The one who survived Christmas… again

Let's be honest: you never really liked Christmas.
Not because you are “complicated”, not because you want to play the original, but because this period, for you, has always had an intensity that far surpasses the garlands and the Mariah Carey playlists.

Christmas, in the collective imagination, is about warmth, reunions, families embracing, overflowing tables, and photos where everyone pretends to be perfectly happy.
And you, for a long time, wondered what it was like to be that person who loves it, who eagerly awaits December, who talks about “the spirit of the holidays” her eyes shining.

That's not your case.
It never really was.

For you, Christmas has always been a mix of social pressure, fake smiles, and emotions that rise too quickly. A time when everyone seems to experience something a little sacred… except you.
A time when you are asked to be available, enthusiastic, when deep down you mostly feel the need to be calm, or to put some distance from the hustle and bustle.

And then there is the silent weight of absences.
These people who are no longer here, these relationships that have changed, these traditions that have crumbled.
Christmas comes along and hits exactly where it still hurts a little. Where the longing awakens. Where, even surrounded by people, you can feel a kind of disconnect, as if you're not really connected to the moment.

You watch others rejoice, laugh, kiss, and reunite.
And you wonder if one day you will feel that way, smoothly, naturally.
Because for you, the holidays aren't a time for idyllic reunions. They're a sensitive, fragile emotional landscape where you navigate as best you can.

So you do what you've learned to do over the years:
You're moving slowly.
You're going to introduce yourself anyway.
You participate a little, you withdraw a little.
You give what you can offer that day, sincerely, even if it's not much.
You manage the conversations that exhaust you.
You absorb the memories that come back unexpectedly.

And you grant yourself the right not to like Christmas, quite simply.

Because you don't have to like what everyone else seems to love.
You don't have to feel this joy “collective” who doesn't resemble you.
You don't have to hide the fact that, for you, these days awaken deep things, sometimes heavy, sometimes tender, sometimes just… too much.

And yet, you cross over anyway.
Gently.
With a kind of quiet courage.
With that inner honesty that compels you to say: “I’m here, but I’m doing the best I can.”

It's not spectacular.
This is not Instagrammable.
But it's true.

And somewhere, amidst this somewhat raw truth, you always end up finding a micro-moment that belongs to you:
a gentle look, an unexpected smile, a quiet light, a second where you feel at peace for no particular reason.
Not Hollywood magic — just something simple, something real.

So yes, Christmas isn't your favorite time of year.
He may never become that.
But you learn to get through it in your own way, without forcing yourself, without trying to stick to an image that is not yours.
And each year, you do it a little more freely, a little more in line with who you really are.