Christmas, 1973. I was still the youngest in my family. A giant tree with crystal ornaments filled our Brooklyn living room. The presents kept coming. I was five years old, and you couldn’t tell me I wasn’t special. When the rest of the family arrived, there were so many of us kids, we had our own special table in the living room while the adults ate in the dining room. Laughter and Nat King Cole wafted through the hallways along with the aroma of roasted turkey, ham and pecan pie. I might call this Holiday 1.0. Childhood.

When I became an adult with a family of my own, the holidays meant visiting the home I grew up in. By then, there weren’t as many people around. Mom and Dad were still there, but some relatives had died or simply didn’t spend the holidays with us anymore.. Kids had grown up and moved on. I had the responsibility of visiting my in-laws, too. The holidays were full of fun, but also obligations. The adults would dress up in red sweaters, wrap lots of gifts, and head over to see family. Holiday 2.0 was in full effect. The Young Wife Days.

After my divorce, my experience of the holidays changed again. The Christmas fantasy I grew up with fell apart. There was no husband carving the turkey for me. I had to play the role of Santa alone. When my daughter was six, we moved to Atlanta and created new traditions. We went to the local Christmas tree lighting every year, drank hot chocolate, enjoyed the night air, and screamed when Santa showed up on a fire truck. Some years, we traveled back to Brooklyn, but usually my parents made the trip to Atlanta so we could all be together. Holiday 3.0 was full of angst sprinkled with good times – The Early Single Mom Years.

Then the unthinkable happened. Mom died.

It felt like my life unraveled. Some family relationships collapsed. Some revealed their brokenness. Nothing was the same. Now, Christmas meant visiting my girlfriend and her family with carefully wrapped vegan side dishes and gifts to exchange. I didn’t always see my dad on Christmas anymore, either. My daughter and my dog were my steady family. Holiday 4.0 A.M. (After Mom) didn’t have the same luster, but I was grateful to have friends who were there for me.

As my lifestyle began to change, friendships fizzled. I already didn’t eat meat, then I stopped drinking. Red wine was swapped for Martinelli’s apple cider. The holidays found a new rhythm. And guess what? I loved it! No pressure. No stress. Just cooking vegan food and relaxing with my daughter. We could do whatever we wanted. Listen to music. Watch movies. Take naps. Woosah! Holiday 5.0 was The Pivot—and surprisingly refreshing. One year, we drove to Miami and dined out on Christmas Day. That was unheard of in my family. In my early years, we didn’t leave the house on Christmas Day unless Dad had to make an emergency run for a missing ingredient.

Then my dog, Digby, died.

And Dad got sick.

Life became complete chaos.

Then Dad was gone, too.

Having no parents was a tough pill to swallow. Losing Mom was awful, but losing Dad put the last nail in the coffin. I was really alone.

Life continued, and so did the holidays. My daughter was in college, and I downsized my home—first in a Smyrna apartment, then with family in Florida. Some years, my daughter came home from school and other years, I traveled to her. Holiday 6.0 was Untethered. We tested our resilience, patience and flexibility. We realized “home” was whenever we were together.

Now I live in a new home with my now-adult daughter, my dog, Cooper, and my grandbunny, Cocoa. Holiday 7.0 feels gentle, much like 5.0 did, but this time with the acceptance that comes when your parents have been gone for many years. I call this version “Rooted.” I now hold the quiet authority my parents once held, creating the warmth and traditions that anchor our family.

Holidays come and go, and so do our loved ones. There’s no guarantee that everyone gathered around the table this year will be here next year. Time is precious.

Now, when my friends tell me they are exhausted, with lots of events, shopping, planning and showing up, I breathe a sigh of remembrance. My holidays are relaxing and refreshing, surrounded by my little family. I’ve experienced big holidays and small, and I’ve enjoyed all of them, even the difficult ones. Learning to be grateful in the moment is the biggest gift of all. ❧

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Trish Ahjel Roberts is a transformational coach, wellbeing strategist, retreat leader and author of four books, including her latest, The Anger Myth: Understanding and Overcoming the Mental Habits That Steal Your Joy. Learn more at TrishAhjelRoberts.com.