A Gift for Mom! 🤍

I hate the holidays.

I woke up today to everything Christmas. Music, lights, decorations, and the cheer being pushed down my throat. I’m still savoring the trick-or-treat candy with my morning coffee, but a scowl is on my face because ho ho ho and fa la la la are hammering in my ear. Bah humbug, I am Scrooge. 

I wasn’t always this way. Growing up, the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays were my favorite. The magic. The twinkling lights. The gathering of family. The yearly traditions. The sweet sounds of carols. Oh, how I loved helping my mom and sisters decorate our house. I continued the full-on celebrating throughout my college and married years. 

Then, in the middle of December 2015, my Christmas joy shattered. I pushed through those weeks of holiday hurrah in silence of the deep pain and tragedy that was upon me. My marriage was over. My husband leaving me. I faked my way through Christmas morning presents, family board games, and hours of small talk. All the delicious foods and drinks were sawdust in my mouth. The warmth of the glowing fire couldn’t reach the ice that was running through my veins. 

Holidays are torturous for me. I am either away from my children or reminded of how holidays use to look. I see my friends celebrate with their families and I have pings of jealousy. My Thanksgiving and Christmas are dictated by a court approved parenting plan. 

I still decorate. A beautiful tree draped in white lights and colorful ornaments. Presents are wrapped in cheerful paper under the tree. Christmas music plays on and off. Thanksgiving blessings shared. Cookies are baked. Oohing and aahing over the light displays. I show excitement. I play the part. All for my boys. 

All the while, I am dying inside. I count the days until it is all over. The anniversary of the beginning brings tears and anger. Resentment is hot and vile in my throat. Grief deep. Panic rising. Because I have to pretend that the holidays are a joyous and wondrous occasion. Because who doesn’t love Christmas? 

Me. And lots of other people.

But we are forced to put on our happy faces to make everyone feel better. Life doesn’t stop being hard just because it is the holidays. Depression doesn’t just go away because I take part in Grateful November. Divorce doesn’t just get easier when I am reminded of what I am missing as I sit in a movie theater on Christmas Day by myself. Often times, the holidays make the already difficult parts of life even more so. Financial strains feel more pressure with the extra gifts, food, and festivities. Anxiety rises due to the increase of social gatherings and events. Loneliness intensifies with longer periods away from children or family and friends. Grief surges for loved ones and previous moments gone forever. 

I am not asking for others to not get excited or love the holidays. I don’t even want you to tone down your enthusiasm. I get it. I used to be the exact same way. I can’t ask that the holidays just stop. Although it would be so much easier. Can we pretend that they aren’t happening this year? No. Oh. OK. 

Friends, if you see me or someone you love who may struggle more during these next couple months, I want you to do this. 

Give a hug.

Send a text.

Write a little just “thinking of you” note.

Send an invite that doesn’t have anything to do with the holidays.

Ask me to join your family.

Don’t be hurt if the invitation is declined.

Check in, and often.

Trying to handle all of the pressures the holidays demand plus trying to maintain my health and sanity is exhausting. I barely hold myself together without breaking. And it seems the holidays begin earlier and earlier. So I am walking on thin ice longer and longer. January comes and BAM! I am hit with the consequences of holding the facade for too long. 

So please forgive my eye rolls, my lack of enthusiasm, the cringe on my face when I hear Christmas music on the radio, when I opt-out of the gift exchange, the cancelled plans, and the heavy sighs. But please don’t get so caught up in the red, green, and jolliness that you cannot see the suffering in the eyes. 

It is nothing you have done.

It is this time of year. And all the pain, heartache, and loneliness it brings.

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

Katie Weber

Me. My two little men. My second change. Motherhood. Depression. Divorce. Love. God. laugher. Friendship. My lovely. It's all right here.

5 Things I’m Learning about 50

In: Living
birthday balloons

When my dad turned 80, he—and we, by default—celebrated all year. My sister made a fantastic, larger-than-life sign of him posing in front of his friend’s antique car, with beautiful calligraphy that trumpeted, “Cheers to you, celebrating 80 years of life!” The sign welcomed his closest friends and family into a private room at a steakhouse, where we toasted his 80 years—and the grandkids toasted his steady presence in their lives. The sign moved from the swanky steakhouse to the second-floor banister in my parents’ house. When you walked in, it greeted you—a feel-good conversation starter and a reminder to...

Keep Reading

I’m Constantly Waiting for the Metaphorical Axe To Fall

In: Living
Woman worried with head in lap

I knew people died. I just didn’t think it applied to us. Mortality met me in grade two with a punch to the gut when my teacher confirmed casually that, yes, everybody dies. What do you mean, everybody dies? I frantically thought, but kept my question to myself. Up until that moment, I had quietly believed my family was exempt from that fate. I thought death was a monster that only took other people and left my family alone. They say all panic has an origin story, and mine began shortly after that realization, fueled by a disconnected phone cord...

