The Part of the Holidays We Don’t Talk About: A quiet reflection on grief, loss and moving through the season honestly
- julieannecaterini
- Dec 23, 2025
- 7 min read
Updated: Dec 24, 2025
The holidays are often described as joyful, busy, and magical. But for many people, they’re also tender, complicated, and quietly heavy. Grief doesn’t disappear because the calendar turns to December. It doesn’t soften because there are lights, traditions, or expectations to feel grateful.
And for some, it arrives not as tears, but as numbness. As irritation.As exhaustion. As a sense that something doesn’t quite fit the way it used to. If that’s been your experience, there is nothing wrong with you.
Grief Has Many Shapes
One of the most important things to name is this: grief does not look the same for everyone.
Some people feel it as deep sadness. Some as tenderness or longing. Some feel it quietly in the background. And some genuinely feel okay, even joyful, during the holidays.
Enjoying the season does not mean you loved less. Laughing does not mean you’ve moved on too fast. Feeling light does not mean grief isn’t present in your life.
Grief isn’t a single emotion. It’s a relationship. And relationships shift depending on the season, the moment, and your capacity. Some years grief sits close. Some years it softens. Some years, it surprises you by feeling quieter than expected. All of that is normal.
Why the Holidays Can Make Grief Feel Louder
There are a few reasons grief often feels amplified during this time of year.
First, contrast.
Joy is everywhere, while you’re carrying loss. Your nervous system is constantly comparing what is with what was. For some people, that contrast feels sharp and heavy. For others, it barely registers. Both responses are valid.
Second, memory activation.
This time a year is all about traditions and can be a sensory overload for most. These smells, music, and traditions are deeply connected to emotional memory. They’re processed in the limbic system, the part of the brain responsible for attachment and loss. Unlike the thinking brain, this system doesn’t follow logic or linear time.
That’s why a familiar song or ritual can bring a feeling before you’ve had a chance to anticipate it. Sometimes that feeling is painful. Sometimes it’s comforting. Sometimes it’s layered. And sometimes there’s very little reaction at all.
If your response feels lighter this season, that isn’t something to question or judge. It reflects a natural shift in how grief is showing up for you right now.
Third, pressure.
To be grateful.To be festive.To show up happy. Grief isn’t guided by the time of year. It doesn’t quiet itself for celebrations. And when the world is louder with joy, grief can feel louder too.
When the World No Longer Feels the Same
When grief is paired with pressure, the nervous system often shifts into protection. Not because something is wrong, but because safety no longer feels certain.
And beneath that protective response, something deeper is often unfolding. Grief doesn’t only live in the body. It reaches into how we make sense of the world, what we expect from it, and where we locate ourselves inside it.
In psychology, especially in trauma and bereavement research, there’s a term for this kind of rupture. It’s called Assumptive World Collapse.
Here’s what that means in human language. All of us walk through life with an invisible set of assumptions, beliefs we don’t even realize we’re carrying.
Things like:
“The world is predictable.”
“People I love will be here.”
“Life makes sense.”
“If I do the right things, things will mostly work out.”
These assumptions quietly shape how safe the world feels. Grief doesn’t just take someone or something from us. It shatters the framework we were living inside.
Suddenly, the world feels unsafe.
Time feels strange.
The future feels unfamiliar.
And the version of life you expected no longer exists.
That’s why grief can feel so existential.
You’re not just missing someone.
You’re trying to live inside a world that no longer matches the one you knew.
During the holidays, when so much relies on what’s familiar and expected, that rupture can feel even more pronounced. If your nervous system feels unsettled, it isn’t confused.
It’s responding exactly as it should to a world that changed without your consent.
Grief Is Not a Problem to Solve
We’re often taught to approach grief like a task: process it, heal it, move through it, get to the other side. But grief doesn’t have a finish line. It isn’t linear. It isn’t something you complete.
It’s something you learn how to carry. And how we carry grief looks different for everyone.
Psychology understands grief not just as a response to loss, but as a response to attachment. Our nervous systems form bonds that regulate us, give us meaning, and shape our sense of safety. So when someone dies, the body isn’t only responding to their absence. It’s responding to what that relationship provided, required, or cost us. This is why grief can take so many forms.
Research shows:
Deeply connected bonds often bring profound, aching grief
Complicated relationships can bring mixed emotions, sadness alongside anger, guilt, or relief
Long-term stress or caregiving can lead to calm or relief once suffering ends
This isn’t avoidance. It’s biology responding honestly to the truth of the bond.
