How To Cope With Christmas When You’re Grieving
I’ll be honest: I’m normally a Christmas person. I love the holidays. I love the festivities. Christmas comes right after my birthday (13th December, yes I share a birthday with Taylor Swift), then it’s Christmas, then New Year/my brother’s birthday. Usually, it’s a time I look forward to.
I love Christmas songs, holiday films, putting the tree up. And since my niece and nephews came along, Christmas became even more exciting.
But this year? I’m dreading it.
Last Christmas Eve, my grandad died. 90 minutes before his 83rd birthday (yep, he was a Christmas baby). So this year I’m not in the mood for Christmas. Not in the mood to celebrate. Not in the mood to see advent calendars in the shops since August. Not in the mood to talk about presents, plans, or anything festive.
Honestly, I know I sound like Scrooge but I don’t care about anyone’s Christmas plans this year.
If you’re also dreading Christmas – because of grief, illness, a breakup, or simply not feeling festive – I want to share how I’m navigating it. How I’m balancing my feelings without dimming anyone else’s joy. And most importantly, the self-care practices I’m anchoring into so I can get through this season in one piece.
Because if you’re not feeling festive, you’re not alone.
Why It’s Ok to Dread Christmas
One of the hardest parts of grieving around Christmas is how unnatural it feels. Everyone else is buzzing with excitement, while you’re heavy with sadness.
For me, this isn’t just about losing my grandad. It’s also about the memories attached. Last year was traumatic. And now, as Christmas approaches, it’s like my body remembers before my mind does.
And it’s not just me — I know so many people quietly dread Christmas. Maybe you’ve lost someone. Maybe you’ve just ended a relationship. Maybe you’re unwell or burned out. Maybe you simply don’t care for the forced cheer.
Here’s the truth: you don’t have to love Christmas just because everyone else does.
Your feelings are valid. You’re allowed to be sad. You’re allowed to feel dread. You’re allowed to say, this year has been shit and I don’t want to acknowledge the existence of Christmas.
Balancing Your Grief With Other People’s Excitement
Something that’s been playing on my mind a lot: I don’t want to steal anyone else’s joy.
My sister-in-law is obsessed with Christmas. She’s been talking about it since August (actually, probably way before then tbh). My niece Lily is only four, and she’s already making her Christmas list. She’s excited. Of course she is. And normally, I love her excitement. Like, can’t get enough of it.
I don’t want my dread to dim her sparkle. I don’t want to make anyone feel guilty for being excited. I don’t want my misery to seep into their lives.
But at the same time, I can’t abandon myself and pretend I’m fine. That’s a pattern I’ve had my whole life: pushing my feelings aside so others don’t feel uncomfortable. This year, I’m not doing that.
So here’s my plan:
Choose the right moment to share: Instead of snapping or crying when it all feels too much, I’ll have calm, honest conversations with family. I’ll say, “I can’t do too much Christmas chat this year, it’s hard for me.” And fingers crossed they’ll be understanding.
Set gentle boundaries: With my niece, I won’t shut her down because she’s too young to understand, but I’ll gently steer the conversation in a different direction, if necessary. With adults, I’ll be clear when I need a break from the festive buzz.
Remove myself when I need to: I won’t go to big Christmas events or networking parties this year. If being in those rooms will only piss me off or make me sad, I don’t have to go.
Because here’s the thing: you can’t control anyone else’s joy, but you can control your environment. Not that I’d want to control anyone else’s joy. I‘m purposefully not going to put myself in situations that could trigger me or leave me feeling frustrated.
Expecting the Worst, Allowing the Best
Honestly? I’m preparing myself to hate Christmas. I expect I’ll cry. I expect it’ll feel heavy. I expect I’ll be triggered by memories of last year.
But I’m not attaching myself to those feelings.
I’m not committing to being miserable. I’m not deciding in advance that I’ll mope. If joy sneaks in — if I laugh, if I enjoy a film, if I have a good day — I’ll let myself have that without guilt.
That’s my balance: expect the worst, allow the best.
Finding Anchors: Small Things to enjoy
When everything feels overwhelming, small anchors help.
Here’s a few small things that’ll bring me joy in December, despite the grief:
Stranger Things Season 5: The timing is perfect. It gives me something to be excited about, something distracting. I’ll probably watch it with my mum on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day instead of forcing myself to “do Christmas.”
