The Holiday Heroine — A Love Letter to the Women Who Do It All
For the women who make the magic and quietly hold all the pieces together.
There’s this holiday SNL skit where it is Christmas morning and the family is sitting around the tree and everyone is opening their gifts. After the kids and the husband and the dog are all admiring their presents, the mom is sitting there with a less-than-over-joyous look and shares the robe she got. I remember seeing that skit and the way it hit home was hilariously funny and sad because it’s true, or at least it was for me.
The skit absurdly nailed the experience of how many mothers put in the significant amount of the holiday magic that makes the holidays “THE HOLIDAYS” and continue or create those traditions and warm fuzzy feelings the children remember for the rest of their lives, yet often feel undervalued and overlooked throughout the entire holiday season.
So raise your spiked coffee (I won’t tell 😉, you definitely deserve it). This one is for you.
The one who keeps saying, “It’s ok, I’ve got it,” while quietly orchestrating the gatherings, the traditions, the meals, the gifts, the wrapping in secrecy, and the cleaning of the house that make the holidays the holidays.
You’re the one who:
Notices which of the stockings need “just a bit more, or one more thing.”
Knows which kid needs the quiet moment and which one wants the big “OH MY GOSH!” reaction.
Makes sure you know what the kids told Santa they wanted—or circled in a catalog or casually mentioned—and somehow that thing is magically under the tree Christmas morning.
Remembers and plans for the dishes that each family member likes, that your teen will combust if they’re at the kid table again, and that your mother-in-law will be offended if you don’t make her version of the potatoes.
You’re also the one who:
Is “fine” when you’re clearly tired and overextended.
Is tired before the day even starts.
Is holding everyone’s feelings and preferences in your body like unpaid emotional Tetris.
This is a love letter to you—not the one who manages to shower and look good at “show time,” but the real you:
Sweaty, tired, a little resentful, still getting the meal ready for the table and trying, for the life of you, to remember where you hid that one last present.
You didn’t exactly volunteer for this job
Most holiday heroines didn’t raise their hand for this role. You got here because:
Maybe it was easier for you to host it when the kids were younger.
You were “the most reasonable one to do it.”
You had the space to host all of the family.
Somewhere along the way you discovered that if you didn’t do it, it didn’t get done.
You’re really good at reading the room—and the room keeps needing you.
That turned into:
You as default planner
You as emotional tone setter and absorber
You as the one who did the things and filled the gaps
None of this is random. It’s what Momming is. It’s also extremely exhausting.
You figured out at some point that “useful” meant taking on more than your fair share of the work.
Useful kids become useful adults.
Useful adults rarely allow themselves to rest, and they almost never ask for extra help.
What is happening to you while you “make the magic”
Here’s what’s happening under the surface while you’re:
Timing each dish that needs to be ready at the same time
Tracking the kids’—and let’s be honest, everyone else’s—sensory overload levels
Clocking the way your child’s face tightens when someone starts telling them “how it is”
Your body is in:
Hyper-vigilance – radar up: “Is everyone okay? Is anyone about to blow?”
People-pleasing mode – smoothing, softening, saying “It’s fine” when it is not, in fact, fine.
Quiet bracing – jaw, shoulders, and gut holding tension for hours.
You might notice:
You don’t really taste your food.
You feel weirdly wiped out once everyone leaves.
You are beyond weary and still have to do the “Santa” thing before you can lay your head down, or even just sit and breathe and enjoy the lights of the Christmas tree in the silence.
That’s not you “catching up” or “hanging on.”
That’s your body finally going:
“We’ve been running on high since the week of Thanksgiving. Can we stop now?”
Wanting the holiday to feel special is not the problem.
The problem is when you feel like you are slowly killing yourself in the process.
You are not the holiday machine
Here’s the sneaky lie a lot of women tell themselves:
“If I stop holding it all together, everything will fall apart.”
Let’s be clear:
You are not the holiday machine. You are a human.
You are allowed to:
Be in the pictures, not just taking them.
Sit down and have a conversation with a loved one, or play a game with the kids.
Sit and let other people clear the table.
Say, “That tradition doesn’t work for us anymore.”
Change your mind about how much you can and want to do this time around—and the next.
Every time you decide you are allowed to be human instead of the magical holiday operations manager of everyone’s everything, your kids learn something huge:
“Moms are real. Women are people. Caregivers get to have limits.”
That is one of the best gifts you can give them.
