Merry Christmas

A reflection on faith, family, memory, and finding joy

Christmas has always carried a lot of meaning for my family — layered, complex, tender, and beautiful in its own way.

I grew up Catholic, immersed in the pageantry, the rituals, the incense, the music, the deep symbolism of the season. In my teens, I learned that my mother was Jewish and had survived the Holocaust. That revelation reshaped everything for me. Even before that, I felt quietly removed from my father’s faith and found myself studying metaphysics in my early teens, searching for truth, meaning, and the deeper currents beneath all traditions.

And yet — I still love the ceremonies. I love the candles, the songs, the beauty, the stories. and yes… the presents aren’t too shabby either.

Over the years, my children and I created our own traditions. Christmas Eve is Chinese food or sushi — a nod to my Jewish lineage and the many families who gather this way. Christmas Day, I usually host. My kids are now in their 20s and no longer interested in church, but they are deeply spiritual, sensitive, intuitive souls. In many ways, they live the teachings without needing the structure.

At this stage of my life, I can watch myself more clearly. I try not to get too swept up in the frenzy of shopping and cooking. I try to make this time sacred — slower, more intentional — though old habits are hard to break. I genuinely love buying gifts for others. It brings me real joy.

Many of my gifts come from thrift stores, local artists, or small online shops. This year, I stumbled upon a cache of eight plush Disney princesses and two horses at a thrift store — all for my three-year-old neighbor. I laughed all the way home, feeling like Melissa McCarthy in Bridesmaids when she accidentally takes home eight puppies from a bridal shower. Pure delight. No regrets.

This is my tenth Christmas as a single woman. My husband passed, and I haven’t dipped my toe back into dating. I’ve been finding my joy, my rhythm, my independence — and yet, there are moments when it would be nice to have someone to chat with, to help, to share the small things. Grief changes shape over time, but it doesn’t disappear; it simply softens and weaves itself into who we become.

My friend group is changing too, as it does in midlife. Some connections deepen, some drift, and new ones quietly arrive. I stay involved, I show up, and I try to remain open — even when it feels tender.

What I’ve come to understand is this: Christmas doesn’t have to look one way to be holy.

It can be candles and silence. It can be laughter and too many gifts. It can be Chinese food on Christmas Eve and hosting on Christmas. It can be memory, grief, joy, generosity, and quiet presence — all at once.

If you’re reading this and your holiday feels complicated, tender, joyful, lonely, abundant, or all of the above — you’re not doing it wrong. You’re human.

This season, I’m choosing to witness more than perform. To love without urgency. To give because it delights me. To let the sacred be simple.

From my heart and my home to yours —Merry Christmas. May you feel held, however this season meets you. 💛