Quiet Holidays

The holidays were very different for me this year. My girls are adults now, and I know some traditions mean a lot to them, but not being in a place of my own changed everything. Their stockings were in storage. The cookie cutters were in storage. Ornaments. In storage. My past. In storage.

So it looked different. It felt different. And somehow… that was okay.

I’m starting to realize how many traditions actually just add stress to people. This year I paid attention to what really mattered. Getting approved for that loan changed my vision for my future in ways I didn’t expect. I’m excited about having my own space; depending on me, just me. Doing what I feel like, not what I think others expect me to do.

On New Year’s Eve, I stayed at work. Around 4 p.m. I thought, I should probably pack up so I can get home and get ready. My dad, his girlfriend, and my sister were planning to get together at 8 to ring in the new year. I felt like I needed to be there. This is what I usually do.

But I didn’t want to go home.

I wanted to stay at work. I wanted to make sure the night went smoothly, that the clients had a great New Year’s Eve. So I stayed until 11:30. I listened to them laughing, talking, and singing karaoke. I helped pass out pizza and make root beer floats. I had fun. I enjoyed choosing what I wanted to do.

Today though. I’m still working on that.

It’s 12:40 a.m. now. I’m sitting on a couch when I really want to be in my own bed, in my own room. However, I struggle immensely with saying no. I don’t want to be mean or hurt anyone else’s feelings, yet I’m okay with hurting my own. Why is that?

I literally told myself tonight that I didn’t want to be here… and yet here I am. I have my car. I have my keys. I could leave. But I can’t make myself do it.

A year ago, I was begging to spend more time with this person, and he always did what he wanted, no questions asked. So why can’t I? I know he isn’t going to suddenly realize he made a mistake and come running back. And even if he did, I’m done. I’ve checked out. I don’t want to rekindle anything, yet here I am sleeping on his couch instead of leaving.

Maybe it’s just a slow burn like how a fire burns out; the way a relationship ends quietly after you’ve tried for so long and finally don’t want to anymore.

I’m fine being alone now. I actually prefer it. It’s easier. I’m happier.

I just don’t know how to tell people yet.

But I’m done. I want to read a book, nap on my couch, eat pancakes at midnight, and dance in my kitchen by myself.

My world has changed.

I am changing.

I am growing.

I am learning.

I am living.

So... Why am I still on this damn couch?

I'm not stuck on this couch because I'm weak.

I'm here because for most of my life:

• Love meant accommodating.

• Safety meant not rocking the boat.

• Being “good” meant not needing too much.

So now, when my body says go home, my nervous system says don’t upset anyone.

That isn’t a flaw... It’s conditioning. That I am trying to unlearn.

I spent years begging people to choose me, while they chose themselves effortlessly.

Now I'm learning the opposite muscle — the one that says:

I don’t need permission to leave a room anymore if I don't want to be there. And it feels wrong only because it’s new.

The holidays being “in storage” is the perfect metaphor for where I am right now. Not broken. Not gone. Just in storage … waiting for the version of me who will finally have space someday.

My traditions didn’t disappear. They’re paused — the same way I was for a long time. I didn’t ruin Christmas. I survived a transition year.

So here’s a new rule I must learn in the new year: I am allowed to leave places that no longer feel like home, even quietly, even without an explanation.

The “slow burn” I talked about. That isn’t the end of love. I hope. It’s the end of self-abandonment. I'm not pulling away because I don’t care. I'm pulling away because I finally do.

One day soon, I'm going to walk out a door when my heart says go. No speech. No guilt. Just keys in hand.

And I'll go home, to my couch, to pancakes at midnight, to music in my kitchen,

And I'll realize I didn’t lose anything.

I just finally came back to myself.

Eat the crust, my friends.