Introduction: The Paradox of the Holidays

The holiday season is often painted in bright colors—twinkling lights, cheerful music, busy gatherings, and the promise of joy. Yet for many, this time of year also carries shadows. The absence of loved ones, the weight of memories, or the quiet ache of grief can make the season feel complicated. If you find yourself smiling one moment and tearing up the next, you are not broken—you are human.

This reflection invites us to practice a gentle discipline: holding space for both joy and sadness. It is not about denying pain or forcing cheer, but about cultivating a posture of openness—welcoming the fullness of human experience and finding meaning in both laughter and tears. As Ecclesiastes reminds us, “There is a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.”

Naming the Loss Without Losing the Light

The first step in holding space is honesty. Holidays often magnify absence. An empty chair at the table, a missing voice on the phone, or traditions that feel incomplete remind us of those no longer here. Grief is not something we “get over”; it is something we carry.

• Acknowledging absence: Saying aloud the names of loved ones, lighting a candle, or setting aside a moment of silence honors their presence in our lives.
• Resisting denial: Pretending everything is fine can deepen loneliness. Naming sadness allows us to move through it, rather than around it.
• Balancing memory with gratitude: Remembering the joy those loved ones brought can soften the ache. Gratitude does not erase grief, but it reframes it.

Grief and joy are not opposites—they are friends. To love deeply is to grieve deeply, and to grieve deeply is to testify to the joy that once was.

Personal reflection: My memories of Christmas are scattered—some were good, others not so good. Growing up, my parents often fought around the holidays. Their struggles with money always seemed to surface this time of year. Mom wanted to go big, Dad resisted, and somehow they still overspent. The tension would rise, anger would spill over, and the season wasn’t always joyful.

There were also difficult memories with neighbors whose drinking made the holidays less safe and less fun. Those stories will stay locked away for now, but they added to the complicated mix of emotions I carried into adulthood—a love/hate relationship with the holidays. And just when I felt like I was breaking free from that negative cycle, loss came crashing in. First my dad, then my mother‑in‑law—both right before the holidays, only months apart. A few years later, I lost my mom as well. Each loss made the season heavy again.

Finding Joy in the Present Moment

While grief reminds us of what is gone, joy invites us into what is here. The present moment is a gift, even when imperfect.

• Simple joys: A warm cup of hot chocolate, the sound of laughter, the glow of lights on a winter evening.
• Relational joys: Time with family, friends, or community—even small gatherings can be rich with meaning.
• Spiritual joys: For those rooted in faith, the season carries profound reminders of hope, renewal, and divine presence.

Joy is not about ignoring sadness; it is about noticing beauty in the midst of it. When we pause to savor small delights, we cultivate resilience. As the Psalmist writes, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.”

Celebrating the Good of the Past

Memories can be bittersweet. They remind us of what we’ve lost, but they also remind us of what we’ve had.

• Traditions as anchors: Continuing old traditions can honor loved ones. Baking a favorite recipe, singing a favorite song, or decorating in familiar ways keeps their spirit alive.
• Creating new rituals: Sometimes grief calls for new practices—writing letters to those we miss, sharing stories around the table, or crafting ornaments in their memory.
• Storytelling as celebration: Sharing memories aloud allows joy to resurface. Laughter often mingles with tears, and both are sacred.

Celebrating the past is not about clinging to what cannot return, but about honoring the memories of what has shaped us.

Personal reflection: Even in the midst of arguments and struggles, my mom had a way of lighting up at Christmas. Her excitement was contagious, and it transferred to me. It’s been three years now since she passed, and I’ve found new ways to cope and celebrate. The grief is still there, but joy has returned in new forms.

Resisting the Trap of Busyness

The holidays can easily become overwhelming. Shopping, decorating, cooking, hosting—it all piles up. Busyness can distract us from grief, but it can also rob us of joy.

• Intentional slowing: Choosing fewer commitments, practicing Sabbath rest, or carving out quiet moments helps us stay grounded.
• Prioritizing presence over perfection: A messy house or simple meal matters less than being present with those we love.
• Saying no with grace: Declining invitations or obligations can be an act of self-care.

