On Seasonal Pressure: The Art of Getting Through

Let’s start with the truth, not the tinsel

Father Christmas rocks the holidays with a boombox beside a vibrant pink Christmas tree against a bold blue backdrop.

I’ll start with some honesty. I am limping to the end of the year. I have had a low-grade, never-ending cold for weeks, the kind that doesn’t quite knock you off your feet but also refuses to leave. There is a growing stack of presents in the corner of the room that still need wrapping. I keep meaning to do it and keep not having the energy. And somewhere between work, parenting, and life continuing at full volume, December has arrived with its usual intensity.

I know Christmas happens at the same time every year, and yet it also has a way of sneaking up on us, whether we celebrate Christmas or not. The lights go up, the music gets louder, the expectations thicken in the air. There is a sense of being swept up in something collective and relentless. A squeeze. A rush. A feeling that the year is ending and something needs to be completed, resolved, celebrated, or simply survived.

Festive collage featuring a Christmas tree, lollipop, disco ball, nutcracker, gnome, and a hand holding a wine glass, set against a bright green background with playful holiday elements.

Why December feels like an emotional group project

Seasonal pressure is not just about Christmas. It is about endings and comparisons, money and meaning, family and absence, noise and fatigue. It is about being surrounded by messages that tell us how this time of year should feel while our bodies and lives quietly disagree.

Even if you do not celebrate, it can be hard to escape the pace. Shops are fuller, diaries tighter, emails more urgent, emotions closer to the surface. We are relational beings, and our nervous systems respond to each other. When the collective pace speeds up, our bodies feel it. Cortisol rises. Sleep becomes lighter. Patience thins. Small things feel bigger.

This is not because you are doing December badly. It is because your nervous system is doing exactly what it was designed to do in a charged environment.

The perfect Christmas is a marketing concept, not a personality trait

We are sold an image of how this season should look and feel. Families who get along effortlessly. Homes that glow. Tables that look calm, coordinated, and strangely free of crumbs. People who appear rested, grateful, and emotionally fulfilled.

In reality, many people experience an emotional hangover from trying to make everyone happy. The pressure to host, to perform, to hold things together. The quiet resentment that can build when you are doing the most while feeling the least. There is often guilt too, especially when you realise you want something different from the traditions you grew up with. Quieter. Smaller. Or simply not the same.

Wanting something different does not make you ungrateful. It usually means your needs have changed.

Host energy: doing the most while feeling the least

A classical statue adorned with a Santa hat and beard, set against a vibrant two-tone background of blue and red.

In therapy, I hear about the invisible labour of this season. The planning, anticipating, smoothing over, emotional caretaking. Host energy is generous, but it is also exhausting. It often comes at the cost of being present in your own body.

Many people don’t realise they are burnt out until they finally stop. And December rarely offers much space to stop.

Why going home can make grown adults feel twelve again

A joyful child dressed in a checked shirt leaps in front of a whimsical angelic silhouette against a dark, starry background.

Christmas and the end of the year have a way of pressing old emotional buttons. Even as adults, we can find ourselves slipping back into familiar family roles without meaning to. The peacemaker. The responsible one. The one who keeps quiet. The one who absorbs the tension so no one else has to.

This is not about blaming families. It is about understanding the emotional maps we inherited. Our bodies remember what helped us belong, stay safe, or avoid conflict long before our adult minds catch up.

That sudden feeling of being smaller, more reactive, or overly responsible is not weakness. It is memory stored in the nervous system.

Boundaries: festive, firm, and not actually rude

This is where boundaries matter. Not the rigid, shut-down kind, but the kind that allow you to stay connected without disappearing.

Boundaries are not about being difficult. They are about being clear. Choosing what you say yes to. Practising a good-enough version of the season rather than a perfect one. Allowing yourself to leave early, arrive later, or opt out altogether. Declining invitations without a long justification. Setting expectations early so resentment has less room to grow.

It can be uncomfortable at first, especially if you are used to keeping the peace. But boundaries reduce stress because they signal safety to your nervous system. They remind your body that you have choice.

And perhaps most importantly, you are not responsible for everyone else’s holiday mood.

Regulation, but make it realistic

A person struggles to hold a stack of festive, wrapped gifts.

Staying grounded in December does not require an hour-long meditation retreat. It often looks much smaller. Slowing your breath so the exhale is a little longer than the inhale. Doing slightly less than you think you should. Pacing your energy across the month rather than burning it all in one go. (I'm holding an online session here if you fancied giving it a go.)

It can also help to scan for real joy, not the cinematic kind. The warmth of a mug in your hands. A quiet street. A shared laugh. Ten minutes where no one needs anything from you.

Sometimes I invite people to imagine two versions of the season. The one they feel expected to have, and the one they actually want. Not to overhaul everything, but to notice where one small adjustment might be possible.

Two Christmases enter, one leaves

The expected version often comes loaded with obligation. The wanted version usually includes rest, safety, and a little more honesty. Even moving one step closer to the latter can make a difference.

You’re allowed a quieter plotline this year

Making the season feel like yours does not require grand gestures. It might mean choosing slowness where possible. Creating a new tradition or letting an old one go. Making space for grief if it is present. Redefining family as the people who make you feel safe, not just the people you are related to.

You are allowed to have a season that supports your mental health, not one that performs it.

A festive collection of vintage Christmas ornaments and decorations.

If all else fails, January is still coming

As I write this, I am still tired. The cold has not gone. The presents are still waiting. And yet, there is something quietly comforting in admitting that this is how I am arriving at the end of the year. Not polished. Not perfectly festive. Just here.

If you are reading this feeling behind, overwhelmed, or quietly counting down the days until January, you are not alone. You are responding to a season that asks a lot.

You are allowed to get through it in your own way. And sometimes the most hopeful thing is not trying to make it magical, but letting it be real and trusting that rest and softness will come, even if it arrives a little later than advertised.

However this time of year lands for you, whether it’s full of celebration or quiet endurance, connection or solitude, tradition or something entirely different, I’m wishing you well.

If you’re gathering, I hope there are moments that feel warm and real.

If you’re resting, I hope you feel allowed to do so without guilt.

If you’re grieving, I hope there is softness around you.

If you’re simply getting through, I hope you know that is more than enough.

May you find small pockets of ease where you can. May you feel less alone in how you’re feeling. And may the turn into the new year bring gentler days, steadier ground, and a little more space to breathe.

Take good care of yourself, in whatever way feels most true.

Two hands reaching towards each other with a snowflake between them, set against a vibrant blue background with abstract elements.