From my therapy chair: What we don’t say at Christmas

In my therapy room December has a particular feel. People sit down, take a breath and often say some version of “I know I am supposed to be excited” before telling me they feel flat, numb, irritable or quietly desperate.

Outside, the lights are up and the adverts are selling a version of Christmas that looks effortless and warm. Inside, what I often hear is something very different. Relief that someone has finally named how hard this is. Shame for not feeling grateful. Fear of what is coming.

If this season feels heavy for you, you are not strange or broken. You are having a very understandable response to a complicated time of year.

What I see in the therapy room at Christmas

At this time of year, the stories my clients bring often have a familiar shape.

I hear from people who have spent years being the one who holds everything together. The person who smooths over arguments, keeps conversations light and makes sure everyone else is having a good time. By December their nervous system is already tired. Christmas becomes the final exam in people pleasing.

I hear from people who dread going back into old roles that no longer fit. The “easy child”, the “responsible one”, the person who never causes trouble. It can feel as though the version of you that has grown and changed over the year is asked to wait outside while you step back into an old script.

I also hear from people who have no family gatherings to go to. Some are estranged after years of hurt. Some are grieving. Others simply never had the kind of family that sits around a table in the way the films suggest. For them the problem is not having too many invites. It is the echoing quiet and the sense that everyone else is somewhere they are not.

What all of this has in common is a feeling of being out of step. The outside world insists on cheerfulness. Inside, something truer is happening.

Family, history and old wounds

Christmas has a way of putting family dynamics under a magnifying glass.

For clients with critical or emotionally distant parents, the season can reawaken old patterns.

A casual comment about weight, work or relationships can land like a reminder of every time you were not quite enough. Even if you are an adult with your own home and life, in that moment you may feel twelve again. Small. Wrong. Scrutinised.

For clients who grew up taking care of others, there can be a deep pull to return and keep doing it. The unspoken rule might be that you are the one who listens, mediates, does the practical jobs, absorbs the tension. Part of you may want to show up differently. Another part is terrified of what will happen if you do.

In therapy we pay attention to these parts. We notice the tightness in your chest as you talk about going back. We listen to the voice that says, “I cannot upset them” and the quieter voice that whispers “I am so tired”.

Sometimes the work is not about dramatic choices. It might simply be about allowing yourself to say yes or no from a more honest place. To leave earlier. To step outside for air. To recognise that you are no longer that child.

Money, shame and the cost of “making it special”

Money is another theme that comes up a lot in December.

Clients tell me about scrolling through adverts for gifts and feeling a sting of shame. About watching colleagues talk about trips and meals out while mentally counting what is left in their account. About wanting to make Christmas magical for their children while knowing the numbers do not stretch that far.

Underneath the practical stress there is often something deeper. A belief that love is proved through spending. A fear of being judged as mean or failing. An old experience of being the child who did not have the same things as everyone else.

In the room we look at the stories you have picked up about money and worth. Who taught you that love must look a particular way. How you speak to yourself when you cannot give in the way you wish you could. Often there is immense tenderness there. You are trying to care. You are doing your best in a system that asks a lot.

Winter, tiredness and the weight of the year

There is also the simple fact that this is a hard time of year for the body and mind.

Clients talk about feeling slowed down and heavy. Waking up in the dark, going home in the dark and feeling like there is very little space in between. Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) is one part of this, and even without that diagnosis the lack of light can drain energy and colour from life.

By the time December arrives many people are already depleted. The year has held work pressure, illness, break ups, caring responsibilities, and the quiet labour of getting through each day. Then Christmas arrives with the expectation that you will suddenly be sociable, rested and full of joy.

In therapy we often name something that sounds simple but is hard to accept. You are exhausted because you have been carrying a lot. You are not lazy or failing. Your body is telling the truth.

We also notice how the turning of the year invites comparison. Clients tell me, “I thought I would be further along by now”. They measure themselves against an invisible timeline. The job they “should” have. The relationship they “should” be in. The family they “should” have started.

