There’s something about the rhythm of the year that I’ve always loved—the way the seasons change, the way the air feels different, and how, almost on cue, the holidays arrive to mark time in the most meaningful ways. We just celebrated Easter, and like every year, it left me feeling a mix of joy, gratitude… and, if I’m being honest, a little bit of stress.

Because as much as I truly love the holidays, they don’t come without their pressures.

One of the parts I truly cherish, though, is decorating for each holiday. There’s something so special about pulling out familiar decorations, placing them around the house, and watching everything transform. It always brings me right back to my childhood—the excitement, the warmth, the feeling that something special was happening. Now, getting to relive that through my own home feels like such a gift. Even more meaningful is seeing my son light up when it’s time to decorate. He wants to help, he gets excited, and he genuinely loves being part of it. It’s become our little tradition, and I find myself hoping that one day, God willing, he’ll carry that same joy into his own life and maybe even share it with children of his own.

Take Christmas, for example. It’s magical, beautiful, nostalgic—all the things. I genuinely love it. I love the lights, the traditions, the feeling in the air. I even love sending out Christmas cards, sitting down and thinking about each person as I write them. But even that, something so simple and heartfelt, can turn into a task that feels overwhelming when life is already busy. Making sure you didn’t forget anyone, getting them sent out on time—it adds up.

And then there’s the gift-giving.

Buying presents sounds fun in theory, but when you start adding it all up—family, friends, coworkers, teachers, the mail carrier—it can quickly become stressful, especially if money is tight. There’s this unspoken pressure to make everything feel equal, thoughtful, and meaningful, and that can weigh heavily. For those who celebrate Hanukkah, the season carries its own version of that same pressure, with multiple nights of giving and the desire to make each one special.

Even something like Easter, which feels lighter on the surface, can come with its own stress. Filling Easter baskets, planning meals, making the day magical—especially for kids, nieces, and nephews—can become costly and time-consuming before you even realize it.

And then there are the little things we don’t always talk about, like keeping traditions alive. At Christmas, something as seemingly small as remembering to move the Elf on the Shelf every single night can feel like a full-time job. It’s funny when you think about it—but in the moment, when you’re tired and just want to go to bed, it can feel like one more thing on a very long list.

But out of all the holidays, my heart belongs to Thanksgiving.

There’s something so beautifully simple about it. No gifts. No pressure to buy or wrap or spend beyond your means. Just people coming together—family, friends, whoever you hold close—gathered around a table, sharing a meal and each other’s company. Conversations that linger. Laughter that fills the room. A moment to just be.

I’ve always said I wish all holidays could feel more like Thanksgiving. Less expectation, less pressure, more presence. Because when you strip everything else away, that’s really what makes the holidays special.

Of course, there’s another side to all of this too—one that deserves just as much space in the conversation.

The holidays can be incredibly hard for those who are grieving. When you’ve lost someone you love, every holiday becomes a reminder of their absence. Traditions feel different. Tables feel emptier. Moments that once brought joy can bring a quiet kind of sadness instead. While the world celebrates, many people are simply trying to get through the day, carrying memories that feel both comforting and heavy at the same time.

It’s a reminder that while holidays are often painted as joyful and bright, they are also deeply emotional. They hold space for everything—happiness, stress, love, grief, nostalgia, and everything in between.

And maybe that’s the truth of it all.

The holidays aren’t perfect. They’re messy. They’re expensive. They’re exhausting at times. They ask a lot of us—financially, emotionally, and mentally. But they also give us something in return that’s hard to measure.

They give us moments.

Moments of connection. Moments of laughter. Moments where time seems to slow down just enough for us to notice what really matters. A shared meal. A thoughtful card. A child’s excitement. A quiet memory of someone we miss.

So even with the stress, even with the long lists and late nights and full calendars, I find myself feeling grateful.

Grateful for the traditions, even the ones that feel like work.
Grateful for the people who fill my life, whether they’re sitting at my table or living in my memories.
Grateful for the chance, year after year, to pause and reconnect—with others and with what truly matters.

Maybe the holidays don’t have to be perfect. Maybe they’re not meant to be.

Maybe they’re just meant to remind us—again and again—that in the middle of all the chaos, there is still so much to be thankful for.

Love,

Fran xo