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Divorce Haven
Facing the First Holiday After Separation or Divorce
It’s late November. The air is crisp and Santa Claus parades have started to run every weekend. Strings of lights drape across rooftops, and Christmas trees twinkle in the glow of living room windows on almost every street. Carols and Christmas songs fill the airwaves, and it’s no longer considered completely crazy for retail stores to have entire aisles of green and red.
Love it or hate it (there’s no middle ground, it seems), the holiday season is now upon us. For some, this time of year brings magic. But for others - those recently separated, divorced, or suddenly alone - the holidays are a brutal reminder of loss. The most festive time of the year can be filled with unbearable pain.
I recall the year of my separation – the year my world crumbled. It happened in September – the end of 17 Christmases together. The house was up for sale – he was sleeping downstairs and I retreated upstairs. We barely acknowledged each other, and the tension was palpable.
Our home, once full of life, was now a battlefield of silence. We barely spoke, existing in the same space but living in two different worlds. The tension was thick enough to choke on.
I was in pieces. My days became a blur of tears and isolation, locked away in my bedroom. I could barely muster the energy to leave my bed, much less function as a mother. The doting mother and wife who used to be the heart of our home - who thrived on creating holiday magic - was gone, broken and replaced by a shell of grief and exhaustion. I was locking myself away from the world and sadness. My children were hurting, but I was too broken to help them.
The holiday events came and went without me. The school concerts, the parades - things I would have never missed in any other year - I simply couldn’t face. So I escaped my shattered life in my locked bedroom.
The house, once full of Christmas cheer, was silent. No baking filled the kitchen with warm, sweet scents. No secret gifts hid in the closet. No Christmas music played to dance to around the house. The spirit of anticipation, the joy—it was all noticeably absent this year.
It was unimaginable. I had always been the one who made Christmas bigger and better every year. I made it sparkle - turkey dinner with all the trimmings served on good china dishes, Christmas bedtime stories for weeks leading up to the day, hosting friends with rum eggnog and decadent desserts. I wrapped each gift with meticulous care, making sure the tree had a mountain of presents.
But that year... I did nothing. I didn’t have it in me.
I remember taking my children to the company Children’s Christmas Party. I did my best to put on a brave face, to smile, and to give them even the smallest glimmer of Christmas hope. My youngest, just nine years old, sat on Santa’s knee, her little face streaked with alligator tears. Hardly able to speak between sobs, she leaned in and whispered something into his ear. He glanced over at me, and when she got up, he quietly told me that all she wanted for Christmas was her family back together. My heart shattered into pieces.
Just days before Christmas, a friend pleaded with me to try. To at least get a tree for the kids. I didn’t want to - I didn’t have a single ounce of holiday spirit left - but I did it. I bought the cheapest, saddest little tree, and hastily threw some lights and ornaments on it. It was not decorated with the love and care that I was known for, and it was a far cry from the trees of Christmases past, but it was something.
I scrounged together a few gifts, wrapped them without my usual love, and braced myself for the day. Yet I wasn’t alone.
The blessing in all of this was my “tribe” - a few friends who knew my pain only too well - who showed up for me. That Christmas these women, who had walked the same path, brought their children and joined us at my kitchen table.
We ate a Christmas dinner potluck on everyday dishes. We opened a few gifts. We cried. And in that messy, imperfect Christmas, they helped me catch a flicker of hope. They were my lifeline, pushing me to rise from the ashes for my children. It was only through the grace of God and these friends that I was able to pull it off.
It was a Christmas miracle of sorts.
My life would never look the same again - this would be our last Christmas in our beautiful home. As I let the postcard image of sleigh bells ringing, Silent Nights, and jolly vintage Santa Clauses fade from my vision, I saw support and hope poured out onto me and my children.
It became the most memorable one because it was soaked in love. It wasn’t about the decorations, the food, or the gifts - it was about the people who wrapped me in their arms and helped me see the true meaning of the Holidays.
I don’t even know if my children remember that Christmas - the year I barely showed up. The Broken Christmas. But 17 Christmases later, I look back on it with gratitude. It was the beginning of something new.
Today, our celebrations look different. New faces around the table, grandchildren laughing by the tree, and new traditions have taken root. We’ve learned to embrace what we have now, not what was lost.
If you’re facing your first holiday season after a separation or divorce, I won’t lie - it’s hard. There’s no easy way through it, and no one can tell you exactly how to survive it. But I hope I can offer a few thoughts to help lessen the pain and the fear of the unfamiliar.
First, give yourself permission to do what you need to do to get through the season. If you can’t put up a tree, sip on eggnog or listen to carols…then don’t. Order Chinese takeout, binge-watch your favourite show, or soak in a long bubble bath. Simply take care of yourself first.
Allow yourself to grieve, but don’t let it consume you. The past is painful, but the future is full of possibility. Focus on where you’re going, not where you’ve been. There’s a reason I talk about The Journey Ahead—because that’s where the good stuff is waiting.
Find your tribe - the people who understand your pain. A voice that relates to yours can be a lifeline. Whether it’s close friends, family, or a support group like DivorceCare™, don’t go through this alone.
Keep perspective. Remember, this is just one Christmas. It will come and go, and though it may feel like the end of the world now, it won’t always feel this way. You have many more holidays ahead of you—ones that will be filled with new memories, new traditions, and new joys.
If you can, volunteer somewhere. Serving others has a way of pulling you out of your head and into the present. It’ll bring joy to sacrifice a bit of time, and you’ll feel the appreciation when you put yourself out there. It’s a small but powerful way to lift your spirits.
Keep your expectations realistic. If you decide to decorate or host, don’t try to recreate a magazine-worthy Christmas. Permit yourself to do what feels right for you.
And most importantly, take care of yourself. Your body keeps score. Eat well, get rest, and breathe. You won’t make it through this if you’re running on empty.
The first year is always the hardest. But trust me when I say, you will come out the other side.
With time, prayer, and support, the broken pieces of my life were slowly put back together, and yours will be too. You’ll create new memories, and someday, you’ll even learn to love the holidays again. For now, be kind to yourself, and give yourself grace.
The information provided on this website does not, and is not intended to, constitute legal advice; instead, all information, content, and materials available on this site are for general informational purposes only. Views expressed are my own. Please consult a lawyer for advice on legal matters.
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“The first steps are truly the hardest and I’m here to make a difference in the lives of divorcing families.”
Maggie
Divorce Haven
P. (519) 496-6244
RE/MAX Solid Gold Realty (II) Ltd., Brokerage
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