Let Them Be Messy
To all for whom Christmas isn't the most joyful time of the year.
I pull out the recipe for my dad's Christmas coconut roll from the old, worn notebook and roll up my sleeves. Andrea Bocelli is singing Adeste Fideles in the background as I spread cocoa on the baking board. As my hands sink into the dough, a wave of mixed emotions floods my heart.
Christmas is, perhaps, the most challenging time of the year for many of us. A festive season that's supposed to be filled with joy, peace, and love, surrounded by family and friends.
But what if it isn’t that way?
Sometimes the weight of the season isn’t just in what’s missing, but in the expectation that we’re supposed to feel joyful. The pressure to create or perform happiness only deepens the pain when it doesn’t come naturally.
I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with Christmas. I hated the stress, the fights over preparations, and the unhealthy family dynamics that were playing out. I vividly remember the horror of forgetting to buy Christmas wafers and my dad’s rage when he found out, just as we all sat down at the table.
Yet I also loved the special moments with him - teaching me the family recipes that felt like sacred rituals. He would weave stories around the preparations, making it all seem magical. I felt chosen, entrusted with the family traditions. Even now, the coconut roll doesn’t get made unless I’m there to make it.
Then life got even more complicated. My parents separated, and I lost the harbour - even if it was a stormy one - that Christmas once provided. There were highs, like finding an engagement ring under the tree. And devastating lows, like burying my father just days before Christmas Eve.
For a while, I couldn’t stand Christmas carols. The cheery melodies reminded me of what I should feel but didn’t.
Christmas has a way of magnifying everything. Loss feels sharper, loneliness heavier, and the gap between expectation and reality wider.
But this year, I found a different approach.
As I kneaded the dough for my dad’s coconut roll, I caught myself skipping a step. He used to play with the dough ball and talk to it before rolling it out. I didn't. At first, it felt like a betrayal of his legacy. Then I paused, realizing how absurd that thought was.
“If you can see it, you don’t have to be it,”
surfaced in my mind. That line, from therapist Alex Howard, is a reminder that awareness gives us freedom. When we recognize the thoughts and stories we’re telling ourselves, we gain the power to step back and choose differently.
And this year, I could see it.
My struggle with Christmas isn’t that it’s not joyful; it’s my constant fight to make it different.
So this year, I let Christmas be as they are. Messy.
I stopped trying to fix the unfixable. Stopped trying to make everyone happy. And I permitted myself not to feel ashamed if the festive spirit didn’t arrive.
I let myself feel the sadness, the joy, the nostalgia - whatever came. I allowed the difficult moments to exist without judgment. And in that surrender, I finally found peace.
It’s okay if the holidays don’t look or feel the way they’re “supposed to.”
Sometimes, the greatest gift we can give ourselves is to just be present and let things be as they are - imperfect, messy, real.
If you, too, find this season bittersweet, know that you’re not alone. You don’t have to force joy or pretend to feel differently than you do.
And maybe there’s peace in accepting the messiness.
Wishing you gentleness with yourself and those around you this season,
___
Adela <3
Pictures:
Christmas coconut roll in preparation, personal album