Softening into the Season

Feeling Overwhelmed This December? A Gentle Practice to Begin the Season

The Month That Arrives Too Fast

I read recently that there were once serious proposals to move us to a 13-month calendar — a whole extra month, neat and tidy, all the same length. And I’ll be honest: standing here at the edge of December, part of me wishes they’d gone through with it.

Because somehow every year, one minute I’m hanging skeletons, and the next I’m tripping over Christmas lights in the garage and grabbing the last roll of wrapping paper at Target, wondering how time slipped through my fingers again.

This season does that.

It pulls on so many threads at once — joy, memory, longing, pressure.

The past sneaks in.

The future starts shouting.

And our nerves get more frayed and tangled than those colored lights still lying in a heap in the back of the garage.

But the real invitation this time of year is quieter than all of that.Like lacy snowflakes that will soon swirl across my window, it’s not about rushing or performing or catching up.It’s about softening.

The Quiet Overwhelm Beneath the Surface

A friend of mine in early recovery sighed the other day and said, “I’m just overwhelmed.”

We talked for a bit, and I was relieved to realize nothing dramatic had happened — it was simply life piling up.

Memories resurfacing.

Expectations building.

The pressure to keep smiling through all of it.

That’s the truth for so many of us in December.

Another friend texted me tonight, apologizing for going quiet, and explained she’d been riding an emotional roller coaster for three or four days straight — family gatherings, upsets, joys, laughter, tears.

I wrote back, half-teasing and half-true: “Thanksgiving is just the beginning, hon… buckle your seatbelt. The bigger twists and turns are still ahead.”

And many of us walk into December carrying far more than anyone can see from the outside. We’re like the presents we’ll soon place under the tree — pretty bows and perfect paper on top, feeling more like the shredded remnants of December 26th inside.

Grief beside joy.

Hope beside exhaustion.

Loneliness beside gratitude.

Our hearts are complicated, and the holidays press every button at once.

Why December Feels Like Emotional Time Travel

Here’s something interesting I came across: there’s actually a name for the holiday flood of emotion — state-dependent memory.

It’s when your brain doesn’t just remember an event — it remembers the emotional state you were in during it. The body sensations, the sounds, the smells.

So one Christmas song, a whiff of cinnamon, or unpacking old ornaments can drop you straight into a younger version of yourself before you’ve even realized what’s happening. Your nervous system goes, “Oh… we know this,” and suddenly you’re ten, or twenty-five, or forty again — with all the joy, ache, confusion, or tenderness that belonged to that season of your life.

That might explain my husband Barry’s dramatic yearly protest against my favorite tall wooden Santas by the back door. I love them for the memories of our first home, while he threatens to turn them into kindling (or a new chew toy for Frisco) every time he walks past.

December tugs at the earlier selves we used to be:the people we miss,the roles we played,the traditions we ache over,the expectations we never quite shook.

No wonder we feel stretched.No wonder there’s that tiny ache beneath the lights, the errands, and the good intentions.

The Spiritual Invitation: Softening Instead of Striving

Softening isn’t giving up.It isn’t collapsing.

It isn’t pretending things are peaceful.

It’s allowing yourself to be honest without bracing.

It’s letting yourself arrive as you are.

It’s dropping the pressure to step into a polished holiday version of yourself on command.

Softening makes room for truth.

And truth makes room for peace.

A Question for the Start of December

Before the month carries you away, ask yourself — gently:

What am I actually carrying into this season,and what part of me is asking to be softened instead of pushed?

No analysis.

No judgment.

Just recognition.

Sometimes one quiet breath — one honest truth — is enough to change the entire texture of the season.