Learning to Stand Alone
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By
Elli Z. Georgiadou
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With Elli is a gentle space for reflection, creativity, and growth. Here, I share thoughts on empathy, healing, womanhood, and the everyday art of being human. Blending philosophy, psychology, and soulful living, my blog invites you to slow down, reconnect with yourself, and find meaning in the simple moments that shape our lives. ๐ธ
| Photo by Erwan Hesry on Unsplash |
Perhaps it’s because Christmas is so tied to memory. It is not just a holiday — it’s a mirror. A mirror that reflects back our childhoods, our families, our traditions, and sometimes the absences we feel most sharply.
When I was a child, Christmas was the one time of year I felt safe, loved, and surrounded by warmth. My family house glowed with decorations, the smell of my mama’s food filled the rooms, presents waited under the tree, and for once, everyone came together. Even my dad, who I longed to feel closer to, would be there — and those dinners gave me a rare sense of belonging.
It was magical. Mystical. And yes, also capitalist in its rituals of gifts and glitter — but behind all of that, it was a cocoon of safety. For someone who often felt weighed down by depression and loneliness, Christmas was the one bright thread in the fabric of the year.
So of course, as an adult, I tried to recreate it. I wanted every Christmas to feel like those childhood ones — to bring back the magic, the love, the sense of belonging. But life changes. Families shift. We grow up, move away, and suddenly the setting is different.
Last year was my first Christmas in the Netherlands with my partner. It was beautiful in its own way, but it also made me realize something important: I had been carrying not only the joy of Christmas, but also its weight. A weight of expectation, of longing, of trying to recreate something that belonged to another time.
When we can’t return to the exact Christmas of our childhoods, maybe we are invited to create our own version — a sanctuary for this stage of our lives. That might mean decorating in ways that feel personal, starting new traditions with loved ones, or even celebrating in quieter, more mindful ways.
Ask yourself:
What makes me feel safe and warm in winter?
Which traditions still bring me joy — and which can I let go of?
How can I create a space that feels like a holiday sanctuary, even if it looks nothing like the Christmases I grew up with?
Your Christmas doesn’t need to be perfect. It doesn’t need to be identical to anyone else’s. It only needs to hold you — gently, warmly, authentically.
As this year ends, I invite you to reflect not only on your Christmas memories but also on your year as a whole. What moments brought light into your life? What lessons do you want to carry with you into the new year? And most importantly — how can you create spaces of belonging for yourself, not just in December, but throughout the year?
๐ With warmth, from my heart to yours — may you find your own light in this darkest month.
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