Am I completely broken?

The holiday season is painted as a time of pure joy, magic, and togetherness. We are bombarded with images of "perfect" families, cheerful gatherings, and flawless spreads. But when you’re navigating the deep, complex waters of grief, those manufactured expectations become a crushing, suffocating weight.

If you’re watching the world light up with twinkling lights but you feel like yours are getting dimmer, you are not alone. The contrast between the societal pressure for excitement and your personal pain can lead to a single, gut-wrenching question: "Am I completely broken?"

It's a feeling of profound isolation, as if you've been left behind while everyone else seamlessly transitions into the festive spirit.

How can you find joy in the traditions, the gift wrapping, the carols, the family meals, when the baby who was supposed to be here won’t be? When your Dad will no longer be at the head of the table? When you’ll never again have your Christmas morning tea and phone-call tradition with your best friend?

The absence isn't just a quiet ache; it’s a palpable gap in every invitation, celebration, and gathering.

How can you manage a smile for your other children when you know their baby brother or sister won’t be experiencing the same magic? What’s the point in sending Christmas cards when you’re no longer signing them from us?

You feel pulled between wanting to protect the joy of others and honouring your own loss. But, seriously, how can you possibly enjoy a glass of wine and some blue cheese when you should still be pregnant? How can you revel in the naughtiness of a glass of fizz at 8am when one glass remains empty?

These are the moments when the reality of your loss can hit hardest.

These conflicts are deeply felt and incredibly common. You may find yourself wearing a forced smile, just moving through the motions of parties, gift shopping, and gatherings because you feel an obligation to meet the joyous expectations of others.

It's OK that things won’t feel like they used to. Grief doesn’t stop just because it’s December. It can feel fundamentally wrong, even traitorous, to feel sad during what are supposed to be enjoyable occasions. But the pressure works both ways, too: are you forgetting your loved one, are you being disloyal, by smiling or laughing, and not crying?

You’re not traitorous. You’re not broken. You're grieving.

The pressure can lead us to suppress the grief; to push it down just until January 1st. But honestly, this rarely works. Instead, the simple acknowledgment of a feeling, allowing ourselves to feel it and not desperately trying to change or fix it can be the most empowering step toward navigating this time of year.

So how do we begin to manage the grief without the burden of feeling guilty or completely useless?

It’s completely understandable that the behaviours and emotions that surface over the festive season may not be what you expect. You might find yourself withdrawing, snapping easily, or simply lacking the energy you had in previous years. It's not uncommon to feel frustrated, thinking, "I should be enjoying this, but I just can't get into it," or, "I should want to spend time with my family next week, but I just don’t."

The key is to allow yourself this change. Or, if change feels too permanent, a temporary alteration.

Offer yourself unconditional kindness. Forgive yourself and your body for feeling different and responding unexpectedly. Grant yourself the grace to feel the feelings you need to feel and release yourself of blame for not being the person you were last year.

This is a process, and it shouldn’t and will not stop just because it’s Christmas.

You are not broken. You are not something that needs fixing. You are learning to live with pain, with grief, and with a life that looks different.