When we sit with this, grief often appears. Grief for the life you imagined. Grief for the parts of yourself that got pushed aside to survive. Grief that no one else seems to see.

How therapy meets this season

Therapy cannot change the fact that Christmas is coming. It cannot make relatives behave differently or bills disappear. What it can do is offer a place where you do not have to pretend.

In my work with clients at this time of year we often slow down. We make room for the feelings that are usually pushed aside so that everyone else can be comfortable: anger, jealousy, resentment, longing. Not because you should act on every one of them, but because they are already there and deserve to be understood.

We notice the patterns that show up. The way your shoulders tense when you talk about “not making a fuss”. The way your voice becomes careful when you describe family plans. The way you dismiss your own needs with a quick “it does not matter”.

We might explore questions like:

• What would it mean to honour how you actually feel this year

• Where did you learn that your job is to keep everyone else happy

• What would “good enough” look like, rather than perfect

For some clients therapy opens the possibility of a different choice. To stay home instead of travelling. To see a friend instead of going to a large gathering. To attend for a shorter time. For others that is not possible, for financial, cultural or caring reasons. In those situations, the work might be about creating small pockets of safety inside something that still feels hard. A walk. A call to someone who sees you. A moment alone to breathe.

Grief, absence and the Christmas that never was

Grief can be particularly sharp in December.

Clients who have lost someone often talk about the empty chair at the table, the card that is not written, the memory of a Christmas when that person was still here. The world moves on quickly. Grief does not. The contrast between their inner world and the outer celebration can feel brutal.

There is also another kind of grief that appears often in the room. Grief for the Christmas you never had and perhaps still long for. A family that listened. Parents who noticed when you were struggling. A home where you did not have to hide parts of yourself.

Many people tell me they feel they “have no right” to feel this way because they had food, holidays, presents. Yet when we sit with it, a different truth emerges. You can be thankful for what you had and still ache for what you needed emotionally but did not receive.

Therapy gives that ache somewhere to go. We can speak directly to the younger parts of you who are still waiting for someone to say “I see how lonely that was” or “of course you were scared”.

Boundaries as an act of care

Boundaries are a word we hear more often now, but in the room, they are rarely simple. They are tied up with loyalty, history and fear.

When I talk with clients about boundaries at Christmas, we are not just making a list of things to refuse. We are exploring what it would mean to include yourself in the circle of people you care about.

Sometimes a boundary is external. Choosing not to attend a specific event. Leaving when you have had enough. Not drinking when you know it does not end well. Sometimes it is internal. Deciding not to explain yourself to someone who will not hear you. Saying a quiet “no” inside when an old criticism repeats in your head.

Guilt almost always arrives. Many of us were taught that putting our needs first is selfish or unkind. In therapy we try to hold that guilt gently rather than fighting it. We ask whose voice it sounds like. We notice that you can feel guilty and still choose what keeps you emotionally safe.

Some grounded ways to support yourself

There is no list that will fix a complex season, but there are small, real things that can help:

• Before you agree to plans, pause and check in: what do I actually want or need here

• If the old family script is suffocating, see if you can change one small thing rather than everything. Sit somewhere different, leave earlier, step outside when you need space

• If you feel grief, let it have some form. Light a candle, write a letter, look at a photo, say their name. It is okay if others do not understand

• If you feel lonely, see if you can reach out once. A message to a friend, a support line, an online space where you feel less invisible

• Give your body something simple. Daylight where you can find it, a warm drink, a blanket, a slow walk. This is not trivial. It is your nervous system trying to settle

• If everything feels too much, speaking to a therapist or helpline can be a way of sharing the load rather than carrying it all in your head

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As I sit with people through December, I am often struck by how much courage it takes simply to keep showing up to your own life. This season may always carry a mix of light and shadow, but that does not mean you are stuck. Small choices in how you care for yourself now can slowly shape how future winters feel. You are allowed to soften your expectations, to honour what hurts and to notice what helps, however small. There is hope in that ongoing movement, in the possibility that each year you understand yourself a little more and find a little more room to live in a way that feels true for you.