Radical Acceptance Is Not Giving Up

What are you afraid will happen if you stop trying to control the outcome?

Anyone who knows me well knows this: I am not a holiday person.

The pressure of trying to make the holidays magical for everyone quite literally sends me into depression. I don’t know exactly when it started, but I do know that gift-giving has never been my love language. Add in growing up in a broken home — even one where my parents tried their best — and the holidays always felt heavy, confusing, and charged.

When I became a parent, I overcompensated.

I tried to make it spiritual. I went to church. I focused on the birth of Christ. I decorated the perfect tree. I created outrageous Christmas mornings, drove between every parent and grandparent, stretched a tight budget beyond its limits, all in the name of giving my kids “the best.”

But I didn’t realize something important back then: It wasn’t about their experience. It was about my insecurity.

After the divorce, as my kids got older, it became easier to skip the holidays altogether. I joked that the best gift I could give everyone was to stay away. Yet I was still depressed, still carrying shame, still feeling like I had failed at something sacred.

As I began to re-member myself, I finally admitted the truth — I don’t enjoy the material side of Christmas at all.

I love cooking. I love small gatherings. I love listening to my grandchildren tell me what Santa brought. I like quiet rituals that don’t need to live on a calendar. But the pressure to perform Christmas the “right way” makes me uncomfortable — and that discomfort leaks into the room when I try to control outcomes that were never mine to manage.

So what am I really afraid of?

First, I’m afraid of the sadness and shame of not enjoying the holidays the way I’m supposed to. Second, I’m afraid of not being enough — not giving enough, not creating enough magic. Third, I’m afraid of disappointing people because I can’t be everywhere at once. And finally, I take it all far too personally.

Sure, I could budget better. I could rearrange my time. I could force myself into the mold.

But none of that serves my soul.

Letting go of the outcome means disappointing expectations — including my own. It means taking care of myself and trusting others to take care of themselves. It means staying away when my presence carries resentment instead of joy. It means smiling when I’m called the Grinch.

I don’t have a cold heart.

I simply prefer smaller versions of things.

Minimal decorations. Quiet meals. Honest connection. And the freedom to enjoy what is real to me instead of performing what is expected of me.

Not controlling the outcome isn’t something I’m learning. It’s something I’m remembering.

Because I never had control in the first place — and accepting who I’ve always been would have been the greatest gift of all.

When I begin to feel that "control the outcome" coming on: Simply place my hand over my heart, come on, try this with me, take a few deep breaths, and as you exhale, say, Everyone gets their own outcome, Breath in and as you exhale, say, "I'm at peace with whatever happens."

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