Grieving at Christmas is a tradition I wish I didn’t have to follow.

Both of my parents died in winter. But even if they’d died outside the confines of twinkling lights and snowy landscapes, this season would still fill me with dread.

Whether you’re facing your first Christmas or your twentieth after losing a loved one, it’s likely you’re expecting it to hurt. Grief doesn’t seem to hold itself to the normal passage of time: the intensity of emotion may lessen, but its existence still doesn’t change much as the years go by.

There’s also a uniquely bitter irony in suffering through a holiday season which so many others seem to find such happiness in. Whether it’s the decorated trees in people’s windows, the familiar songs piped through every loudspeaker, or the deluge of blithe positivity from everyone around you, the build-up to Christmas and the day itself can feel like an insurmountable burden when you’ve been bereaved.

But after a full decade in this state, I’ve come to terms with what Christmas looks and feels like for me. Although the breath still catches in my throat a lot more often each December, I know my triggers now. I can just about get through the grief.

To most of us, Christmas means family. But what if you’re alone now?

We’re brought up believing that Christmas is intrinsically about family – and I still count myself lucky to have the memories of nineteen happy Christmases to look back on.

There’s home video of me panicking aged six on Christmas Eve about not building a snowman (an impossible feat because there wasn’t any snow that year). I remember my parents jubilation when they gave a teenage me the guitar I’d longed for. I can see my dad’s gritted teeth when my matriarchal grandmother demanded he make chestnut stuffing from scratch. And I’ll never stop thinking of my mum racing around the kitchen with her jumper sleeves rolled up and permanently foggy glasses jammed into her curly hair, as multiple pans boiled and the steamy air filled up with the unmistakeable smell of Christmas.

But nostalgia is a powerful thing. When there’s zero chance of those situations happening again, the associated memories are no longer just ‘happy’. Now they’ve been tainted somewhat, because everything about those past Christmases has vanished.

I found out my mum was going to die on Christmas Eve 2008. She passed away just two weeks later and the holiday season was never the same again – largely because Mum was the one who brought the entire over-extravagant event into being, from the sprigs of holly tucked into every framed picture in the house to the pine needles, tinsel and metres of wrapping paper scattered across the floor.

The first Christmas after her death, I wanted to ignore the whole festive season. I was still at university, studying abroad in San Francisco, so my dad and I decided he’d stay in London and we’d just do our own thing in our respective continents. It was my first ever Christmas spent with friends instead of family: we got very drunk the night before and the actual day was a hilariously hungover mess. I had a quick Skype call with my dad but when it was over I felt relieved. It was much easier to forget what this holiday had once felt like.

As the years went on, our two-person Christmas settled into a pattern. Dad stopped buying big Christmas trees and put lights around a tiny potted tree instead, with Mum’s photo propped up beside it. Dad and I swapped presents in the morning, then I’d cook us brunch – scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, cheersing with glasses of Prosecco – before we headed to our family friends’ house to spend the rest of our day there.

Christmas had become a more muted affair, and we both knew how achingly big the gap was which Mum had left behind. But we pretended we could handle it, nonetheless.

And then Dad died in late 2017, and I had to re-evaluate what my Christmas felt like all over again.

What you should know about coping with grief at Christmas

If I had to put my Christmas grief into a few crucial words, it would be these. Grieving at Christmas is lonely. It’s upsetting. It’s isolating. It’s less about enjoyment and more about survival, pushing steadfastly through the holiday and hoping there isn’t too much painful fallout by the time January rolls around.

Those of us who are bereaved at Christmas are sensitive and vulnerable and easy to upset. We’re jealous of those who have a seemingly perfect Christmas with all their loved ones accounted for. We’re always acutely aware that our particular someone is missing – and we’re also desperately hoping we might forget.

But after ten years of feeling like this, what I’ve finally come to realise is that Christmas doesn’t have any one set way of being celebrated. (In fact, screw it – you don’t have to celebrate at all if you don’t want to.)

The following is a collection of my tried and tested tips to make it through a grief-filled Christmas season.

1. Don’t put any pressure on yourself to ‘cope better’.

The first Christmas without them will almost certainly be daunting. As will the second, the fifth, and the eleventh. It’s been over a decade of Christmases without my mum and the festive season still hurts. What I’m trying to say is that you probably won’t suddenly “be better” one year. It’s not like Christmas ever reverts back to how it used to feel – it’s more like the emotions get less intense.

