FREE STANDARD SHIPPING, ALWAYS
Slow Christmas: How to Stop Chasing Perfect and Actually Enjoy the Holidays
Published 12/11/25
Family
Slow Christmas: How to Stop Chasing Perfect and Actually Enjoy the Holidays
Christmas is supposed to feel magical—but for many of us, it quietly morphs into something else entirely: a high-stakes performance where we're simultaneously the director, stage manager, and lead actress who forgot all her lines.
The closer the holiday gets, the louder the noise becomes. Gift guides screaming "LAST CHANCE!" Sales countdowns creating fake urgency. Perfect trees. Perfect moments. Perfect families who apparently have their act together way more than you do.
Last year, I learned the hard way that chasing a perfect Christmas can steal the joy faster than a toddler can destroy a gingerbread house.
When Christmas Becomes a Full-Time Panic Job
Why does Christmas feel like I'm failing at something?
Let me paint you a picture of Christmases past:
I was drowning in perfectionism and self-doubt. I overthought every single gift. I procrastinated on buying anything because nothing felt "right enough" or "meaningful enough" or "equal enough" between kids.
By Christmas Eve, I was in full frenzy mode—running last-minute errands, second-guessing every purchase, feeling my chest tighten with that fun pre-panic-attack sensation we all know and love.
I wasn't present. I wasn't enjoying my family. I was basically a stressed-out Christmas robot programmed to worry about whether the stockings were "fair."
This year, my intention is radically different. Simpler. Protect the feeling of Christmas, not the perfection of it.
Not the Instagram-worthy moments. Not the Pinterest-perfect tablescape. The feeling. The actual magic that happens when you're present enough to notice it.
The Pressure Nobody Talks About
Why do moms feel like Christmas success or failure is entirely on them?
Christmas in our home has always been big, loud, chaotic, and full of traditions.
Some of our traditions over the years:
- Creamed shrimp on toast for breakfast (don't knock it 'til you try it)
- Christmas pajamas on Christmas Eve (the matching photo is mandatory)
- Handmade gifts (although, admittedly, some years were better than others)
- Candlelight dinners that sometimes end with someone knocking over a candle
- Music-filled nights where we attempt harmonies and mostly fail
Some traditions stuck. Others quietly died (RIP to the year we tried to make homemade ornaments and ended up with glitter in places glitter should never be). Some evolved as our kids grew up and suddenly thought our traditions were "cringe."
And that's the lesson: traditions don't need to be perfect—or permanent—to be meaningful.
But here's what nobody tells you when you become a mom: you will somehow absorb the belief that Christmas magic rests entirely on your shoulders. That if you don't execute it perfectly, you've robbed your children of joy and they'll definitely bring it up in therapy someday.
Sound familiar?
The gifts need to be thoughtful (but not extravagant) (but also not cheap-looking).
The moments need to be memorable (but effortless-seeming).
Everything needs to be even and fair between siblings (good luck with that).
The tree needs to look "intentionally imperfect" which is somehow harder than just making it perfect.
The traditions need to be maintained exactly as your kids remember them, even though your kids all remember them differently.
It's legitimately exhausting.
The Perfectionism Trap (Or: Why I Had a Spreadsheet)
What happens when we try to make Christmas perfect?
Perfection is a moving target that laughs at your efforts and then moves again.
You can plan, chart, compare, and overdo—and still feel like you missed the mark by a mile.
I've been there. I've LIVED there:
- Spreadsheets tracking gifts to make sure everything's monetarily "fair" (yes, really)
- Self-imposed gift limits that I immediately broke because "this one doesn't count, it's educational"
- Last-minute 8 PM dashes to Target on Christmas Eve because I forgot someone's stocking stuffer
- Waking up Christmas morning looking at the mountain of wrapped presents and thinking "this is too much" but also "did I forget something?"
You literally cannot win when perfection is the goal.
Because perfection isn't real. It's a fantasy fueled by Instagram highlight reels, comparison culture, and the deeply flawed belief that if we just try hard enough, we can control exactly how Christmas feels.
Spoiler alert: we can't. And honestly? That's freeing.
