‘Tis the Season ~

The holidays are here—ushering in the familiar rush of calendars, family gatherings, late-night wrapping sessions, and houses transformed into twinkling reflections of cheer. Every year, I listen to the world around me speak of shopping lists, travel plans, crowded malls, Secret Santa exchanges, rehearsed carols, church services, office parties, and bustling celebrations. For many, this is a season of joy. But for others—those healing from trauma—it can feel like trudging through snow with unseen weight strapped beneath the surface.

For me, the season still carries memories of trauma and abuse, along with the reminder of how far I’ve come, and how far I still hope to go. My newsfeed fills with advice on surviving December: maintain boundaries, be gentle with yourself, make room for rest. My holiday cheer often looks quieter—soft reminders that I am safe, that therapy continues to open new pathways, and that healing grows through small, steady steps. Presence over performance. Truth over tradition. Grace over forced joy.

This Thanksgiving, I spent time in the San Francisco Bay Area with my older daughter, her family, and her extended in-law circle—some I’ve known nearly twenty years, and a few I met that very day. Yet, large gatherings still feel foreign. Trauma teaches vigilance; even in safe places, the body waits for danger. So I anchor myself in the simple truths: these are kind people. Familiar people. Even if what connects us is only my daughter, her husband, and our shared grandsons—that thread is enough. I am safe here. Or was I?

A woman I had not met before suggested that everyone at the table share one word to describe where we were in life. She looked at me and said I must participate, though she did not know me. A harmless moment, perhaps—but boundary testing all the same. I weighed what I could offer without revealing more than felt safe. When my turn came, I answered, “Reflective—considering where I’ve been, where I stand, and where I’m going.” When she pressed for more, I gently replied, “I would not know where to begin.” My daughter gave a quiet, loving, supportive pat on my back and said, “Good response.” The moment passed, and the conversation drifted elsewhere. Sometimes victory is soft, unannounced.

An article I recently read on trauma and holiday triggers reminded me why this season feels heavier. The sensory overload—decorations, music, gatherings, unspoken expectations—can stir old wounds. It shed light on why trauma dreams return despite years of work and miles of growth. Healing isn’t erased by location or time. The body remembers. Holidays simply amplify the echoes.

So I do what supports me: I hold boundaries, choose gentle environments, and stay close to those who feel steady. I walk through December at a pace that honors both who I was and who I’m becoming. I watch the holidays through the eyes of my daughters and grandchildren—their wonder, their laughter, their unfiltered joy. They are the warmth I move toward; proof that growth, light, and love continue.

For now, I meet the holidays exactly as I am—healing, present, rooted—and that is enough.

~ julie

If you feel so inclined, please reply with your thoughts.

Note: JM Lane is NOT a mental health professional, nor does she carry a license to practice medicine. Posts, blogs, and content are based on JM Lane’s personal experiences, perceptions, and reflections. By no means does any material convey what others should or should not do.