Holding the Season Gently: Making Space for Memory, Grief, and Joy

This time of year has a way of bringing the past into the present. Not always dramatically — sometimes through small, quiet moments. A familiar scent, a song, a tradition repeated, or a tradition missing. For many people, the holidays carry layers: warmth and grief, connection and absence, gratitude and longing — often all at once.

In my work as a therapist, I notice how often people feel pressure to experience the season a certain way. To be cheerful, present, grateful. When that doesn’t match what’s happening internally, it can create a sense of dissonance — as if something needs to be pushed aside or corrected. What tends to be more supportive is not fixing the experience, but making space for it.

Grief often shows up during the holidays, even when no recent loss has occurred. It can come from memories of earlier versions of life, relationships that changed, or expectations that didn’t unfold as imagined. Grief doesn’t require resolution in this season. It doesn’t need to be reframed or rushed. Research on emotional processing consistently shows that when feelings are acknowledged rather than resisted, they soften over time. What we allow space for tends to move; what we suppress often returns more insistently.

Making space for grief doesn’t mean joy has to be absent. These two experiences are not opposites. In fact, they often coexist. Joy doesn’t have to override pain to be real. It can arrive quietly — as a moment of calm, a shared laugh, or a sense of ease in the body. Studies on emotional regulation and nervous system health suggest that small, intentional moments of positive experience help signal safety to the body, especially during emotionally charged times.

Inviting joy during the holidays often looks different than we expect. It doesn’t require enthusiasm or productivity. It may look like choosing one tradition that still feels grounding and letting the rest go. It may look like creating something new — a walk after dinner, a quiet morning ritual, time outdoors, or a moment of reflection that honors someone who is no longer present. These moments are most supportive when they are chosen, not performed.

I also encourage clients to notice how joy registers physically. A softened jaw, a slower breath, warmth in the chest, or a subtle sense of settling. Somatic research reminds us that the body often experiences safety and pleasure before the mind names them. Paying attention to these cues helps integrate both grief and joy without forcing either one.

Holding the season gently means allowing your full emotional range — remembering what was, honoring what is, and staying open to what may emerge. There is no requirement to feel festive or healed. Only an invitation to respond to yourself with care and honesty.

As the season continues, you might reflect on this:

What helps me make space for my memories — while also allowing moments of ease or joy to exist alongside them?

There is no right answer. Only what feels supportive and true for you.