Triggers Do Not Take Vacations. Grief Does Not Respect Calendars

From the Archives: Some stories don’t have an expiration date. We are republishing this piece because its core message resonates just as strongly today as it did when it was first written.

The holiday season arrives wrapped in glitter, lights, and well-worn phrases about joy and goodwill. We are told it is a time of cheer, rest, generosity, and togetherness—a collective pause where worries are supposed to soften under the glow of decorated trees and twinkling storefronts. For many people, that story mostly holds. Bellies are full, loved ones gather, schedules slow just enough to promise relief. Even if it’s absolute madness, there is still something comforting in the chaos.

For a significant number of people, this season is anything but easy.

While celebrations hum along, others are quietly bracing themselves. For them, the holidays amplify thoughts and feelings they work hard to manage the rest of the year. Triggers do not take vacations. Grief does not respect calendars. Trauma does not check whether the house is decorated before showing up.

In the middle of a family gathering, surrounded by laughter and noise, someone may feel overwhelmed rather than grateful. The pressure to be cheerful can become suffocating. A comment meant to be lighthearted—“Sure, what do you have to be sad about?”—can land like a slap. Those words assume that sadness needs permission, that pain must justify itself, and that joy is mandatory simply because it is December.

Many people carry the quiet weight of missing someone who should be there but is not. A parent. A partner. A child. Sometimes it is not the absence itself, but a smell, a song, or a familiar sound that unlocks a memory they did not ask for. Trauma can surface without warning, and no amount of tinsel can cover it up. These reactions are not exaggerations. They are not weakness. They are real.

We like to repeat “peace on earth” as though saying it often enough will make it true. Yet the world remains fractured. There are families displaced by conflict, adjusting to new lives far from home. There are communities grappling with poverty, housing insecurity, and uncertainty. Addiction does not pause for the holidays; if anything, it tightens its grip. The expectation to celebrate can intensify relapse, loneliness, and shame.

The stigma surrounding incarceration does not magically disappear in December either. Families with loved ones in prison, or carrying the long shadow of past involvement with the justice system, often feel it more acutely during the holidays. Absence is louder when the table has an empty chair.

For far too many children, the holidays are not a time of safety. Domestic violence does not stop because it’s Christmas. For some kids, a single day without screaming, threats, or fear would feel like a gift. We rarely picture that reality when we talk about “the most wonderful time of the year,” but it exists alongside the lights and music.

Mental health struggles and lingering trauma are not choices. They aren’t switches that can be flipped on or off because company is coming. They are part of lived reality. Some people cope by leaning into the noise and activity. Others survive by stepping back, keeping things quiet, or spending time alone. Neither approach is wrong.

What matters most is how we treat one another.

The greatest gift we can offer someone who is struggling—whether we understand their struggle or not—is acceptance. Not advice. Not comparisons. Not judgment disguised as encouragement. Just acceptance. Space to feel what they feel without being told they should feel differently.

As you celebrate, remember that people do so in different ways. Some of us find meaning in reflection rather than festivity. Some of us are simply trying to get through the season intact.

Be gentle. Be patient. Be kind.

Sometimes that’s the closest thing to peace on earth we can manage, and it matters more than we realize.