Christmas Real Talk: Choosing Peace Over Tradition

For most of my life, Christmas looked the same every single year.

My mommy loved tradition.

Same rhythms. Same expectations. Same feeling of this is how we do it.

And truth be told, I looked forward to it. There was comfort in knowing what came next. There was safety in the familiar.

Then she was gone.

And Christmas didn’t feel the same—because it wasn’t the same.

I remember my daddy saying something that changed everything. He said it was time for us to design how we wanted to celebrate Christmas. Not out of disrespect. Not out of loss. But out of love and reality.

So the girls and I shifted.

We cooked—a lot.

We opened our home.

We invited family and friends to come as they were.

Those years were beautiful in a different way. Daddy loved it. Everyone would gather around him, and he would bless the food, the fellowship, and the Christian meaning of the holiday. Those moments weren’t about replicating the past—they were about honoring it while still living.

Then there was Vegas.

I was alone. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Just me.

I had a small, cute fake Christmas tree with lights. Nothing fancy. But I loved that little tree. It was enough. It was peaceful. It was mine. That season taught me something important: tradition doesn’t have to be loud to be meaningful.

Since being home, Christmas has softened again.

It’s been cooking with my girls.

A movie.

Good food.

Good vibes.

No pressure. No performance. Just presence.

That’s what we did this year.

And it was exactly what we needed.

Here’s the Real Talk part:

Sometimes holding on to tradition costs us our peace.

Sometimes honoring the past means allowing the present to look different.

And sometimes the bravest thing we can do is admit that what once worked… no longer does.

Choosing peace over tradition isn’t selfish.

It’s honest.

It’s healing.

And it makes room for gratitude to breathe.

This year, I’m grateful. 🙏

Not because Christmas looked the way it always has—but because it looked the way it needed to.

Closing Question

If you could redesign the holidays without guilt, what would you keep—and what would you let go?