Christmas, New Year - and the Grief No One Sends Cards For

I have been quiet. Not because I have not been doing anything — although, let us be honest, sometimes I have not — but mostly because I have been busy behind the scenes.

Also, perhaps a bit because I needed a little time to breathe. A lot.

But here I am, finally pulling myself off the couch long enough to write a wee little blog about my thoughts at this time of year. Read it, ignore it, scroll past it — I will still love you all the same.

Christmas and New Year have a way of holding up a mirror — and a grief-stricken one, at that.

The questions get louder for middle-aged women:

“You will settle down eventually.”

“Aren’t you getting older now?”

“You are middle-aged, you know.”

The expectations creep in — especially as a woman.

Soft expectations.

Loud expectations.

The kind no one thinks they are imposing, but somehow always land squarely on your chest.

In a past life on my Wedding day....

And suddenly you are taking stock — whether you want to or not — of the life you thought you would be living by now.

Grief often shows up here. Quietly. Sideways.And sometimes — like a freight train.

Not just grief for the people who have died, or the empty chair at the table on Christmas Day.But grief for the lives we imagined. The ones we planned for. The ones we were certain would happen — but did not.

Fun fact — many moons ago, in a past life, I used to be married at the tender age of 26.

Separated at 27.

Divorced at 28.

I genuinely thought my life would look very different by now. I thought I would still be married. I thought I would have children. I thought Christmas Day would be early mornings, the pitter-patter of little feet, wrapping paper everywhere, children opening presents.

That was the picture. That was the plan.

Life had other ideas — and ideas that, in many ways, have led me exactly where I need to be.

Through life — and some deeply, deeply personal things — those things will not happen for me. Some by choice. Some not. Some still complicated to put words to.

Do I grieve that? Absolutely.

Am I also happy with my life and would not change the last twelve months for the world? Also — absolutely. Absolutely no regrets.

Both things can exist. In the same week. In the same day. Sometimes in the same breath.

We do not talk enough about this kind of grief. The kind that does not come with funerals, sympathy cards, or baked meals. The kind that does not always have a clear “reason”, but still sits heavily in the body.

It is the grief of relationships that ended — marriages, friendships, family ties — sometimes loudly, sometimes slowly, sometimes without closure.It is the grief of becoming someone you did not plan on being.Of shedding an old skin.Of realising a chapter is closed even though you did not get to finish the sentence.

It is the grief of the future you pictured so clearly — the Christmases, the milestones, the photos you never took — and the quiet ache of knowing they will not exist in the way you imagined.

It is the grief that does not feel socially acceptable to talk about.The shame-tinged grief.The grief that comes with financial stress, work that fell apart, family dynamics that are strained, or the feeling that everyone else seems to be “doing better” than you.

It is the grief where the person is still here — but not really.When someone you love is physically present but emotionally gone.When addiction, illness, dementia, or distance has changed the relationship beyond recognition. That loss is real too, even if no one knows how to acknowledge it.

And the truth? Grief does not care if it is convenient, socially acceptable, or tied to a death.It does not disappear because we refuse to acknowledge it.

And do not even get me started on New Year’s resolutions. They are basically a cruel joke if you are grieving. “New year, new you!” they scream, as if grief can be magically ticked off a list with kale smoothies, gym memberships, or waking up at 5 a.m. to meditate.

Spoiler alert: grief does not care what month it is.You can still be crying into your leftover Christmas rum balls while everyone else is doing yoga and meal-prepping.You can still be missing someone, mourning something, or just flat-out exhausted from life while the world screams, “new year, new me!”

So if you are sitting there thinking, I am supposed to have moved on by now, I am supposed to be productive, I am supposed to be better — let me stop you.

No.

You are allowed to sit in the mess. You are allowed to survive, even if that means not sticking to anyone’s ridiculous resolution.

Grief is not a “problem” to solve. It is a companion. And companions do not just disappear because it is 1 January.

...and now. You can be happy AND grieve at the same time.

Grief does not make you weak. It makes you human. And if anyone tries to tell you otherwise — send them my way.

So, wherever you are this festive season, whatever you are feeling, however your year ended — keep breathing. Keep laughing. Keep crying. Keep showing up for yourself.

Because you are enough. You are human. You are doing the best you can — and that is more than enough.

With love,This little duck x