Two Grief Frameworks to Think About
What we now know about grief is far kinder than the messages many of us grew up with. Instead of prescribing a single path, modern grief psychology recognizes that grief adapts to the person, the relationship, and the moment.
One framework is called Continuing Bonds Theory.
This theory moves away from the idea that healing means “letting go.”
Instead, it recognizes that we continue relationships with people who have died, just in different forms. For some people, the bond stays close. It shows up as memories, a sense of presence, or moments of quiet guidance. For others, especially when the relationship was hard, painful, or exhausting, the bond moves further back. Not out of indifference, but out of self-protection. The relationship doesn’t disappear. It becomes something that doesn’t hurt to carry.
Another helpful framework is the Dual Process Model of Grief.
The Dual Process Model shows that grief involves movement between two states.
One oriented toward loss, sadness, and remembering. And another oriented toward restoration, relief, and daily functioning. Neither state represents avoidance. This back-and-forth allows the nervous system to regulate. For those who experienced prolonged stress or caregiving, restoration may take precedence. Not due to lack of love, but due to the need for stability.
Relief Can Be Part of Grief Too
Relief is one of the least talked about grief responses, and one of the most guilt-laden.
When someone has been suffering, relief doesn’t mean a lack of love. It means love responding to the end of pain.
Grief is not measured by intensity. It reflects how love, attachment, and the relationship was held inside your body.
If you’ve ever wondered:
“Why am I not more upset?”
“Why do I feel relieved?”
“Why am I okay?”
There’s nothing wrong with you. Your nervous system is responding truthfully to the depth, complexity, and emotional weight of that relationship. And because relationships are layered, grief doesn’t stay the same. It shifts and reshapes over time.
Making Room Instead of Forcing Cheer
During the holidays, grief rarely wants solutions.
It doesn’t respond well to positivity or being told to “look on the bright side.”
What it often asks for is room.
Room to move at its own pace.
Room to coexist with rest, reflection, or even moments of joy.
Room to be honest.
Honesty about what hurts.
Honesty about what you miss.
And honesty, too, if what’s present right now feels lighter than expected.
There is no rule that says grief and celebration cannot exist side by side.
But there is harm in believing you must feel grief in a particular way for it to be valid.
When We Name What We Feel, the Body Softens
From a neuroscience perspective, naming emotion matters.
Strong emotions like grief are first processed in the limbic system, the part of the brain focused on survival and memory. When emotions remain unnamed, the body stays on alert.
When we gently name what we’re feeling, the prefrontal cortex becomes involved.
This doesn’t erase the pain. It helps the nervous system organize the experience.
The softening doesn’t come from grief disappearing. It comes from the body realizing it isn’t alone with it.
Small Ways to Offer Care
Support doesn’t have to be big or performative.
Sometimes grief responds best to small, steady acts of permission.
A quiet ritual. A boundary that protects your energy. Pacing your emotional availability.
Or simply allowing grief to sit beside you without trying to fix it.
And permission also includes doing none of these.
There is no requirement to engage, process, or heal on a schedule.
Before we move into this next exercise, I want to name why I’m offering this particular practice. Grief doesn’t need to be held constantly to be honoured. Sometimes it just needs somewhere to rest. Containment gives grief a place outside the body for a moment, so your system can soften without letting go of what matters. I chose this practice because it respects grief, while also caring for the body that’s been carrying it. You are welcome to try it if that feels supportive for you.
When we place grief outside of our body, even symbolically, the brain is able to create a little space without denial.
Nothing is being avoided.
Nothing is being erased.
That space helps prevent emotional flooding while keeping connection intact.
From a nervous system perspective, this kind of containment creates a sense of boundary and safety. It allows emotion to exist without overwhelming the body. In other words, grief is still here. It’s just not being held alone. And that, too, is care.
A Gentle Closing
If grief has been walking beside you this season, if joy has felt complicated, if your nervous system feels tired of holding everything together, please hear this:
You are responding to love, loss, and a world that changed.
There is no single right way to move through the holidays.
Nothing about your experience is wrong.
Go gently with yourself.
Let care be quieter than expectation.
Let honesty be enough.
Grief doesn’t need to be fixed to be honoured.
Sometimes it just needs space to breathe.
This post mirrors my latest podcast episode, where we slow this conversation down even further. If you prefer to listen, you can find the podcast linked here as well.
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