Closing notes on a meaningful year

The year is drawing to a close and while to-do lists seem to sprout extra tasks by the day—and you could probably do without one more thing on your plate—I wanted to offer this week’s Substack as a chance to take a breath in the midst of the noise. A space where you can slow down and reset any expectations or perceptions that may have skewed out of proportion at this time of year. I write these notes and reminders as much for myself as I do for you, my lovely reader.

It happens. I panic-ordered a set of matching festive pyjamas for myself and my son from Next this morning. €70 later, I realised I had once more succumbed to the manufactured picture of how Christmas should look. Sure, part of it is about wanting to make an occasion of things and create memories that feel a bit more special, but there’s no denying we’ve been expertly duped into believing that sequins and red tartan are how you do it. I’ve also had pangs of that all-too-familiar panic over whether I’ve got ‘enough’ under the tree for my son — the same son who is currently having the time of his life playing a made-up game with his grandparents that requires no toys at all.

Something I plan to do, and recommend wholeheartedly, is stepping away from social media for the week of Christmas. Not because you ‘should’ be more present — we’ll all be craving an escape when your racist aunt gets on her immigration soapbox after her third glass of Creme de Menthe — but because social media is the thing amplifying all of those ‘shoulds’. You don’t need to see extended families packed around dinner tables and wonder whether you’re having enough fun. You don’t need to see Christmas Eve present set-ups and doubt your own efforts. You certainly don’t need to drink a Christmas morning mimosa made with cranberry-and-orange-juice ice cubes unless you really want to (I do).

I’m convinced this frenzied sense of getting things done and forcing ourselves into the festive mood is almost entirely fuelled by social media. That’s where the pressure, the comparison, the self-doubt all originate. On the contrary, the world gets smaller, slower and more peaceful when you step away. There’s no better time than the end of the year to give yourself that treat.

It’s a double-edged sword for me, because social media is so tightly wound up with my work — and unfortunately, my worth (it’s unavoidable). I can’t afford to lob my phone into the sea and carry on, but I can take a little break. That’s when my actual worth, value and priorities come back into clearer view.

A break over Christmas also gives you the headspace to reflect on the year you’ve had. There’s likely a lot you’ve gone through without a second to process. I, for one, am looking forward to sitting down with my husband over a drink and digesting the fact that our life and future now look very different after our son’s autism diagnosis — how our reference points have shifted and how beautifully we’ve handled that.

This time of year invites round-ups, highlights and outward achievements, and while I’m proud to have written a book this year, it was my hardest year yet, certainly as a parent. There were many low points, and my mental health took a proper beating. But I’m most proud of how willing I was to sit in the discomfort of my parenting experience until the thing I didn’t want — a diagnosis — became the very thing that allowed everything to slot into its rightful place. The discomfort turned to comfort.

So I recommend you find something like that — something that’s not an accolade or accomplishment you’d post on LinkedIn, but a moment when you treated yourself with compassion, or turned towards yourself when you most wanted to turn away. Let that be the highlight with which you tie up your year.

Looking ahead, I’m already bracing for the aggressive shift that hits the moment January arrives. All the arbitrary ‘fresh start’ content. Overhaul your skincare. Sign up for Hyrox. Switch to whole unprocessed foods because you’ve been spooked by one too many supermarket influencers. But again, all of that pressure comes from what your algorithm is serving you.

You can decide to make a gentle, almost laughably small change on a random Tuesday in November, and it can be the one shift that sticks. I started moisturising my legs daily in October. I know this is minuscule. It’s something most people do. But I’ve had the driest, scaliest, reptilian legs and never bothered taking care of them because I didn’t think it would make a difference. I envied those who committed to full-body maintenance. I just felt too tired all the time. Anyway, I got a large tub of inexpensive moisturiser, plonked it beside my knicker drawer, and each time I got dressed, it was right there to grab. It was nothing — an extra mindful moment each morning — and now I have soft, happy (though still hairy) legs. More significant than no longer resembling a rhino, I’m chuffed with myself for making a lifestyle change so small and quiet it simply became part of how I care for myself.

So maybe — if you feel the need for change (and you often don’t) — pick one tiny thing. Oh, I also started adding a spoonful of milled flaxseed to my porridge because my cholesterol crept too high. Just something small. Don’t take on the mountain. And don’t force yourself to begin in January, the month we deny ourselves every joy when we need comfort most.

If you feel up to it, choose one tiny act of care or comfort you can offer yourself this week. Nothing grand, nothing for January, just one small thing that signals: I’m on my own side.

Happy Christmas to you, dear reader. I hope you’re proud of yourself and the ways you’ve shown up for yourself. Go easy, go gently, go quietly, and I’ll see you on the flip side.