I never realized how connected I was to my family until I found myself living far away from them. Distance has a way of revealing things you never noticed, it hits especially harder than ever around holiday. I guess because it is supposed to be warm and familiar but in some situation it feels heavier, quieter, and lonelier. How are we making it through this holiday?

Some people are lucky to live close enough to visit their families for emergencies, birthdays, or even quick weekend trips. But when you live far away, even simple things become complicated. Flights are expensive, drives are long, and visits end up lasting longer than planned because it costs too much to come back again soon. What used to feel effortless becomes something you have to plan months in advance.

It can feel painfully isolating. You don’t realize how much you lean on family physically, emotionally, and spiritually, until they aren’t nearby. A couple of years ago, I met a friend who had just moved here and knew absolutely no one. Holidays were the hardest for him. He went from having a whole community to a single emergency contact. I invited him over and cooked fried rice.

I’ve lived far from my siblings and parents for years now. I’ve built a circle of friends I cherish, and people who have become my chosen family. But that doesn’t erase the ache of missing the people who raised me, shaped me, and knew me long before life got complicated. FaceTime helps, but it never feels the same as sitting across the table from them.

As I get older, family matters more. Parents age. Nieces and nephews grow faster than you expect. Siblings start families of their own. And suddenly you realize: every year you’re gone is a year you won’t get back.

I don’t regret the change and growth that came from moving away. Distance taught me who I am, helped me meet new people, and opened doors I never would’ve walked through if I stayed. But even with all the lessons and new chapters, there’s still a quiet sadness that never fully disappears.
For many of us, the holidays make everything sharper: the loneliness, the longing, the grief. Old traditions bring back memories that both warm us and hurt us. It feels like we’re staring at an empty space that once held a clutter of moments we collected over time.

I still remember celebrating Christmas at my dad’s workplace. He worked at an orphanage, and every Christmas he dressed up as Santa for the children. Full costume, a Santa mask covers his face to be a white-man from the North Pole… iykyk. And he’d change his voice too. Back then, my siblings and I thought it was super cringe because his Black wrists would always showed; the white gloves couldn’t cover them properly (that’s another story for another time 😭😂).

I smile now when I think about those memories. Maybe one day I’ll travel to see him again. And honestly, I’d love to see him dress up as Santa just for fun. I imagine all those memories as a pile of boxes: some messy, some full, some taped shut, all holding pieces of our lives.

The holidays don’t only bring back what we remember; they also remind us of what’s missing. And this is where grief becomes heavier.

Some boxes remain heartbreakingly empty because the people we loved are no longer here, and we know there won’t be new memories to fill them. Lately, I’ve been thinking about my friends who are going through this holiday season without their loved ones. Some of them are trying to make it through the holidays without their mother for the firs time, and those empty boxes feel especially heavy. The first holiday without someone isn’t the same as year three or year ten. The grief shifts. The pain changes shape. And as years pass, the ache doesn’t disappear; it simply becomes something we learn to carry. The rituals, the way we celebrate, the way we honor their legacy… all of it slowly changes.
For many, those “empty boxes” feel especially heavy this time of year.

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We’re told the season should be happy and bright, but sometimes joy feels out of reach. And that's okay.

What matters is giving yourself permission to feel what you feel. To take the holidays at your own pace. To let yourself be human. Grief doesn’t follow a timeline. Loneliness doesn’t mean you’re failing. Missing home doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. If this season is difficult, reach out to the people who support you: friends, counselors, or anyone you trust. Create new rituals that honor the people you miss. Ask for photos, stories, updates, or moments that bring comfort. Or start something entirely new that reminds you that life can still hold beauty.

You do not need to pretend. You do not need to perform joy. You do not need to apologize for struggling. The holidays can hold both sadness and warmth, grief and gratitude. You’re allowed to experience all of it. Give yourself grace. Be gentle with yourself. As we remind ourselves that we still deserve moments of peace, joy, and connection; they come at your own pace, and whoever you choose to share them with.