Tiny rebellions for the holiday heroine
You do not have to burn the whole system down this year. You can start with tiny rebellions—little acts of sanity your future self (this week and next year) will be so grateful for.
1. The 10-Minute Non-Negotiable
Pick one small thing that is for you, Just For You, and make it non-negotiable:
A 10-minute walk alone at any moment you want it or need it.
Sitting with your coffee in silence before you touch a single dish.
Going to your room, closing the door, and breathing for 10 minutes, lying on your bed to listen or read something, or just mindlessly scrolling.
You can literally say:
“I’m going to step away for ten minutes. I’ll be back.”
No reason. No apology. Just a boundary.
2. The “Good Enough” Holiday
Pick one part of the day and let it be good enough instead of perfect (because honestly, no one is going to realize, or someone else will probably just take it over):
Store-bought rolls.
One less side.
Paper plates for dessert.
Remind yourself:
“I’m allowed to not have to do it all, or make it look perfect.”
And honestly, no child or family member needs a hand-crafted centerpiece as much as they need a mom who isn’t so exhausted she isn’t really even present.
3. The Pre-Decided “No”
Before the big seasonal marathon—or before the next one rolls around—decide on one thing you’re not doing:
Hosting more than one major gathering.
Feeling like you have to defend or justify your life or your kids to anyone.
Driving three hours, or doing 2–3 separate celebrations, to “keep the peace.”
Practice a line like:
“That doesn’t work for us this year, but I hope you have a great time.”
Short. Clear. Kind.
You’re not being rude. You’re just not available.
Dear holiday heroine: you deserve some of the magic too
You’ve probably spent years making sure everyone else has what they need:
The kids get wonder and magic, love and warmth.
The grandparents get time.
The siblings get tradition.
Your partner gets to enjoy the day without thinking too much about the logistics.
But where do you get wonder and magic?
Where do you get time?
When do you get to be the one who is held instead of holding?
Here’s what I want you to hear, from another adult human who sees a lot of moms and women and is one herself:
You are not asking for too much when you ask to enjoy the day you built.
You are not selfish for:
Wanting to sit and laugh instead of cleaning and orchestrating.
Wishing someone else would decide to join you for once.
Feeling sad that most of what you do is invisible or feels taken for granted.
That sadness is honest. It’s also information.
If no one sees it, I do
So let me say what may go unsaid in your actual kitchen:
I see the way you:
Remember who needs what, even when you’re running on fumes.
Keep moving through your own anxiety, grief, or frustration so your kids can enjoy the holiday and not worry about you.
Swallow your hurt when someone criticizes the food, the kids, the decorations, the timing—anything you poured yourself into.
Lie awake running through tomorrow’s list, then wake up and do it all again.
I see the way you carry unspoken stories:
The person who isn’t here this year.
The relationship that’s strained or ending.
The money worries hiding under “We’re fine.”
You’re not weak for feeling all of that. You’re human.
And you’re still showing up.
There is nothing wrong with you because you are tired and overwhelmed.
You are tired and overwhelmed because you have been doing so much for so long.
Reflection
If this hits somewhere tender, try a tiny experiment—try this over the next few days, or tuck it away and use it the next holiday round:
Name one thing you’re already doing well.
Say it out loud, even if it feels awkward:“I’m really good at creating warmth.”
“I’m really good at making my kids feel seen.”
Choose one small thing to put down.
A task, a tradition, or a self-imposed expectation.Let yourself be a person at your own holiday.
Not just the planner, fixer, and calmer-down-er.
A person who gets to eat while the food is warm.
A person who gets to step away if it’s too much.
A love letter, signed
To the holiday heroine:
The one doing the invisible labor
The one holding the emotional temperature of the whole house
The one constantly checking, “Is everyone okay?” while quietly forgetting to ask that of herself
This is your reminder:
You are not just the holiday maker.
You are a human, worthy of care, rest, and joy.
If no one says it this year:
Thank you.
For all of it.
And you’re allowed—truly allowed—to do less, feel more, and let some of that magic touch you too.
More support if you need it
If this landed somewhere deep and you want to keep going, you might also like:
When Loving Families Say Hurtful Things — How to Protect and Support Your Child During the Holidays
Young Adults & Holiday Questions — Answering Without Shutting Down
And if you’re ready for support that’s more than a blog post—someone in your corner while you rewrite how this season feels—you can learn more about working with me here: Let’s Talk
You don’t have to keep doing the holidays on hard mode, alone.