This is me over here, cheering and clapping. When I was raising my kids, there was intense pressure in my extended family to go over the top with Christmas, and even though I got frazzled and stressed and very often sick, it took over a decade to even begin to suspect that the problem was perhaps the expectations, not me. I got pushback when I suggested trimming back on things, so it took years more before I resolved that it was going to have to be a unilateral effort.

Nowadays, having happily passed the torch to the younger women in the clan (who have wisely established sane boundaries — but still, it’s a lot), I might experience less excitement around Christmas, but a whole lot more peace and enjoyment. And way less bronchitis.

Wish I’d figured it out sooner.