A few weeks ago, I walked into Target for something boring and practical—batteries, paper towels, maybe a snack I didn’t need—and there it was.

A wall of Christmas.

Sparkly garland, inflatable reindeer, rows of ornaments arranged just so… all before I’d even picked a pumpkin for the front steps. And as if that weren’t enough, I heard it—faint but unmistakable—a holiday song floating through the speakers in October.

Before I could roll my eyes, laugh, or panic, I had this strange little jolt of guilt. Am I already behind?

I shrugged it off… until a couple of weeks later when my own teenagers were singing Christmas music while taking down our Halloween decorations.

Like, full-volume Mariah.

While sword-fighting with plastic bones on the front lawn.

It felt like a metaphor for exactly where so many moms live this time of year: Two holidays behind, three steps ahead, and somehow already late.

The Pressure Starts Quietly… Until It Doesn’t

Every year, the holiday season seems to inch a little closer, like it’s creeping forward on tiptoe while we’re still trying to find where we put the fall candles.

And the earlier the holidays start around us, the earlier the pressure starts inside us.

Not the fun pressure—like picking out wrapping paper or deciding which cookie recipe deserves a comeback.

It’s the other pressure:

• The class parties

• The winter concerts

• The work deadlines that magically multiply in December

• The logistics of hosting, cooking, arranging, planning

• The emotional labor of making everything feel magical…for everyone else

And before long, we moms find ourselves saying the annual mantra:

“Next year, I’m starting earlier.”

Except earlier doesn’t help. (Ask me how I know.)

Midnight on Christmas Eve: The Year Everything Cracked

For me, the turning point came two or three years ago.

Picture this: It’s midnight on Christmas Eve. The house is quiet and cozy in that “everyone is asleep but something magical is happening” kind of way… except the only thing happening is me and Dave, hiding out in the basement and staring at a pile of completely unwrapped presents.

Not in a cute, “drink cocoa and put on a Hallmark movie while we wrap” way. In a “how on earth did we let this happen AGAIN” way.

Paper everywhere. Tape nowhere.

Me, wondering how many hours were left before someone woke up and asked questions I was in no mental state to answer.

I remember looking at the clock and thinking: “Something has got to give. I can’t keep doing Christmas like this.”

It wasn’t just the wrapping.

It was everything.

The weeks of overdoing it.

The overly ambitious buffet spread I insisted on making for our annual Christmas Eve party (“just one more dish!”)… followed by days of leftovers no one asked for and hours I’d never get back. (They should really call them hours d’oeuvres…)

The Elf on the Shelf nights where I’d set an alarm, not to create something magical, but to frantically move BenJerry into a new, believable position.

Meanwhile, other moms were out here producing cinematic elf videos, and I was just trying to remember if I’d left ours lying face-down on a pile of bills.

I couldn’t make up one more story about why the elf “didn’t move last night.” My creativity had left the chat.

That year was the wall.

I wasn’t doing it all alone, but I was definitely carrying more than I could comfortably hold.

But Then There Was This Moment…

Not all of it was chaos.

There was one night, when all four of us got into the car on Christmas Eve to drive around and look at lights. No rushing. No timeline. No trying to impress anyone.

Just us.
Warm drinks.
Santa hats.
Windows slightly fogged.
Holiday music playing softly.
A stillness we didn’t realize we needed.

I remember thinking, “This. THIS is the part I want more of.”

And it struck me how little it took to feel the magic again.
Because the magic was never in doing more.
It was in doing what mattered.

The Traditions We Keep (and the Ones We Gently Let Go)

Over the years, we’ve made small shifts that have made a big difference:

We let go of the obligation to travel on Christmas Day to see family who never traveled to see us.

We stopped running from house to house.

We stopped forcing cheer into a day that was supposed to already have it.

Now, Christmas Day is ours.

Quiet, cozy, unhurried.

Exactly how we want it.

Letting go wasn’t easy. But holding on was harder.

Maybe the Problem Was Never Us

If you’ve ever felt behind before the holidays even start…
If you’ve ever wrapped gifts while half-asleep…
If you’ve ever felt the shame spiral of a forgotten Elf or a buffet table bursting with too many dishes…

Please hear me when I say:
The problem was never you.

It’s the pace.
It’s the pressure.
It’s the unrealistic expectation that moms should orchestrate a magical season while already carrying the weight of work, schedules, home, emotional labor, and everyone else’s joy.

What if it doesn’t have to be that way?

What if this year, we soften?
We choose.
We edit.
We breathe.
We savor.
We honor what feels good and gently release what doesn’t.

Because maybe the holidays aren’t meant to be managed.
Maybe they’re meant to be lived.

A gentle invitation

If you're craving a calmer, more intentional season — one that feels like your version of magic — I’d love to have you join me for Holiday Time Freedom Week. It’s not about doing more. It’s about doing what matters, with more ease, presence, and joy.

But whether you join or not, here’s my wish for you this year:

May your holidays be full of moments that fill you, not drain you.
May you make space for the magic that’s already there.