December Reflections: Holding Space for Grief and Micro Joys.
Every December, I’m reminded just how complicated this season can be. For some, it’s full of joy, connection, and celebration. For others, it brings grief into sharp focus—grief that’s recent, grief from the past, and sometimes grief that society doesn’t even acknowledge.
This is what we call disenfranchised grief. It shows up in ways that aren’t always “officially recognized”—like breakups, divorce, a recent diagnosis, being rejected by family for loving who you love, losing a pet, losing a job, or caring for a sick loved one. It can also come from larger life changes—like migration or the loss of a community that once held you.
It’s okay if you can’t be “merry”. It’s okay to feel sad, to sit with your grief, and to not apologize for it. There’s no rule or laws that says December has to be joyful- last I checked.
It’s only the beginning of the month, and already I’ve found myself having meaningful conversations about grief—how to sit with it, how to honour it, and how to create space for what it brings up. What’s become even clearer is that grief is deeply personal. It doesn’t move in straight lines, and it isn’t meant to look the same for everyone.
There’s no “correct” pace, no perfect ritual, no checklist to follow. What matters most is finding what feels true to you—whether that’s quiet reflection, storytelling, leaning on community, or simply surviving the day. Grief asks us to honour your own rhythm, even when it feels unfamiliar.
The important thing is that honouring grief feels authentic to you.
Caring for Yourself
Even in the midst of grief, there are ways to care for yourself:
Feel what you feel: Allow your emotions to exist without judgment. Journaling or talking with a trusted friend, loved one, faith leader, or therapist can help process the feelings.
Set boundaries: Give yourself permission to say no to gatherings, obligations, or anything that drains you.
Move and breathe: Gentle movement, dance, deep inhales & exhales, mindfulness practices, can help you reconnect with your body and your feelings.
Rest and Sleep: Honour your body’s need for rest. Allow yourself to slow down and take naps or extra sleep when needed.
Comforting Rituals: Warm baths, teas, or simply sitting in a cozy space with soft lighting can help your body feel cared for.
Listen to Your Body: Notice hunger, fatigue, or tension without judgment. Respond with care, rather than pushing through.
Notice micro joys: Small moments matter—a warm cup of tea, your favourite song, a quiet walk outside, or a comforting ritual. These little sparks of relief are real and healing.
Finding Community
Grief can feel isolating, but connection can be incredibly healing. Community care can look like:
Finding your people: Look for spaces—online or in-person—that honour your truth and let you be yourself.
Building chosen family: Surround yourself with people who see you, hear you, and support you fully. These are the relationships rooted in honesty, reciprocity, and genuine concern for your well-being. They remind you that connection isn’t just about blood—it’s about belonging.
Shared rituals: Even small acts like lighting a candle, sharing a meal, storytelling, or checking in with someone who understands can foster belonging and care.
Reflection questions
Here are some questions you can sit with to help you name what you need, especially when navigating grief, transitions, or building your support system:
What emotions am I noticing most this December, and how do I feel about them?
What is one way I can honour my grief this month that feels meaningful to me, while also allowing space for small moments of joy or connection and or disconnection?”
What rituals or practices help me feel grounded, seen, and supported in my grief?
What boundaries do I need to set this season to protect my emotional well-being?
Who in my community allows me to be unapologetically myself, and how can I connect with them more?
Conclusion
This December, I invite you to honour your grief in ways that feel meaningful. Allow yourself to feel, to grieve, and to notice the small, authentic moments of relief or joy. You do not need to perform or wear a mask—give yourself permission to be exactly where you are, and seek out communities that let you be unapologetically you.