2. Let yourself cry.

The urge to have a full-on sob fest is probably going to happen. It might strike without warning, too – and that potential can make you feel really on edge. But just like the rest of the year, the crying won’t last forever. For many grieving people (myself included) there’s an internal grief-clock which switches on around December 1st and doesn’t stop ticking through ‘Time Without Them’ until the new year begins. I hate it – but I know that sensation extremely well now. And I just have to respect that self-care and compassion has to be my main focus throughout the month.

3. Tell your friends you’re not doing well.

One of the hardest parts about grieving is the isolation factor. While it feels like everyone else is heading home to their loving families, you’re left alone with too many memories and not enough distraction from them. However, chances are that plenty of your friends would be more than happy to involve you in their Christmas plans – you just might have to make the first move and ask.

4. Unless you know you’ll find it helpful, avoid social media.

From sometime in early November, the festive-themed social media posts start to ramp up. Tinsel and tree lights and Christmas jumper pub crawls begin to pour across my feeds and eventually it makes me nauseous. I don’t need to see all this happy Christmas fun if I’m not feeling the same – so I actively curb my social media usage.

There are a few really helpful hashtags on Twitter for those going through a rough time over Christmas, but for the most part it’s a lot of people expounding their gratitude for happy Christmases. I’d say avoid it.

5. Avoid excessive levels of Christmas festivities in the run-up to the 25th.

I’m talking constant headphone-wearing to avoid the Christmas music, doing your shopping away from main high streets, and never venturing to anything with a name like ‘Winter Wonderland’. It can be distressing and exhausting when the world is filled with tinsel-covered decorations and you can’t escape the Christmas songs pouring out of every shop loudspeaker, but they’re somewhat avoidable if you plan ahead.

What’s more tricky to avoid is when your friends get overexcited about Christmas – both online and in person. Although you might feel like a Grinch, sometimes a gentle reminder that you’re not doing fantastically this year can help. Alternatively, just quietly mute their social channels for the Christmas period.

6. Fill up your time with a few events in the diary.

There’s always a chance you won’t feel up to it when the time comes – but having some activities already planned means you’re minimising your free time to sit and think. I’d particularly recommend having things planned for the weird week between Christmas and New Year – it’s the lull where everyone seems to disappear into family mode, and that can feel pretty isolating and triggering.

In the run-up to Christmas, arrange some specifically non-Christmassy activities to get away from the festive stress. Scheduling some quiet time with the people who love you can alleviate some of the loneliness brought on by grief.

NB: try to avoid committing to anything you’ll feel guilty about missing, or an event where people might be mad if you bail – you don’t need the added pressure! 

7. Decide where you’re going to spend Christmas Day.

Are you staying at home by yourself, or will you be with a partner? Would you prefer to spend Christmas Day at a friend’s house, or with extended family? Bear in mind you don’t have to stick to this plan, but it’s good to have some vague structure in place beforehand. That way if you wake up on Christmas morning already exhausted, you get to stumble through the day with minimal effort.

If you’re in a position where you might be expected to host Christmas yourself, definitely try and have some failsafes in place – be it a stack of takeout menus, food from the freezer or willing hands to do the cooking for you.

8. Expect that you might not be ok – but don’t mire yourself in anticipatory grief either.

I usually spend the weeks leading up to Christmas in an increasing state of worry. What if I break down in the supermarket aisle? What if I can’t stop crying all throughout Christmas Day? What if, what if, what if?

This year (thanks to a lot of therapy) I’ve realised that my Generalised Anxiety Disorder is the main culprit for my future-predicting thoughts – but it’s likely that anyone dealing with grief will feel more vulnerable, sensitive and upset during December. Anticipatory grief is a bitch of an emotion because it’s usually not representative of how you’ll actually feel on The Day. Instead of focusing on a black/white scenario of being ‘OK’ or ‘Not OK’, aim for the grey area in the middle. Which is probably more likely!

9. Actively ‘remember’ the person who died.

If it feels like you’re constantly avoiding the grieving elephant in the room – well, why not lean into it? Sometimes embracing the fear is less problematic than you imagine. Bring the person who died back into your Christmas: for me, that means watching home movies of my parents, looking at family photos, and retelling my favourite holiday stories about them. I make them more alive.

I know how much my mum adored Christmas, and how important it was for her to see her family happy – so in a roundabout sort of way I let her do it again.

9. Enjoy the possibility of creating new traditions.

My new Christmas with my friend’s family involves a vegan Christmas lunch, a walk in the park nearby, and playing an old board game called Dizzy Dizzy Dinosaur (which my Dad and I brought to their house one year and the tradition stuck). Trying to recreate the old memories is a pretty dangerous activity, as it’s never going to feel the same. But changing and tweaking them into new traditions? That can work.