Busyness often masks deeper emotions. By slowing down, we allow both joy and sadness to surface, and we create space for authentic connection.

Avoiding the Weight of Falling Behind

On the other side of busyness lies guilt—the sense that we are not doing enough, not keeping up, not meeting expectations.

• Rejecting comparison: Social media often amplifies the illusion of perfect holidays. Remember: what you see is curated, not reality.
• Embracing imperfection: A holiday season does not need to be flawless to be meaningful.
• Choosing grace over guilt: Allow yourself to rest, to simplify, to let go of unrealistic standards.

Falling behind is a myth. The season is not a race; it is an invitation to presence.

Keeping a Positive Outlook Without Denial

Positivity is not about ignoring pain—it is about choosing hope.

• Reframing challenges: Instead of “I can’t do this,” try “I’m learning to carry this.”
• Practicing gratitude: Naming three small blessings each day shifts perspective.
• Encouraging others: Offering kindness, listening well, or sending a thoughtful note uplifts both giver and receiver.

A positive outlook does not mean constant cheer. It means holding sadness gently, while still choosing to see light.

Practical Ways to Hold Space for Both Joy and Sadness

Here are some practices that embody this balance:

• Create a memory ritual: Light a candle for each loved one no longer here.
• Journal reflections: Write about both joys and sorrows each day.
• Practice mindful presence: Pause before meals, gatherings, or events to breathe and center yourself.
• Share stories: Invite others to tell favorite memories, mixing laughter and tears.
• Simplify commitments: Choose what matters most and let go of the rest.
• Offer compassion: Remember that others may also be grieving—listen, encourage, and walk alongside them.

The Spiritual Dimension of Holding Space

For those who approach the season through faith, the paradox of joy and sadness mirrors the deeper truths of life.

• Incarnation and hope: The Christmas story itself is about light entering darkness, joy mingling with sorrow.
• Resurrection and memory: Faith reminds us that death is not the end, and that love endures.
• Community and compassion: The church, family, or spiritual community can be a place to share burdens and joys together.

Holding space spiritually means trusting that both joy and sadness are part of the sacred journey.

Encouragement for the Journey

As you move through this holiday season, remember:

• You are not alone in your grief.
• Joy is still possible, even in sorrow.
• The past is a treasure, not a trap.
• Busyness is optional; presence is essential.
• Positivity is a choice, not a denial.

Holding space for both joy and sadness is not easy, but it is deeply human. It allows us to honor those we miss, celebrate those we love, and embrace the gift of today.

Personal reflection: If you’re walking through loss, I want you to know this—you will find your own ways to celebrate too. The grief may never fully leave, but joy has a way of returning in new forms.

Conclusion: A Season of Wholeness

The holidays are not meant to be perfect—they are meant to be whole. Wholeness includes laughter and tears, presence and absence, joy and sadness. By holding space for both, we step into a season that is honest, compassionate, and life‑giving.

This year, may you find courage to name your grief, openness to savor joy, and grace to walk gently with yourself and others. May your holidays be not flawless, but full—full of memory, meaning, and hope.

And when the lights dim, when the gatherings quiet, and when the ache of absence returns, remember: you are not alone. The love of those who shaped you still lives in your stories, your traditions, and your heart. The joy of today is still worth receiving, even if it comes in small, fragile ways.

Holding space for both joy and sadness is not weakness—it is wisdom. It is the way we honor the past, embrace the present, and prepare for the future with hope. May this season be one of wholeness for you, and may you discover that even in sorrow, joy has a way of finding its way back.

Thanks for stopping by the fire,

Coach Dennis

P.S. If this season feels heavy or complicated, you don’t have to navigate it alone. Coaching can help you find clarity, strengthen relationships, and rediscover joy—even in the midst of grief or busyness. Whether you’re seeking relationship coaching or gentle guidance for holiday coaching, I’d love to walk alongside you. Together, we can create space for both joy and sadness, and help you move forward with hope and intention. storyboardcoaching.com