by Shae Marcus

The holidays have a way of amplifying life. The joy can feel brighter, the laughter warmer, the sense of togetherness richer. But the ache can feel sharper, too. We don’t always speak about that part—what happens when traditions shift, families expand in new directions or the familiar gathering no longer looks like the one we once cherished.

For many of us, the holiday table looks different now. Children become adults with their own households and traditions. Some move far away. Loved ones that once filled the room with their unmistakable presence may no longer be here. Relationships change. And sometimes the chair that remains empty holds more emotion than the ones that are filled.

As a divorced mom, I remember my first Christmas Day without my children. The silence was deafening. The tree lights glowed in the corner, and I stood there in the living room, not sure what to do with my hands. The ache was quiet, but deep; it didn’t rush—it simply settled. That day taught me something essential: Love is not held in a single date or ritual. It continues, stretches, adapts and lives in the ongoing relationship and connection we nurture. That moment didn’t break me; it opened a door to a different understanding of what togetherness can look like.

And sometimes the hardest part is realizing that our role in the holiday has changed and learning who we are inside that new space. There is a grief in that realization, yes—but also room. Room to create. Room to breathe. Room to choose.

Meanwhile, the world sparkles on. Storefronts glitter. Social media twirls matching pajamas and perfectly iced cookies. But connection has never required spectacle.

Sometimes the deepest warmth is found in smaller, quieter moments—the steam rising from a morning mug, the soft glow of a single candle, the familiar weight of a blanket, the sound of our own breath steadying.

A gentle way forward: We might choose one moment to be intentional—a cup of coffee enjoyed slowly, a walk outside, a candle lit for someone we love. We might start one new tradition, even if it’s small. We might allow yourself to rest instead of perform. We are allowed to make the holiday fit ourselves, not the other way around.

So this year, rather than trying to recreate what once was, consider honoring what is—and who we are now. We have walked through change, through growth, through letting go and beginning again. There is courage in that. There is wisdom in that. There is love in that.

Our holiday doesn’t need to resemble its past to hold its meaning. We are not here to simply endure this season. We are allowed to shape it into something that feels like home again—even if home looks different now.

Even as traditions change, our capacity to love remains your truest gift. Choose what feels real. Let tenderness and joy coexist. Our holiday, our pace, our way—we are allowed to shape this season to honor our heart.

Shae Marcus, publisher of the Natural Awakenings South Jersey and Philadelphia editions, no longer measures the holidays by how full the house is, but how full the heart feels.