It was Christmas Day a decade ago, and I found myself sitting on the kitchen floor, trying to hold back tears when my husband, Mark, discovered me. “What’s wrong?” he asked, worry evident in his voice.
Through a jumble of emotions, I explained how I had spent hours cleaning the kitchen in preparation for the holiday. But on Christmas morning, my husband and kids decided to whip up a grand breakfast, leaving the countertops dusted with flour and the stove cluttered with dirty pans. The mess felt overwhelming, especially with Christmas dinner still to prepare, and I was drowning in the chaos of it all.
That year had been particularly challenging for us. We had recently learned that our youngest child, Lily, had a developmental disability that would likely require her to live with us indefinitely. Just weeks before Christmas, she was diagnosed with epilepsy. I had been grappling with anxiety and depression, and having a tidy house seemed like a way to regain some control in my life. A clean home symbolized that I was managing my responsibilities and being the mom I aspired to be. I believed if the house was neat, I could finally relax and enjoy the holiday spirit.
Instead, I was collapsed on the floor, in desperate need of a tissue. Mark joined me, apologizing for ruining my pristine kitchen, and proposed that he would handle the cleanup. I sobbed about needing to start dinner immediately, convinced that everything was spiraling out of control.
“What if we just ordered Chinese food?” he suggested.
I stared at him in disbelief. “The kids don’t care about what we eat, and it’s just us anyway. It would definitely make things simpler.”
A week later, I recounted this story to my therapist, who leaned in with curiosity. “And what did you say?”
“I told him to check if the Chinese restaurant was open,” I replied.
“Yes! That was the right choice!” she exclaimed.
And it truly was. In that moment, while I was overwhelmed by the pressure to create the perfect holiday, I was offered a way out. I could have insisted on sticking to my plans, pushing through to cook dinner, but instead, I opted for the simpler, more enjoyable option.
I can’t remember if we ever tackled the kitchen mess, but I do know that the restaurant was open, and the kids were thrilled to have Chinese food for Christmas dinner. Afterward, I found myself on the couch, laughing with Lily while Mark and our older kids engaged in a hilarious Nerf gun battle throughout the house. For months following that day, we discovered orange darts in the most unexpected places.
By letting go of my rigid expectations, I embraced the day for what it could be. To this day, my children recall it as one of the best Christmases ever, and surprisingly, so do I.
Life has a way of teaching us that despite our plans—like going to school, landing the right job, marrying the perfect partner, and having children at the right time—things don’t always unfold as we imagine. We often face complicated choices that can feel overwhelming. Some decisions are made for us, while others present themselves as simple yet transformative options. These are the moments that become our fondest memories.
As we approach this holiday season, I encourage everyone to choose what brings joy even if it means taking the easy way out. After all, it’s the memories we create that truly matter.
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Summary
This article reflects on how a chaotic Christmas led to an unexpectedly joyful holiday experience. By embracing simplicity over perfection, the author discovered the importance of making choices that prioritize happiness, ultimately creating cherished memories with family.