December 25, 2025

Julie Bolejack

25 Dec 2025 — 2 min read

Dear Friends,

Christmas arrives whether we are ready for it or not.

For some, this season glows—wrapped in laughter, familiar traditions, and tables filled with food and people we love. For others, it arrives quietly, or heavily, carrying reminders of loss, change, distance, or simply exhaustion. And for many, it’s a mix of both: moments of warmth braided tightly with moments of ache.

I want to say this plainly and with respect: however you are experiencing this holiday is valid.

If Christmas feels joyful for you, I hope you let yourself lean fully into that joy—without guilt, without apology. Joy is not something to ration. It’s something to receive when it shows up.

And if Christmas feels hard this year—if you’re missing someone, navigating illness, carrying grief, financial strain, fractured relationships, or simply a sense that you don’t recognize your life the way you once did—I see you. You are not failing the holiday. The holiday is simply meeting you where you are.

There is no correct way to do Christmas.

You do not owe anyone cheerfulness.

You do not owe traditions their former shape.

You do not owe explanations for your boundaries, your quiet, or your need to step back.

Sometimes the most meaningful act of the season is not celebration, but self-compassion.

This time of year invites us—gently or insistently—to reflect. On what we’ve endured. On what we’ve learned. On who we’ve become, even when the becoming was painful. If nothing else, Christmas can be_attach a small intention_: to be kinder—to ourselves and to one another—as we move forward.

Light doesn’t have to be loud to matter.

Hope doesn’t have to be big to be real.

Love doesn’t have to be perfect to be powerful.

If all you can manage today is getting through the day—that is enough.

If all you can offer is kindness in small, quiet ways—that is enough.

If all you feel is a longing for something that used to be—that, too, is human.

May you find moments of peace where you can.

May you feel permission to rest where you need to.

May you sense connection—even if it’s subtle, even if it comes from unexpected places.

And may you remember this: you are not alone, even when it feels that way.

However this season meets you, I’m sending you warmth, respect, and the hope that the coming days hold gentler moments and renewed strength.

With care and Christmas wishes—exactly as you need them,

Julie Bolejack , MBA

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