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If you’ve read my holiday newsletters in the past or know me as a person, you already know this about me. I am a self-proclaimed Grinch.
For years, I wore that cynicism proudly, convincing myself that I simply wasn’t meant to find joy in the holidays, and that this was perfectly fine. I told myself I didn’t need the magic, the sentiment, or the spectacle.
But as time has passed, something has started to soften.
I’ve begun to notice the magic again, the kind I felt as a kid and now recognize as something my mother worked incredibly hard to create. Not the loud, manufactured version of holiday cheer, but the small, quiet moments that feel real. Watching my cousin’s kids experience Christmas like it’s pure wonder as they spend hours building an under-the-tree train set. Seeing the dogs in our families thrilled simply because there are more people in the house. Completely overthinking a gift for a friend’s first baby and realizing that this, too, is part of the joy.
Each year, my cynicism gets peeled back layer by layer, like the Grinch’s favorite onion snack, and my heart, much like his, grows a little bigger. I may no longer be the beginning-of-the-movie Grinch, but I am still very much Grinch-coded.
And yet, despite all of this personal growth, it’s hard not to feel the pressure.
The pressure to deliver on the holidays.
To show up for everyone in very specific ways.
To curate gifts that are thoughtful, unique, and just right.
To remember every detail and cover every base.
There’s a quiet belief that loving people well during the holidays requires performance. That if we don’t get it exactly right, we are somehow falling short. And that stress can feel like a lot.
So if you feel that same pressure to perform this season, please know you are not alone. The cynicism, the resistance, the desire to simply opt out, it’s all natural. Sometimes it isn’t a lack of holiday spirit at all, but a sign that expectations have grown too heavy.
And even as my heart grows larger each year, I am learning that it doesn’t mean I have to carry the weight of everyone’s expectations.
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If you’ve read my holiday newsletters in the past or know me as a person, you already know this about me. I am a self-proclaimed Grinch.
For years, I wore that cynicism proudly, convincing myself that I simply wasn’t meant to find joy in the holidays, and that this was perfectly fine. I told myself I didn’t need the magic, the sentiment, or the spectacle.
But as time has passed, something has started to soften.
I’ve begun to notice the magic again, the kind I felt as a kid and now recognize as something my mother worked incredibly hard to create. Not the loud, manufactured version of holiday cheer, but the small, quiet moments that feel real. Watching my cousin’s kids experience Christmas like it’s pure wonder as they spend hours building an under-the-tree train set. Seeing the dogs in our families thrilled simply because there are more people in the house. Completely overthinking a gift for a friend’s first baby and realizing that this, too, is part of the joy.
Each year, my cynicism gets peeled back layer by layer, like the Grinch’s favorite onion snack, and my heart, much like his, grows a little bigger. I may no longer be the beginning-of-the-movie Grinch, but I am still very much Grinch-coded.
And yet, despite all of this personal growth, it’s hard not to feel the pressure.
The pressure to deliver on the holidays.
To show up for everyone in very specific ways.
To curate gifts that are thoughtful, unique, and just right.
To remember every detail and cover every base.
There’s a quiet belief that loving people well during the holidays requires performance. That if we don’t get it exactly right, we are somehow falling short. And that stress can feel like a lot.
So if you feel that same pressure to perform this season, please know you are not alone. The cynicism, the resistance, the desire to simply opt out, it’s all natural. Sometimes it isn’t a lack of holiday spirit at all, but a sign that expectations have grown too heavy.
And even as my heart grows larger each year, I am learning that it doesn’t mean I have to carry the weight of everyone’s expectations.
If you’ve read my holiday newsletters in the past or know me as a person, you already know this about me. I am a self-proclaimed Grinch.
For years, I wore that cynicism proudly, convincing myself that I simply wasn’t meant to find joy in the holidays, and that this was perfectly fine. I told myself I didn’t need the magic, the sentiment, or the spectacle.