What My Daughter Taught Me (About Babies and Gifts and Sanity)
Do kids actually care if Christmas is perfect?
Last year, my oldest daughter experienced her first Christmas as a mom. Her baby was barely one—couldn't even say "mama" yet, definitely couldn't unwrap presents—but the pressure to create the perfect first Christmas was already crushing her.
Hours spent scrolling Instagram and Pinterest for "meaningful first Christmas gift ideas." Vision boards (VISION BOARDS!) for a baby who was more interested in eating the wrapping paper than the actual gifts. Anxiety spirals about whether she was doing enough, getting the right things, creating the right memories.
Watching her go through this was like watching a rerun of my own early-mom Christmases, except with better technology for the anxiety spiral.
What she learned—and what she reminded me—is this fundamental truth:
Babies don't remember the gifts. Toddlers don't remember whether everything was perfect. Kids don't remember if you made homemade cinnamon rolls or bought them from Costco.
They remember how it felt.
They remember:
- The warmth of being together (even if someone was crying about whose turn it was)
- Laughing at something silly (probably Dad falling while hanging lights)
- Feeling safe and loved (the actual point of all of this)
- The traditions, even when they go sideways
- How Mom seemed—stressed and frantic, or present and peaceful
That last one hits different when you realize it.
Letting Go of "Right" and Learning to Sit with "Maybe"
How do I stop overthinking every Christmas decision?
One of the most powerful mindset shifts we talked about as a family was learning to sit with uncertainty without spiraling.
Maybe this is the right gift. Maybe it isn't. Maybe this tradition will be meaningful. Maybe they'll think it's lame and we'll try something else next year.
And all of that is genuinely okay.
When we stop trying to guarantee perfection, we make room for something way better: actual connection.
We stay present instead of performing. We enjoy the moment instead of evaluating whether it's "special enough." We let Christmas unfold instead of micromanaging every second of it.
That's where the real magic sneaks in—when we're not strangling it with expectations.
What a Slow Christmas Actually Looks Like (Spoiler: Still Chaotic)
What does "slow Christmas" mean when you have kids?
"Slow Christmas" doesn't mean doing less—though sometimes it absolutely does. It means doing things more intentionally. More presently. With more space to actually breathe between the chaos.
It means protecting the feeling over getting the photo
Take the picture if you want! But don't ruin the actual moment trying to get everyone to smile at the exact same time while the baby's having a meltdown and someone definitely just photobombed with a weird face.
The weird face photo is probably the one you'll love most in ten years anyway.
It means choosing presence over your to-do list
The to-do list will literally always be there. It regenerates overnight like some kind of productivity hydra.
Your kids won't always be this age. Your teenager won't always tolerate family time. Choose them. Even when there are dishes and the floor needs vacuuming and you haven't wrapped anything yet.
It means letting go of "should" like it's a hot potato
You don't have to:
- Bake 47 types of cookies (store-bought works fine, Martha Stewart isn't coming)
- Send holiday cards (it's okay, really, everyone understands)
- Decorate like your house is auditioning for HGTV
- Maintain every single tradition from your childhood
- Make everything "magical" (that's a lot of pressure for a Tuesday)
You just have to show up. Present. Kind. There. That's it.
My Favorite Slow Christmas Moments (The Unglamorous Ones)
What are simple, meaningful Christmas traditions?
Some of my absolute favorite Christmas memories aren't photo-worthy at all. Nobody's posting these on Instagram. But they're the ones that made it feel like home.
Quiet mornings by the tree with a book
No agenda. No schedule. No "we need to be somewhere by 9." Just sitting in the glow of the lights with hot coffee, reading. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with a kid who wandered down early.
Lighting advent candles and actually talking
A moment every evening to slow down. To ask real questions. To remember why we celebrate in the first place. (Even when someone inevitably tries to blow out everyone else's candle.)
A simple Bethlehem dinner on the floor by candlelight
Nothing fancy. Blankets spread out, simple food, candles everywhere (supervised, obviously), sitting on the floor like we're in a stable. The kids thought this was weird at first. Now they request it.
