The Weight of Christmas Nostalgia

I have decided to take the opportunity to put my story into words. Blogging this week has been so theraputic to me. I do intend to use this blog to communicate about my studio, my sessions, and all things boudoir, but in the middle of it all, I have found healing in telling my own stories-real life experiences that many of you may relate to. At this point vulnerability has to be a give and take. I am going to share mine while I ask you of yours.

This time of year is not easy on everyone. Remember to use kindness and let love lead you in all that you do.

Christmas used to be magic. I remember the holiday seasons of my childhood in the late 80s, 90s, and early 2000s—the glittering lights, the laughter, the warmth of family filling every corner. Life was different then. Shopping meant bustling malls packed with people, holiday music echoing through the air, and a sense of excitement you could almost taste. Family was the centerpiece of it all, and every tradition, no matter how small, felt sacred.

But now? It’s not the same. And lately, I’ve felt that difference more than ever.

I was talking with my sister tonight, and we were both feeling it—the weight of how much has changed. Christmas is supposed to be this joyful, magical time, but for us, it feels heavy, like we’re carrying the ghost of what used to be. We reminisced about the holidays of our youth, laughing over the memories but also feeling the ache of them. There was something so special, so effortless about those times.

And then we talked about my grandmother.

She was the heart of our holiday season. Her warmth, her love, her presence—it made everything feel whole. When she was here, family was everything. She held us all together, and without her, it feels like some of that magic is gone. It’s strange how nostalgia can be both comforting and cruel. It wraps you in the warmth of memories but leaves you aching for something you can never have back.

That ache feels like a void—a space that will never be filled, no matter how much I try. I catch myself trying to recreate those feelings, those moments, as if somehow I can bring it all back. But deep down, I know it’s impossible. What we once had is gone, and no amount of holiday lights or traditions can ever truly fill the emptiness it left behind.

It makes me think about my own children and how much I miss the days when they were small. Two of them don’t live at home anymore, and that’s been one of the hardest transitions for me. It’s bittersweet to watch them grow, to see them living their own lives, but it leaves this quiet ache. I think back to their childhoods, especially in the early 2000s. Back then, life felt simple. They played in neighborhoods, made friends wherever we moved—thanks to my husband’s time in the Marine Corps—and no matter where we were, we always looked forward to coming home for Christmas.

Those Christmases were magical in a way that feels almost untouchable now. The joy, the chaos, the togetherness—it felt endless. But now? Everything feels rushed. The malls are quiet, the decorations feel more like a chore than a joy, and even the Christmas specials on TV seem to have disappeared. There’s no “hustle and bustle” anymore, just this overwhelming sense of longing for what once was.

The truth is, I avoid feeling these things because they hurt too much. I avoid the quiet moments because that’s when the memories come flooding in—of my grandmother, of my children’s laughter, of those fleeting years when life felt whole. And maybe that’s why I pour so much of myself into my work. It’s easier to keep moving, to stay busy, to focus on creating beauty for others. When I’m photographing someone, when I’m helping them see their beauty and their worth, it feels like I’m holding onto a little piece of the magic I’m missing.

But even as I say this, I know I can’t stay in the past. I know I can’t let the weight of nostalgia pull me under. There’s a beauty in remembering, but there’s also a danger in letting those memories keep you from living in the present. And that’s where I am now—trying to find joy again, not in what once was, but in the little things that still are.

If you’re reading this and you’ve felt the same—if the holidays feel more heavy than joyful—you’re not alone. It’s okay to feel the weight of what’s changed. It’s okay to miss what once was. But don’t let that stop you from finding joy in the little things that are still here.

This season, I’m challenging myself to look for those moments. To notice the quiet beauty in a cup of hot cocoa, the sparkle of a single Christmas light, or the sound of laughter, however fleeting. To create new memories that, while different, can still hold meaning.

Maybe we can’t go back to the way things were, and maybe the void will never truly be filled. But in the space that’s left, we can still find something beautiful.

Here’s to finding joy again in the little things because what an amazing and loved life have I been given. Its a blessing.