But as time has passed, something has started to soften.
I’ve begun to notice the magic again, the kind I felt as a kid and now recognize as something my mother worked incredibly hard to create. Not the loud, manufactured version of holiday cheer, but the small, quiet moments that feel real. Watching my cousin’s kids experience Christmas like it’s pure wonder as they spend hours building an under-the-tree train set. Seeing the dogs in our families thrilled simply because there are more people in the house. Completely overthinking a gift for a friend’s first baby and realizing that this, too, is part of the joy.
Each year, my cynicism gets peeled back layer by layer, like the Grinch’s favorite onion snack, and my heart, much like his, grows a little bigger. I may no longer be the beginning-of-the-movie Grinch, but I am still very much Grinch-coded.
And yet, despite all of this personal growth, it’s hard not to feel the pressure.
The pressure to deliver on the holidays.
To show up for everyone in very specific ways.
To curate gifts that are thoughtful, unique, and just right.
To remember every detail and cover every base.
There’s a quiet belief that loving people well during the holidays requires performance. That if we don’t get it exactly right, we are somehow falling short. And that stress can feel like a lot.
So if you feel that same pressure to perform this season, please know you are not alone. The cynicism, the resistance, the desire to simply opt out, it’s all natural. Sometimes it isn’t a lack of holiday spirit at all, but a sign that expectations have grown too heavy.
And even as my heart grows larger each year, I am learning that it doesn’t mean I have to carry the weight of everyone’s expectations.
If you’ve read my holiday newsletters in the past or know me as a person, you already know this about me. I am a self-proclaimed Grinch.
For years, I wore that cynicism proudly, convincing myself that I simply wasn’t meant to find joy in the holidays, and that this was perfectly fine. I told myself I didn’t need the magic, the sentiment, or the spectacle.
But as time has passed, something has started to soften.
I’ve begun to notice the magic again, the kind I felt as a kid and now recognize as something my mother worked incredibly hard to create. Not the loud, manufactured version of holiday cheer, but the small, quiet moments that feel real. Watching my cousin’s kids experience Christmas like it’s pure wonder as they spend hours building an under-the-tree train set. Seeing the dogs in our families thrilled simply because there are more people in the house. Completely overthinking a gift for a friend’s first baby and realizing that this, too, is part of the joy.
Each year, my cynicism gets peeled back layer by layer, like the Grinch’s favorite onion snack, and my heart, much like his, grows a little bigger. I may no longer be the beginning-of-the-movie Grinch, but I am still very much Grinch-coded.
And yet, despite all of this personal growth, it’s hard not to feel the pressure.
The pressure to deliver on the holidays.
To show up for everyone in very specific ways.
To curate gifts that are thoughtful, unique, and just right.
To remember every detail and cover every base.
There’s a quiet belief that loving people well during the holidays requires performance. That if we don’t get it exactly right, we are somehow falling short. And that stress can feel like a lot.
So if you feel that same pressure to perform this season, please know you are not alone. The cynicism, the resistance, the desire to simply opt out, it’s all natural. Sometimes it isn’t a lack of holiday spirit at all, but a sign that expectations have grown too heavy.
And even as my heart grows larger each year, I am learning that it doesn’t mean I have to carry the weight of everyone’s expectations.
MaxClass is a woman-owned company, and we're offering MWLC members 65% off your continuing education when you use our code WOMENWIN.
MaxClass is a woman-owned company, and we're offering MWLC members 65% off your continuing education. Become a member for our unique code.
Sometimes the best mentors are the ones who grow with you, step by step, year after year.
A surprisingly powerful break from the chaos of grown-up life.
From Charmed to the mortgage industry
MaxClass is a woman-owned company, and we're offering MWLC members 65% off your continuing education when you use our code WOMENWIN.
MaxClass is a woman-owned company, and we're offering MWLC members 65% off your continuing education. Become a member for our unique code.
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