My birthday: I’m prepared for it to feel hard (my first birthday without nan and grandad’s names on my cards*), but I’m planning to do something with my mum the day before, so I don’t spend it miserable.
Teddy’s first birthday: My nephew turns one in December, and celebrating that milestone will be something positive to enjoy. There’s obviously the bittersweet feeling that Nan and Grandad won’t be there to celebrate but I’ll pour my energy into the kids.
Anchors don’t erase grief, but they remind you there’s still something to hold onto. Honestly, I’m just hoping to anchor into any little moment of joy I can. Even if it’s for just 3 minutes a day.
*Slight tangent: My (maternal) Grandad died on Christmas Eve and my (paternal) Nan died 9 weeks later. So having my first birthday and Christmas without Nan will be doubly as hard.
Romanticising the Misery (Yes, Really)
This might sound crazy but if I’m gonna be sad, I want to do it in comfort.
So I’m romanticising my misery. Cosy pyjamas. Face masks. Fluffy socks. Hot water bottles. An electric blanket. Comfort food. Baths.
I want to feel nurtured and safe while I’m sad.
It might sound odd but this makes the sadness feel softer. Instead of resisting it, create an environment where you can grieve and still feel cared for.
Self-Care Practices to Get Through Christmas
Here’s what I’m leaning on:
Rest: Extra naps, longer mornings, letting myself sleep when I need it
Movement: Gentle walks, not forcing the gym, but moving my body enough to shift the energy
Breathwork & EFT: Grounding tools for when the waves hit (or when my body won’t let me release the tears and I need a big cry)
Warm food & drinks: Soups, teas, and comfort meals that soothe me from the inside out
Low social media: I’ve been off Instagram and TikTok since July, and I’m staying away – I don’t want to scroll through everyone else’s Christmas joy
These aren’t rules. I’m not forcing toxic positivity. If I’m sad, I’ll let myself be sad. These practices are more about supporting myself through the sadness as opposed to forcing myself out of it.
Giving Yourself Permission to Feel Both
This is key: you can feel grief and joy. You can laugh at a funny film and still cry. You can enjoy your pigs in blankets and still miss the person who’s gone.
Your grief doesn’t cancel out joy, and joy doesn’t cancel out grief. Both can exist.
So I’m not forcing myself into happiness, but I’m not refusing it either.
Past Years Remind Me: This Too Shall Pass
This isn’t the first time I’ve dreaded Christmas.
Six years ago, I went through a breakup in September. By December, my younger brother got engaged, my best mate announced a pregnancy, and everyone else’s life was moving forward while I was stuck in heartbreak. That Christmas was awful for me.
But I got through it.
And I’ll get through this one, too. Not because it won’t hurt, but because feelings shift, time moves, and nothing stays unbearable forever. The firsts are always the worst, so I’m told.
You Don’t Have to Love Christmas
If you’re dreading Christmas this year, that’s ok. You’re not wrong. You don’t have to fake joy just to fit in.
Whether it’s grief, illness, heartbreak, or just not feeling it, you’re allowed to feel what you feel.
Find your anchors. Set your boundaries. Romanticise your comfort. Let yourself rest. And most importantly, don’t abandon yourself to keep others comfortable.
You don’t have to love Christmas. But you can survive it, even if all that means is moving gently through, moment by moment, until it’s over.
And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find small sparks of joy along the way.
Hi, I’m Becka, a single 34 year old who doesn’t have kids and lives at home with her mum, and despite society’s desperate attempts, I don’t feel behind. I’m figuring out my 30s without believing I need to “get my shit together” in order to be successful or seen as valuable.
If you’re done feeling behind or like you’re “not enough,” this is your reminder you’re exactly where you need to be, and we’re in it together. Get a front row seat to how I’m building a confident life in my 30s (and how you can too) here.
I’ll be honest: I’m normally a Christmas person. But this year? I’m dreading it. Last Christmas Eve, my grandad died. So this year I’m not in the mood for Christmas. If you’re also dreading Christmas – because of grief, illness, a breakup, or simply not feeling festive – I want to share how I’m navigating it. How I’m balancing my feelings without dimming anyone else’s joy. And most importantly, the self-care practices I’m anchoring into so I can get through this season in one piece. Because if you’re not feeling festive, you’re not alone.