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It May Be January, but I’m Not Done with the Holidays

How grief is teaching me to push back against the New Year hustle

Y.L. Wolfe
Liberty

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Photo by Pixabay via Pexels

This year, for the first time, I put up so many decorations in my tiny house that I had to accomplish this task over the course of weeks. I’m usually the type to get it all done in one go, which in a small home, is relatively easy. I’ll pull out my two holiday boxes, decide what to unpack (which, in the past, has usually been somewhere between 50–70% of what’s in those boxes), and get it done in an evening, while waiting for dinner to cook.

Though I enjoy making my space beautiful, I’ve often leaned into minimalism as a single, childless woman. I’ve spent a lot of years grappling with eldest daughter stress and eldest daughter PTSD (two things I’m convinced will be legitimate mental health diagnoses someday — mark my words), and as such, I often haven’t had the energy to do sweet and sometimes frivolous things for myself — for instance, going all-out in decorating for the holidays.

So it’s surprising to me that this year, the first holiday season without my father, is the first time I finally unpacked every item in those holiday boxes…and then added more. I made dried orange slices and strung them together to drape over the windows. I bought star garlands and hung them in every room and around…

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