Grief, Memory, and the Things We Carry into December

There’s a line in the song that goes:
“And the feeling that it’s all a lot of oysters but no pearls.”

If the holidays stir something tender, complicated, or heavy in you, you’re not alone.

This season often magnifies grief, not just the grief of people we’ve lost, but the grief of years that didn’t go the way we hoped, relationships we struggled to repair, mistakes we regret, or versions of ourselves we miss. Even joy can feel layered, like it has shadows around the edges.

Nostalgia mixes with loss.
Gratitude mixes with exhaustion.
Hope mixes with the fear that maybe we won’t change the patterns we meant to change.

One of the most healing things you can offer yourself is permission to feel everything without rushing it toward resolution.

You don’t need to “fix” grief.
You don’t need to force joy.
You don’t need to pretend the year didn’t bruise you in ways that still sting.

Instead, consider:

• What memory is resurfacing because it wants gentleness?

• What regret or shame is asking to be acknowledged, not judged?

• What part of you needs compassion rather than pressure?

If this month feels tender, that doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong.
It means you’re being honest.

The Long December We Carry Inside Us

There’s a line in the Counting Crows song A Long December that always hits a little harder this time of year:
“And it’s been a long December…”

Most of us feel that in our bones.

December has a way of collecting everything we didn’t know we were still carrying, the shame we didn’t have words for, the regret we quietly tucked away, the distance we noticed but didn’t know how to close. The unfinished conversations. The arguments we meant to repair but didn’t. The ways we slowly drifted from ourselves or each other.

When couples come into therapy this time of year, they often describe not one big rupture but a hundred subtle ones. No single moment caused the drift, it was the slow accumulation of unspoken feelings, swallowed needs, and the fear that bringing things up might make them worse.

If December is feeling “long” for you, maybe it’s not actually December.
Maybe it’s the emotional backlog, the things that hurt quietly.

The good news?
Awareness is the doorway to repair, not a punishment for falling short.

As you look toward the end of the year, consider gently asking yourself:

• What have I avoided naming because I didn’t want to be a burden?

• Where do I need repair or reconnection, with myself or someone I love?

• What part of me feels tired, guilty, or unseen?

You’re allowed to pause.
You’re allowed to tell the truth.
You’re allowed to begin again.