After Christmas: Sitting With Grief Without Letting It Consume You

It’s the days after Christmas now, and I’ve been sitting with how the holiday actually went. This was the first Christmas without my mother, and I knew going into it that it would be different. What I didn’t expect was how clear everything felt. Quiet, but clear.

For the first time in a long time, there was no underlying tension in the room. No anticipation of chaos. No bracing myself for emotional fallout. My mother struggled with addiction for most of her life, and holidays were often unpredictable. There were years filled with drama, volatility, and emotional exhaustion. This year, that part was gone.

And that absence was loud.

What surprised me was how present I felt. I wasn’t checking out. I wasn’t performing. I wasn’t numbing myself. I was there. I was engaged with the people around me. I noticed energy. I noticed kindness. I noticed connection. I noticed how much love was actually in the room when I wasn’t scanning for danger.

At one point, a relative brought her new partner to the gathering. I noticed her energy immediately. She was warm, grounded, open. I acknowledged it without thinking, because it was obvious. Later, as I spent time with her and my cousin, I had this quiet realization that my cousin reminded me of my mother. They share that second-born energy. Adventurous. Direct. Strong-willed. Not afraid to take up space or tell the truth.

My mother was like that too. Fierce. Determined. Unwilling to tolerate nonsense. She didn’t back down easily. I admired that about her, even when it was difficult. The truth is, I wish she had figured out that she didn’t need to prove her strength so loudly. She already had it. I’ve had to work on that same thing in myself. When I get angry, I can become righteous fast. My coaches have helped me soften that edge. To pull back. To choose connection instead of being right.

Being with my family this Christmas brought something unexpected. I felt loved. Not conditionally. Not cautiously. Just loved. For a long time, I carried a story that I didn’t really belong in this family. After my parents divorced and my father remarried, I told myself I was on the outside. I was angry. Angry that my parents divorced. Angry that I felt left to take care of my mother. Angry at my father for leaving. Angry at everyone, really.

But this Christmas showed me something different. These people may not always understand me, but they have shown up for me. They’ve been kind. They’ve been consistent. They’ve been family in the ways that actually matter.

The grief showed up in quieter moments. A song would come on and suddenly my chest would tighten. There were moments when I deeply missed my mother. Not the chaos. Not the addiction. Just her. Her voice. Her presence. The fact that she existed in the world.

When that grief hit, I didn’t push it away. And I didn’t dive into it either.

I let myself feel just enough of it.

I sat with it for a minute. I allowed it to move through me without letting it take over. I’ve learned that you don’t want to consume too much grief all at once. You can lose yourself in it. But ignoring it completely doesn’t work either. What helped me was letting myself touch it, the way you’d place your hand over a wound. Not pressing hard. Not pretending it isn’t there. Just acknowledging it.

That’s what acceptance feels like to me. It’s like gently covering the pain instead of ripping it open or pretending it doesn’t exist. Feeling a little bit of the grief took the edge off. It reminded me that my heart is still working. That the sadness makes sense. That I loved deeply.

Without that acceptance, the pain would have turned into something else. Long-term anger. Withdrawal. Depression. That slow, quiet resentment that eats away at you. I’ve seen what happens when people stay there. It’s not good. It doesn’t serve anyone.

I want to be clear about something. At No Unfinished Business, we don’t diagnose people. That’s not our role. We’re not medical professionals. And I always encourage people to seek support from therapists, doctors, social workers, and mental health professionals when they need it. I believe deeply in that kind of support. I would love for this work to grow in a way where those professionals are part of what we offer.

Right now, what I teach is my methodology. What I’ve lived. What I’ve practiced. What helped me survive five years of watching my mother decline and still come out the other side intact.

Grief will always be part of my story. I’m always going to miss my mother. That doesn’t go away. But who I choose to be in the face of that grief does matter. If I stay focused only on the loss, I lose myself. When I bring my values into the moment, compassion, presence, service, honesty, I find my footing again.

That’s what this work is about.

No Unfinished Business isn’t about sitting in pain indefinitely. And it’s not about bypassing it either. We meet people where they are. We honor the grief. But we also help people live again. We laugh at our events. We play music. We move our bodies. We cry when we need to. We don’t let grief be the only thing in the room.

People need more than a reminder of what hurts. They need permission to be human again.

This Christmas taught me that I can miss my mother deeply and still enjoy my life. I can feel heartbreak and gratitude at the same time. I can honor her without becoming a victim to the loss. If she taught me anything, it’s that life is better when you love yourself.

I’m stepping into a new chapter now. Live speaking. Music. Community events. Service. Giving back to Orlando in a way that feels honest and alive. I’m not proving who I am anymore. I don’t need to. I know who I am.

If you’re grieving this season, I want you to know this. You’re allowed to feel the pain without drowning in it. You’re allowed to miss them and still live fully. You’re allowed to sit with the grief for a moment, place your hand on it, and then choose how you move forward.

That’s what having no unfinished business really looks like.

And when you’re ready, we’re here.