more than people realize.

But here’s the truth that often gets lost:

Your holidays are still worthy of celebration, warmth, intention, and joy—even if they look different than you once hoped.

And maybe, just maybe, “different” can become something quietly, beautifully yours.

Letting Yourself Feel What You Feel

Before the reframing, there’s the honesty.

It’s okay if this season brings up grief. It’s okay if you feel left out of something you always thought you’d be part of. You don’t need to push it down to make the holidays “easier.” Acknowledging the emotions—naming them, making space for them—creates room for something new to grow beside them.

Grief and gratitude can coexist.

Longing and joy can, too.

You don’t have to choose one or the other. You’re allowed to hold both.

Rewriting the Script of the Season

When your holiday season isn’t revolving around children, it opens space—space you didn’t ask for, but space nonetheless. And that space can be shaped with intention, if you want it to be.

Here are a few ways to reframe the experience:

1. Build traditions that belong entirely to you

Not “in place of,” but “because of.”

Maybe it’s a sunrise Christmas morning workout. Homemade cinnamon rolls. Matching pajamas with your partner just because it makes you laugh. A Christmas Eve walk. A new recipe. A cozy brunch instead of a rushed morning.

Let the traditions be simple, sacred, silly, or indulgent.

Most importantly—let them be yours.

2. Celebrate the season, not just the holiday

When kids are the center of a holiday, the big day holds all the weight. But as adults, we get to stretch out the beauty of the season.

Think in weeks, not days.

A festive movie night. A market or event. A slow morning with peppermint coffee. A weekend reading by the tree. A holiday concert. Shopping for gifts with intention. Donating or giving back.

The magic doesn’t have to peak on December 25th.

3. Lean into relationships that fill you up

Friends who inspire you. Women who feel like home. Family members you choose as much as they choose you. The people who see you and support the life you’re building—one that isn’t defined by what’s missing, but by what’s present.

Let connection be your centerpiece.

4. Honor the version of you you’re becoming

Being childless doesn’t mean being incomplete.

It doesn’t mean your holidays lack purpose or joy.

It simply means they look different than the blueprint you once had.

But different can still be beautiful.

This season, consider asking yourself:

• What actually matters to me right now?

• What would make this season feel meaningful?

• What small joys can I build into my days?

Let your answers lead you.

5. Celebrate the freedom you do have

It’s okay to acknowledge this, too.

Freedom in your schedule, in your planning, in the way you spend your mornings. Freedom to say yes or no. Freedom to travel, rest, host, not host, or build a holiday exactly the way you want it.

Freedom doesn’t minimize what you wish you had—but it does remind you that your life holds beauty right now, in this moment.

You Still Get to Create a Life That Feels Full

The holidays don’t only belong to the people with full houses and little ones in matching pajamas.

They belong to you, too.

You deserve a season that feels rich with intention, meaning, connection, and joy—even if it looks different than you dreamed years ago.

And maybe, as you build new rhythms, new traditions, and new ways of celebrating, you’ll find that your holidays aren’t lesser… they’re simply yours.

Beautiful. Honest. Rooted.

A reflection of a life you’re still writing in real time.