Nothing Was the Same and Other Holiday Revelations

A perspective for anyone who feels different this year and is learning how to make sense of it.

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This week I found myself sitting with a quiet truth that has been unfolding slowly throughout this season. Nothing is the same. Not in a dramatic way. Not in a falling apart way. But in the quiet under the surface way that grief often brings. The holidays look familiar from the outside, yet they land differently inside. And noticing those shifts has offered its own kind of revelation.

Some of these realizations surfaced after what should have been a simple moment. Last weekend I came home from a fancy fundraising event. A good friend had invited me months ago. At the time I said yes because it felt far enough away that I believed I would have the capacity when the day arrived. And honestly, I did have a good time. I enjoyed the company and I am a tad bit fancy myself (LOL). I enjoyed dressing up. I participated fully.

When I walked in the door after the event, my husband looked at me and asked, “Are you ok?”

I said yes. I was ready to change into sweatpants, but I felt good.

He paused and said softly, “You seem kinda flat.”

And in that moment, something clicked. I knew exactly what he meant.

I was not sad. I was not overwhelmed. I was not withdrawn. But my energy was muted. Part of it was coming down from a busy holiday week at work. Part of it was social fatigue. But underneath all of that was something deeper. The truth that Christmas is here again, and this season does not feel the way it once did.

I have felt glimmers though. Small, bright places in my days that remind me I am still capable of joy. In my Saturday Reflection last week I shared one of those glimmers. A friend who stopped by and reorganized my bookshelf in a way that brought a renewed sense of joy to my office. It was simple and unexpected and yet it shifted the energy in the room. A reminder that even in grief, beauty can find its way back in.

But even with those glimmers, it is not the same. Christmas was one of my mother’s favorite holidays. It was one of my grandmother’s too. And while my mom is the fresh grief that I am still learning to carry, their absence creates a quiet ache that lives inside every festive moment.

Naming that truth does not take away from the joy I do feel. It simply honors the season I am in.

When Nostalgia Does Not Show Up the Same Way

When my mom was here, nostalgia had a shape. A sound. A smell. A rhythm. Now it arrives differently. Some aspects have not arrived at all. Instead I feel a quiet neutrality that surprises me. Not because it is painful, but because it is unfamiliar.

This is only the second Christmas without my mom. The first one was tough and I prepared for it. I laid low that day and let myself feel everything that surfaced. That was the best thing I could have done, and was a plan my therapist and I worked on with my husband’s support. I also know that a more chill Christmas is likely what it will be for a while. This year we will even brave a short post Christmas trip which is something new for us. It feels like a small way of giving myself permission to experience the holiday differently.

The Shift, Not the Failure

Many people assume that feeling numb or flat means something is wrong. But if you are grieving, it often signals the opposite. It is the heart’s way of pacing itself. It is the body choosing steadiness over overwhelm. It is a quiet buffer between emotional waves so you can keep going without collapsing under the weight of everything you carry.

This is not a failure to feel.
It is a shift in how you feel.

And even with that shift, glimmers still find their way in. A moment of stillness that feels gentle. A cup of coffee that settles your breath. A laugh you did not expect. The glow of a bookshelf rearranged with care. Small reminders that life continues to rise in places that once felt impossible.

The numbness and the glimmers can exist together.
You are allowed to hold both.

What This Means for Leaders

If you are leading a team, an organization, or a family right now, there may be days when you feel present but not fully connected to the moment. That does not diminish your leadership. It reveals your humanity.

Leadership during grief is not about matching the energy of the season. It is about showing up with steadiness even when your emotions feel muted. It is about being honest with yourself about what you can give. And it is about trusting that grounded presence is more impactful than forced enthusiasm.

You can lead well while honoring your limits.
You can lead well while holding your emotions lightly.
You can lead well while making room for your healing.

Your capacity may look different right now. That is not a limitation. It is an invitation to lead with clarity, compassion, and truth.

If This Season Feels Different for You Too

Let this be your permission today.
You do not need to force nostalgia.
You do not need to live up to an old version of yourself.
You do not need to apologize for the quiet places inside you.

Your heart is carrying what it can.
And that is enough.

If this resonates

I would love to hear from you.
Have you felt flatter than usual this holiday season?
What glimmers have surprised you?

Your reflections may remind someone else that they are not walking this alone. Reply to this email with your thoughts or comment on the post below.

We’re in this together my friends,
🖤 Carolyn’s daughter

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A Note About What Is Coming in January 2026

Several readers have shared that December feels disorienting. I hear you. In the new year, The Mourning Manager will settle into a rhythm that offers steadier support for where you are.

Beginning in January:
• A short weekly Saturday Reflection
• Twice monthly full issues
• A new offering for paid subscribers called TMM Office Hours ( in addition to current benefits)
• Free 5 day support sequence…and a few other resources.

More soon. I want the new cadence to feel like a steady hand on your shoulder, not one more thing on your list. :-)