10. Treat yourself!

Just because you’re not getting presents from your parents anymore, that doesn’t mean you have to go without completely. Buy yourself something you’ve been lusting after for a while, or something which reminds you of them, or even the kind of present they might have bought for you. You can even wrap it if you want!

11. If you’re really dreading Christmas Day, do something totally different – like volunteering.

I’ve volunteered with a UK-based homeless charity called Crisis at Christmas almost every year throughout the last decade. I started the year before Mum died, and it’s strangely been really cathartic to have my own tradition that’s lasted me through the deaths of two parents. Spending a few days of the Christmas week with people from so many different walks of life is inspiring, humbling and honestly quite life-affirming for me – and it’s a good reminder that I’m not the only one who finds the festive season somewhat difficult.

12. Remember, you don’t have to celebrate Christmas at all. 

For some people, it makes the most sense to simply ignore the entire holiday and travel somewhere completely different. Unfortunately, I’ve come to realise this method doesn’t really work for me. When I’ve spent Christmas away from home (in San Francisco the first year after Mum died, and in Bolivia a few years later) I still felt just as sad – I just happened to be in a different part of the world.

However, what you CAN theoretically do to combat that sadness is fill your days with so much activity that you don’t have time to think. Escapism and distraction are your two key words here.

I’d recommend finding a jam-packed itinerary, perhaps with an organised tour company. Or round up a few friends who have an equal dislike of the holiday and all go away together, perhaps to a beach with plenty of cocktails..! There are even some grief support groups which arrange big trips with fellow griefsters to get through the holiday season en masse.

13. You have the freedom to choose what Christmas looks like for you.

It took me a long time to realise that I did actually want to celebrate Christmas in some form. It turns out that some traditions mean a lot to me (which is probably why it was so painful to lose them with my parents) and I’ve been lucky enough to have friends and chosen family who help celebrate those traditions: singing carols, opening stockings on Christmas morning, spending the day with people I’ve known my whole life who knew my parents really well too.

But I also get to decide that some elements of my past Christmases can be put to rest – or put on pause, at least. I don’t need to put up a tree in my house, or buy tons of presents out of stress and obligation. These things don’t make me feel any closer to my parents and it’s a strangely positive realisation to know their memory isn’t tied to every speck of my past Christmases.

14. Don’t be afraid to put yourself first – you’re allowed to be happy, whatever that looks like!

Ultimately, Christmas is your holiday – and ‘holiday’ really is the operative word. Think of it as little more than taking a break from your normal daily life and routine: if that means spending the day alone in bed, then that’s a perfectly acceptable Christmas. Just make sure that you’re doing what you want to do.

I have a decade of grieving Christmases behind me, and my feelings about Christmas are still bittersweet. They probably always will be. But I’ve made my peace with that now, more or less.

And so will you. I promise.

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I’ve written a book about grief, loss and becoming an orphan. Part memoir, part guide, it’s the book I needed when my parents died.
–– Click here to get your copy of ‘The Adult Orphan Club’ now! ––

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This time last year I could never have imagined where I’d be right now. But it happened. My dad died, and so my world shifted. Now, I’m spending a quiet Christmas Eve in my family house, without any surviving members of my family apart from me. And yet? That shifted world I inhabit is still beautiful. Different, yes – but undeniably beautiful. The dusk sky still shines with ethereal colours dancing through the clouds; traces of seawater still reflect smudges of fading light along the dappled sands, and it’s utterly mesmerising. I’ve been reflecting so much the past few weeks. I know my life has changed forever, but it’s still mine. I’ve spent the last decade since my mum’s death living fiercely: I’ve been experiencing everything I can of this beautiful world, and I won’t let that change. So merry Christmas, folks. The tide might be out in southwest Scotland, but soon it’ll come back to life again. And so will I ❤️

A post shared by Flora The Explorer (@florabaker) on Dec 24, 2017 at 8:29am PST

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If you’d like to read more of my articles on dealing with grief, here’s a selection:

– The uncertainty of taking a loved one to hospital

– When community rallies around you in times of grief

– What happens when you’re grieving before a death?

– Saying goodbye when someone dies

– Three months of being an orphan

– Dealing with Christmas when you’re grieving

– Staying close to those you’ve lost by using their possessions

– Self care strategies for your mental health

– How to break the taboo of talking about death

– The best books to help with grief and loss

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