Keep Reading

The Apology You Deserve May Never Come

In: Living
Woman standing in field wearing hat

“You have to accept that you will likely never get the apology you deserve.” When my therapist said those words, I felt everything at once-anger, resentment, heartbreak. It was as if the air had been pulled straight from my lungs. Because accepting that truth meant letting go of something I had been holding onto for a long time: the hope that one day, it would all be acknowledged. My family was deeply wronged. Not in a way that can be brushed off or easily forgotten, but in a way that cut to the core. There were lies wrapped in deception,...

Keep Reading

To the Little Girl With Pink Flowers on Her Shoes and Courage in Her Heart

In: Living
Little girl in t-ball outfit

To the little girl with pink flowers on her white shoes and lacy fold-down socks, down and ready, tee ball glove in hand, teeth marks worn into the top. The Pittsburgh Pirates hat from Uncle Dave, a sign of camaraderie. A part of something bigger than herself. A too-long, locally sponsored t-shirt, tied up with a ponytail. Jean shorts and a belt. The type of ordinary only childhood can be. When ordinary is more than enough. No one can tell in this picture that you were scared. That you didn’t feel ready. That behind that tiny-toothed grin you were holding...

Keep Reading

Keep Searching for the Perfect Pair of Jeans

In: Living
Woman shopping for jeans

I don’t know about you, but finding a good pair of jeans has always felt like a process to me. These are too tight. Those are too loose. They fit my thighs but bunch at my hips. The dreaded waist gap. Too short—high waters. Too long, and suddenly you can’t find your legs. Before you know it, you’re ordering your fourth pair and eyeing a fifth. A woman on a mission. And still, as I stand there looking in the mirror at everything that doesn’t quite work, I just know there is a perfect pair out there for me. Somewhere....

Keep Reading

Why I Had My Benign Breast Lumps Removed

In: Living
Doctor examines mammogram images

My journey with monitoring benign breast lumps began in July of 2020 when my OB-GYN found a lump. I was sent home with an ultrasound referral. I called immediately after I got home and asked for the soonest appointment at any location. I had a young son, and was absolutely terrified. They got me in at the end of the week. My husband was on vacation that week, and what should have been an enjoyable family time was plagued with worry. At the ultrasound appointment, they saw two small lumps. I was told these were “likely benign” and was given...

Keep Reading

Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

In: Grief, Living
Black and white photo of older man in garden

I was never meant to be a plant person. I’m the woman who can kill a succulent on the way home from the store. Once, a fern sighed in my direction and gave up. That is my spiritual gift. My grandpa Dominic would have laughed—hard. He loved to laugh. And sing hymns passionately in Italian. He was an Italian immigrant who lost his arm working in a mill, and still, he woke up every morning and dressed like dignity itself. He shopped for my grandma. He fixed what was broken. And he tended the biggest, happiest garden you’ve ever seen....

Keep Reading

Farewell To the Bus Stop Moms

In: Friendship
Four women pose in residential street

It seems like just yesterday I was writing a piece about my last baby going off to kindergarten. I poured my heart out into words about how she was going to find her place in the world, and how I was going to find a new sense of belonging. I wrote, “I was able to find a bit of ‘me’ again. She has barely left my side in almost six years, so her absence is still fresh and foreign. But I know her jubilant little self will be just fine. And just like that, she’s on her way. And so...

Keep Reading

May is Maternal Mental Health Month, and So Many Moms Are Quietly Drowning

In: Living
Mother with baby strapped to chest

I’ve given birth to four beautiful boys and lived through four postpartum experiences. Each one has been different, yet there are familiar threads that run through them all. In the first couple of weeks after my first baby was born, I felt carefree…until that bubble was popped. My newborn got sick and was admitted to the PICU at a children’s hospital 30 minutes from our home. At one point, doctors mentioned the possibility of meningitis, but after many tests and a several-day admission, we were sent home. When we were discharged, a doctor left me with these words, “It’s your...

Keep Reading

The Hard Truth about Friendship in Your 40s

In: Friendship
Two people fishing on a dock

No one can really prepare you for how much friendships change in your 40s. We expect life shifts—kids grow, schedules fill, jobs demand more, and aging parents need us in new ways. Time becomes tighter, priorities change, and naturally, friendships have to adjust. That part makes sense, right? But what doesn’t get talked about enough is the quiet, hard shift, the one where it’s not just time or distance creating friendship gaps, but something deeper. What happens when you look around your “table” and realize it no longer feels like a safe place to land? What happens when you start...

Keep Reading