It’s the most wonderful time of the year—unless you work in retail, had a falling out with a family member, or are marking the first (or fifteenth) Christmas without someone you loved deeply.
But that’s not the image we usually see on social media in December. Instead, it’s all shimmer and shine—elves on shelves, smiling Santas, twinkling lights. For adults, “the most wonderful time of the year” often turns into “the most social time of the year”: work parties, cookie decorating, ornament making, and about a dozen different “favorite thing” gatherings.
And while these festivities undoubtedly bring joy to many, for an introvert like me, they can also feel isolating. I’ve spent much of my life blending in without ever truly belonging. Seeing images of friends wearing matching ugly sweaters, trading recipes, dining out, and dancing the night away reminds me that close-knit groups can quickly become closed-off groups, leaving little room for someone like me, who tends to keep to herself.
The irony is, I do my part to connect. I wave at school pick-up lines, I pay for strangers’ coffee, I’ve joined women’s groups and mom play dates. I smile every day at the same girls in my workout class—the ones who smile back, then huddle together, leaving no room for a newcomer. I’ve made a handful of close acquaintances through these efforts, yet I’ve never really found my place in a larger group. Not in middle school, and not as an adult. Navigating multiple personalities feels exhausting, and superficial connections are unfulfilling.
From my phone screen, those favorite thing parties look like so much fun, but once I let go of the invite envy, I remember I prefer one-on-one interactions. I’ve been in giggly, fun groups, yet I never knew the parents’ names, their insecurities, or their dreams beyond motherhood—the things that make friendships stick.
So this year, instead of feeling sad about the parties I won’t attend, I’m choosing to focus on real connection. I’ll keep paying for that stranger’s coffee. I’ll invite over the moms who genuinely ask how I’m doing and actually want an honest answer. Instead of sulking over a plate of peppermint cookies, I’m taking action. I’m embracing the truth that what makes the Yuletide gay is whatever feels most authentic to me. We can’t control invitations, but we can control our response to exclusion. We assign the meaning to our days—not just at Christmas, but all year long.
I’ve been part of a large group before and still felt incredibly alone. If you’re scrolling through social media this holiday season, seeing gatherings you weren’t part of, know this: sometimes the quiet, small, unsuspecting moments are where the true Christmas miracle—and the real feeling of love and inclusion hide. After all, Jesus was found in a manger of hay, not on a stage or wearing an ugly sweater.
That same man—Christ the King, the Reason for the Season, the perfect example of love—only had twelve best friends, and arguably only one he really liked. So if you have even one true friend, consider yourself lucky. Start a new tradition with them. Focus on the main thing, not the many things, and maybe the joy to our world will be found there.
