I don’t feel Christmas this year.
I see it. The lights are up. The tree is there. The calendar keeps moving closer whether I’m ready or not. But inside, I feel hollow. Worn down. Like my body and my heart are stuck somewhere behind everyone else.
Most days right now are about pain. About waiting. About unanswered questions and doctors who say they’ll think about it and then disappear. It’s waking up already hurting and realizing there’s no plan, no timeline, no relief in sight. Just another long stretch of endurance.
That kind of pain drains everything. It drains joy. It drains patience. It drains the energy it takes to pretend you’re okay when you’re not. I don’t feel festive… I feel exhausted. I feel like my nervous system is constantly bracing for the next thing, and there’s no room left for celebration.
The holidays make it louder. The expectations. The noise. The sense that I should be more grateful, more cheerful, more present. But the truth is, right now, I just want quiet. I want stillness. I want my body to stop screaming long enough for me to breathe without thinking about it.
There’s also a deeper grief layered underneath all of this… the kind that doesn’t announce itself but sits heavy in the chest. The kind that comes from a life spent fighting for answers, fighting through pain, fighting to keep showing up even when everything in you wants to collapse inward.
I don’t want gifts. I don’t want parties. I don’t want forced cheer.
What I want is to crawl into a hole and stay there for a while. To rest without guilt. To stop explaining myself. To not have to be strong or hopeful or positive. Just to exist without being asked for more.
This season, for me, isn’t about joy. It’s about survival. It’s about getting through the days without losing myself completely. It’s about holding on quietly and hoping that somewhere beyond this stretch of pain and waiting, there’s relief waiting too…
Right now, all I can do is tell the truth about where I am.
And today…this is it.
