I Quit Christmas (and Everyone Survived)

The season of joy is also the season of emotional labor. Here’s what happens when a woman finally refuses to perform to perfection.

“I can’t do Christmas this year.” I’d never said those words in 36 years of marriage. The guilt hit immediately.

It was right after Thanksgiving 2024. I’d just learned I needed to travel 2,800 miles to help move my parents from assisted living into long-term care. I’d be back for the holidays, but I knew I wouldn’t have the energy to perform my usual one-woman show. So I gave myself permission to let go of it all.

And still, the guilt came for me.

Here’s the truth: I love creating beautiful Christmas memories. What I don’t love is the expectation that I should be the only one responsible—and the guilt that surfaces the moment I can’t deliver.

And know I’m not the only woman carrying this burden.

The Inheritance We Didn’t Ask For

That guilt didn’t start with me. It probably didn’t start with my mother either.

I watched her every December—running herself ragged to create the “perfect” holidays. Homemade cookies. Impeccable decorations. Mountains of beautiful wrapped gifts. She made it look effortless, but even as a child, I could feel her exhaustion humming underneath.

This is the inheritance no one talks about. We’re raised to believe our worth is measured by our ability to manufacture magic for everyone else.

And the worst part? Our daughters learn all of it from us.

The cycle continues.

Unless we decide to break it.

The Work Nobody Sees

Women spend much more time on holiday preparation than men—not just cooking and decorating, but on what researchers call “cognitive labor.”

Psychologist Dr. Darcy Lockman, author of All the Rage: Mothers, Fathers, and the Myth of Equal Partnership, calls this “cognitive labor” the mental load of anticipating every need before anyone else even notices there’s a need.

And the numbers back it up. A recent American Psychological Association survey showed that 89 percent of adults find the holidays stressful. But here’s where it gets interesting: Women with families reported significantly higher stress levels, citing family obligations and pressure to orchestrate perfect celebrations. Meanwhile, men’s stress levels? Basically flat.

So the season that’s supposed to bring joy is bringing women measurably more anxiety. We’re working harder while everyone else kicks back and enjoys the magic we built.

The Empty Promise

Scroll through Instagram in December: perfect trees, staged tablescapes, glowing women in cashmere pulling cookies from the oven. It all looks effortless, but that’s the illusion. These images sell a fantasy curated by influencers and entire industries built on our insecurity.

The promise? If you buy the right planner, the right napkins, you too can conjure effortless joy. And if you’re exhausted, it’s your personal failure, not a broken system. Target becomes a shrine to female obligation; Martha Stewart built an empire on our need to measure up. We blame ourselves when we fall short instead of asking why we’re doing all of this alone in the first place.

Let’s stop pretending our holiday exhaustion is a badge of honor.

Here’s How I See It

We’ve been handed an invisible job description: Remember everyone’s dietary restrictions, coordinate conflicting schedules, buy thoughtful gifts for everyone, decorate, wrap, plan, shop, cook, and make it all look effortless while ensuring everyone has a magical time.

Meanwhile, your partner expects praise for picking up the grocery order you spent two hours planning and curating.

This isn’t about abandoning traditions you love. It’s about redesigning the system so you can actually enjoy the holiday instead of just surviving it. It’s about making your own enjoyment as important as everyone else’s.

What if Christmas magic-making was a shared responsibility instead of a solo performance?

My Hard-Won Decision

First, run everything through the “joy test.” Does this tradition bring me genuine pleasure, or am I doing it out of obligation? If it’s obligation, I’ll delegate it or eliminate it. That homemade cranberry sauce my family barely notices? Store-bought works just fine.

Then consider the “effort-to-appreciation ratio.” If I’m spending six hours on something that gets a lukewarm “thanks,” it’s time to scale back or pass it off.

The New York Times best-selling author Eve Rodsky talks about this in her book Fair Play. She argues the solution isn’t just dividing tasks but transferring full ownership. When your partner agrees to “help with dinner,” they’re responsible for planning the menu, shopping, cooking, and cleaning up. Not just standing in the kitchen while you tell them what to do next.

The Liberation

When you stop manufacturing perfect celebrations for everyone else, something shifts. The holiday gets better—more relaxed, more authentic, more collaborative. Your family steps up when you stop doing everything for them.

Last year, my husband took over. He did things his way—imperfectly—and I had the most relaxed Christmas in decades. Letting go of control meant gaining something better: actual joy. I’m protecting that peace now, and I’m not giving it back.

Your presence is the gift. Not your exhaustion. Not your performance. You.

So do only what brings you joy. Eliminate the rest or hand it off. If people want traditions to continue, they can participate in making them happen.

Refuse the Instagram fantasy. Examine what you’ve inherited. Decide what you want to pass on.

Let the tree be crooked. Let the cookies be store-bought. Let others carry the mental load you’ve been shouldering alone.

What’s one thing you’re not doing this year?