Adapting to Grief in a Season That Wants Joy

Losing a loved one doesn’t feel good any day of the year. There’s no season where it suddenly becomes easier, no month that makes it hurt less. When I ask clients what they’re feeling or experiencing in relation to their loss around the holidays, some say it feels no different than any other day because grief is grief. Others say the holidays make everything feel heavier, sadder, angrier, or more complicated.

Holidays and special occasions can bring up difficult emotions for many reasons. When your person died, you didn’t just lose them. You lost every future moment you imagined sharing with them. You lost the next birthday, the next Christmas, the next New Year’s Eve. You lost versions of your life that included them in it. I know how painful that is.

I was 13 when my dad died of a brain aneurysm. Sitting beside him in the trauma center, I wasn’t prepared to say goodbye, but there I was, being told this was it. I remember asking my mom, “But who will teach me how to drive? Who will walk me down the aisle at my wedding?” Those thoughts flooded in immediately, as they often do for anyone facing a devastating loss. All the moments they won’t be there for. All the memories you don’t get to make.

And then the first Christmas came.

The roles my father once filled were empty in a way I hadn’t expected. My mom was suddenly the only one buying and wrapping presents, the only one preparing Christmas breakfast, the only one trying to stretch the budget to make the holiday feel normal. That’s the part of grief people often don’t see when they’re not the ones grieving. The way absence changes the entire structure of a family. The way traditions suddenly feel unfamiliar. The way joy becomes complicated.

Grief can feel isolating, like no one truly understands what you're going through. And the truth is, a lot of people don’t. Not because they don’t care, but because grief is deeply personal. Even when others try to relate, your loss is still your loss.

On top of feeling isolated, for some people it feels like someone is pouring salt on the wound watching the jolliest bunch of….people (i’ll keep this pg 13) you know with all their gratitude and festive Christmas cheer. Holidays come with social scripts that we don’t always feel capable of taking part in after a loss. Decorate, be grateful, gather, take photos, smile, buy presents, rinse, repeat. That script often clashes with the internal reality for those grieving.

Sometimes people even share thoughts like, “I don’t want to be here anymore. I just wish I could be close to them again.” This is more common than most people realize. In therapy, we assess for safety, and most of the time we learn the person doesn’t want to die at all. They just want the pain of missing their loved one to go away.

A psychiatrist named George Engel asked a powerful question: What if the emotional pain of losing someone is just as real and serious as a physical injury?

His idea was simple but meaningful. When we are grieving, our mind and heart are thrown off balance, just like our body when we are badly hurt. And just as the body needs time to heal a wound or burn, our emotional system needs time to heal after a loss. You wouldn’t go for a run with a broken leg, now would you?

Engel believed that grief is a healing process. Most people eventually regain a sense of stability, even if they are never exactly the same as before. Others might struggle more, the same way some physical injuries heal slowly or leave lasting scars. Just like we describe physical healing as healthy or complicated, we can describe grieving in similar ways.

Maybe instead of thinking about getting back to normal, we should focus on adapting. We do not bounce back to who we were before the loss. We learn how to live with it. We learn how to make it through the holiday season. We adapt to the reality that Dad is not going to be at the Thanksgiving dinner table anymore. Some people find ways to adapt that feel meaningful and grounding. Others find the adjustment harder, slower, or more painful. There is no right or wrong pace. Some days will feel okay, and other’s you will feel like you’ve hit rock bottom. It is all deeply human.

If we take Engel’s idea that grief is a healing process and healing takes time, it helps explain why the holidays can feel so overwhelming. The season asks us to act normal, to celebrate, to show up with joy and energy. But when you are grieving, you are still in the middle of adapting. You are learning how to live in a world that feels different now, and the holidays tend to highlight just how much has changed.

Adapting during the holidays does not mean forcing yourself into old traditions or pretending you are okay. It means adjusting in ways that honor both your grief and your capacity in this moment. What can you realistically tolerate right now? What feels too heavy or too much? For some people, that might look like keeping one small tradition that feels comforting. For others, it might mean changing everything, doing something new, skipping the big gatherings, or giving yourself permission to keep things simple.

The healing Engel talks about is not about getting over it. It is about learning how to carry the loss while still moving through life. And during the holidays, that might mean:

Letting yourself step back instead of powering through.
Creating space for memories instead of avoiding them.
Allowing both grief and moments of joy to exist side by side.

Adapting is personal. It takes time. And during the holiday season, with all its pressure and nostalgia and emotional intensity, adapting might look like giving yourself grace, choosing what feels manageable, and letting this year be what it needs to be, not what it “should” be. You get to decide how adapting looks and how much compassion you offer yourself in your grief. You can’t control that someone died, but you can control how you choose to honor your needs during your grief.

For some people, jumping into the usual traditions and chaos of the holidays can feel helpful, like a temporary distraction. They put on a brave face for everyone else. They make sure the table is set for Thanksgiving, the tree is up and decorated, and Santa is booked for the family Christmas party. In my experience, people who cope this way still feel the waves of emotion that come with loss.

That clash, the gap between what is going on around you and what you actually feel inside, is a kind of emotional whiplash. One minute you are smiling in public, and the next you are overwhelmed because the elderly couple in the grocery store reminds you of your late husband. One minute you are hanging Christmas lights, and the next you are crying on the ground because your wife used to stand outside keeping you company. Maybe last year you drove around with your grandchildren looking at decorations, and this year you cannot imagine getting in the car at all.

The guilt for not enjoying traditions that once mattered, the anger toward people who seem to have moved on, the internal pressure to grieve in a way others find acceptable, none of this is unusual. Grief is not just sadness. It is emotional and physical and behavioral. It shifts moment to moment. All your feelings deserve compassion. You deserve whatever amount of time you need to adapt.

After years of doing my own grief work, I learned that two things can be true at the same time. Adapting eventually meant allowing myself to feel sad, angry, resentful, and also happy that others were spending another holiday with their loved ones. My therapist helped me soften toward my experience and shift into gratitude. Not gratitude that my dad died, but gratitude that I had 13 Christmases with him. I learned I could be curious about the jealousy and pain I felt watching my cousins open gifts with their dad, while also feeling genuinely happy for them.

Everyone’s grief is different. Take what resonates here and leave the rest.

If this is your first holiday season without your person, or your tenth, here are a few gentle reminders:

You are allowed to change traditions.
Keep the ones that feel comforting and let go of the ones that do not.

Create new rituals that honor your loved one or skip the season entirely if that feels kinder.

You do not have to force yourself to feel festive.
Your emotions do not need to match the holiday playlist or the decorations in every store.

You can let others help, actually help.
You do not have to carry the emotional or logistical load alone. It is okay to ask for company if it would be helpful. It is okay to ask someone else to make the Thanksgiving turkey this year.

And you are allowed to feel joy too.
Moments of laughter or connection do not mean you have forgotten. You deserve these moments even in your grief. Remember, two things can be true at the same time.

If you are grieving this holiday season, I hope you give yourself permission to move gently. You are not obligated to meet anyone’s expectations, not family, not tradition, not society’s idea of what the holidays should look like. Grief does not follow a calendar, and you do not have to pretend it does. You are doing the best you can in a season that asks a lot of people, and even more from those who are grieving.