Reading the same Christmas books over and over and over
When my kids were little, we read the same books every single night in December. The SAME ones. They never got old. Now those books are beat up and falling apart and I can't throw them away because they're full of memories.
These moments slow us down. They regulate our nervous systems (which, let's be honest, need regulating in December). They bring us back to what actually matters instead of what we think should matter.
This year, I'm choosing slow and tender over busy and impressive.
How to Create Your Own Slow Christmas (Without Overhauling Everything)
How can I make Christmas less stressful without ruining it?
You don't need to throw out all your plans and become a minimalist Christmas family (unless you want to, no judgment). Just choose one or two intentional shifts:
Pick ONE tradition that feels grounding, not obligatory
Not something you have to do. Something you want to do. Something that centers you instead of stressing you out.
Maybe it's:
- Christmas music while making breakfast (even if breakfast is cereal)
- Reading one story together each night before bed
- A walk to look at neighborhood lights (bonus: gets everyone out of the house)
- Hot chocolate by the tree with no phones allowed
- Lighting a candle and sitting quietly for literally just five minutes
One grounding tradition can anchor your entire season. You don't need seventeen.
Say no to things that are draining your soul
Real talk: You're allowed to skip stuff.
The gift exchange that stresses you out? Suggest skipping it.
The tradition that's become a burden instead of a joy? Let it go.
If it's not bringing actual joy or connection, it can go. Traditions are supposed to serve us, not stress us.
Protect pockets of unscheduled time like they're precious (because they are)
Schedule time with nothing on the calendar. Mornings where you don't have to be anywhere. Evenings with zero agenda.
Space is where connection actually happens. Not in the planned, scheduled, Pinterest-perfect moments—in the gaps between.
Let the kids tell you what they actually care about
Ask them: "What's your favorite part of Christmas?"
You might be surprised—it's probably not the things you're losing sleep over. It's probably something simple like "when we all watch a movie together" or "Dad's terrible Christmas karaoke."
Listen to them. They'll tell you what matters.
A Christmas That's Present, Not Perfect (And Why That's Better)
What if my Christmas isn't Instagram-worthy?
Here's a radical thought: Maybe the goal isn't the best Christmas ever.
Maybe it's a present Christmas—one where we're actually there, not performing or documenting or evaluating.
One where:
- Love matters more than coordinating outfits
- Connection outweighs consumption
- Being together beats looking impressive
- How it feels matters infinitely more than how it looks
- Laughter counts for more than perfection
And if you're feeling behind, overwhelmed, or like you're somehow failing at Christmas this year, please hear this:
You are the perfect mom for your kids. Not despite your imperfections—including them.
Whatever this Christmas looks like—chaotic, simple, imperfect, exhausting, beautiful—it's enough.
The tree doesn't have to be straight. And the gifts don't have to be even or expensive or from some curated gift guide.
You just have to be there. Present. Kind. Showing up for them even when you're tired.
That's the whole thing. That's the magic they'll remember.
What Kids Actually Remember (And It's Not the Stuff)
What do children remember most about Christmas?
I promise you, years from now, your kids won't remember:
- Whether the gifts were perfectly wrapped or wrapped in newspaper because you ran out
- If the cookies were homemade or from the grocery store bakery section
- If everything was "fair" and "even"
- Whether you got the trending toy
They'll remember how it felt to be together. They’ll remember the feeling of home at Christmas.
That's what we're actually creating. Not a perfect performance. A feeling. A sense of belonging. Home.
Give Yourself Permission (Consider This Your Official Permission Slip)
Let go of Christmas guilt and pressure. Not everything has to happen. The world will not end if you skip something.
What worked when kids were little might not work now. What you loved as a kid might not resonate with your kids. That's allowed.
Permission to rest (yes, even in December). The Christmas magic will not collapse if you sit down for twenty minutes.
Permission to lower the bar. Sometimes "good enough" is not just good enough—it's actually better because everyone's less stressed.
Ready for a slower, more peaceful, perfectly imperfect Christmas?
- Make a photo book of this season
- Print your real Christmas moments
- Create a Yearbook of this year
- Make capturing your memories a monthly habit