Tis’ the season for emotions to arise..
Every year as December approaches my emotional landscape begins rumbling deep within my psyche.
A mosaic of dark and light with a multitude of in-between shades roils around without settling into any clear pattern. Humbug to Christmas carols being played in November—how inconsiderate!
Over the years my practice has been to travel or to go very quiet. I spent Christmas and New Year’s in India for two consecutive years. Last year I was quiet at home with my cat Zach, sharing early-morning Zooms with my grand and great-grandkids in Alberta followed by a woods walk with a dear friend on Gabriola. Likely the same this year.
What is it about December? The beauty of the lights offers tender solace. Giant inflatables—lying deflated most of the time—spark irritation. Sincere, heartfelt connections with loved ones open my heart.
December is a month of paradox. As each day becomes darker, moving closer to the darkest day of the year, the events of “the season” escalate. The traditional sights and sounds begin tugging at heartstrings; kindnesses increase, generosity flows, and people bring out the best of themselves.
As our tenderness radiates outward toward others it also expands inward to awaken not only fond memories but sorrowful ones held within our psyche.
The tremendous effort and shiny expectations channeled into the jolly, joyful trappings of the season can also amplify the mournful dimensions of our lives. As a single mom back in the day—working long hours at a full-time job and doing all I could to create the best possible traditional Christmas for my sons—December became the most daunting month of the year.
Stretching an already overstrained budget even further, sleeping even fewer hours, trying to pack more into an already overly full day with decorating, shopping, and baking was something I did with a glad heart. It would have been heartbreaking not to. It was unthinkable to have my beloved sons deprived of the joys of those magical Christmas days. Right to the end of their lives they cherished their Christmas celebrations. Now, every December I am flooded with those memories, along with the harsh reminder that they are no longer with me.
One of the many vivid memories I have of those Christmases is finally wrapping Santa’s last present—usually around four o’clock in the morning—then, satisfied but exhausted, falling into bed for a couple of hours of sleep before the boys bounced up, eager for the fun and the food: waffles with lots of butter and genuine maple syrup. At the time, my joyful loving overrode the exhaustion. Now, I still feel a faint echo of that weary joy in my body.
At this time of my life, I see this season as a time for connecting with dear ones, pacing myself as best I can (my perpetual challenge), savouring the mystical beauty of colourful lights glowing and twinkling out of the blackness, and honouring winter solstice—the long exhale of the year, when the world pauses in stillness within its deepest dark. Although solstice heralds the light’s eventual return, in the moment we are held within the hush of the darkest time of the year—a time for introspection, a time for reflecting on what has passed.
It’s important for me to go into periods of solitude, to be with the darkness, to listen, to honour the fond memories as well as the sorrows that emerge from the shadows, and at times to surrender and willingly embrace the grief that rises to the surface.
Over the years I’ve learned that although grief often rises in solitude, we deeply feeling humans are not meant to bear it in isolation. Through my own experience and that of the many I’ve worked with, I agree with Francis Weller when he tells us how difficult it is to attend to our grief in the absence of community. “Carried privately,” he writes, “sorrow lingers in the soul… Grief has always been communal, always been shared, and consequently has traditionally been regarded as a sacred process. Too often in modern times our grief becomes private, carrying an invisible mantle of shame, forcing our sorrow underground, hidden from the eyes that would offer healing.”
It is meaningful for me to offer, along with a dedicated team of others that know grief, the Grieving: Endings, Losses and Change workshop at Haven, where we come together in our grieving, March 5 – 8, 2026.
If your heart is heavy with sorrow and asking for tender relief, we warmly welcome you into our circle.
In the meantime, warm regards and gentle care for this holiday season,
Linda