This year isn’t finished yet. Christmas hasn’t happened. January hasn’t started. But once Christmas is done, everything turns towards the New Year.
That gap between Christmas and New Year is where you’re meant to look ahead. As if something changes just because we’re close to the end of December. As if we should be more hopeful, have plans, and know where we’re going.
I’m not doing that.
This has been one of the hardest years of my life, one of grief and learning how to live around it.
I’ve written separately about coping with grief at Christmas.
For many people reading this, it will be the same. A year marked not by progress but by holding on tightly to your stability, your emotions and your memories.
This has been a year of firsts. Not the kind people talk about in summaries or reflections. A year of firsts that didn’t come with any guidance on how to cope.
For me, this was the first year of trying to work again after thirteen years of caring. I thought I was ready. I wasn’t. My grief got the better of me, triggered by something at work that I’m still trying to work out. Within a few months even basic functioning at work was impossible and so now the job is gone. That was a first I hadn’t imagined when I was thinking about “life after caring.”
It was also my first birthday without my mum. And her first without me. Meaningful dates kept arriving, a memory of something we shared or did together, and every time all the emotions kept flooding back in, dragging me back down into my grief.
This was my first time living alone in over a decade. But not in the same way as when I was younger, when it was all about freedom and independence. Now, living in her house, everything felt so different and quiet. Her belongings are packed into one room, but the rest of the house hasn’t changed since she died. The living room is still unused. Everything has just stopped. I know something will need to change, but I’m not ready yet. Our home reflects where things stopped, not where they’re going.
For some of you, the details will be different, but the experience will be familiar. The house that’s too quiet. The rooms you avoid. The things you haven’t moved because they’re still precious to you.
Outside, the world keeps going though. It doesn’t feel like Christmas inside here, but out there, I feel it. Walking through the streets, seeing decorated houses, lights in windows, brief glimpses of families together.
But inside, for me, very little shifts.
This is also the first year I’ve had to think about what comes next without caregiving structuring my days. Asking myself whether I’m capable of going back to work now or maybe going into further education. Financial worries sit alongside that uncertainty. I have to make decisions, but I don’t feel able to make them. I don’t know what to do next.
You might recognise that feeling too. The mental lists that never settle. The questions that circle without answers. The sense that you’re meant to be moving towards something, but nothing feels reachable yet.
The medication helps. The counselling helps. I want to be clear about that. But this isn’t a short process. It’s an uneven process, whatever recovery means after a loved one dies. Some days are better than others. There’s no straight line through it.
January doesn’t feel like a fresh start. It feels like another first waiting to happen. The first anniversary of my mum’s death. The awareness that grief doesn’t reset just because a year has passed. The fear of falling back into the lowest place of grief again is already there, even though the date hasn’t arrived yet.
If you’re in a year of firsts, you might be feeling that too. Anticipating dates you haven’t reached yet. Bracing for moments you know are coming. Carrying things that haven’t happened but already feel like they have.
This time between Christmas and New Year can be especially hard for those dealing with grief.
There’s a sense that you should be preparing yourself. That this is the moment to gather energy, make plans, get ready.
Pressure to talk about next year. Pressure to snap out of the stage you’re in. Pressure to act as though enough time has passed. Pressure to act and sound better when people ask how you’re doing.
You might be worried about that.
So this is what I’m leaving behind.
I’m leaving behind the idea that a year like this should wrap up neatly.
I’m leaving behind the expectation that firsts should lead somewhere.
I’m leaving behind the pressure to match my inner state to the calendar.
You might be leaving different things behind.
The need to explain yourself.
The habit of pretending you’re coping better than you are.
The expectation that you should be “back” by now, whoever that was.
You might be leaving behind a version of yourself that existed before loss or caregiving reshaped your days. Or the idea that you should already know what comes next.
Between Christmas and New Year doesn’t have to be that. It doesn’t need to produce clarity or direction. It doesn’t need to prepare you for anything.
For some of us, it’s just another stretch of time inside a longer period that hasn’t finished yet.
I’m not carrying readiness into the new year. I’m just going to be me. You can take your time too and I hope you do.
If you’re looking for support this Christmas, click here for a list of Grief Support Organisations