Key Takeaways About Holiday Sadness
- Holiday sadness is more common than most of us admit. Behind the full tables and forced smiles, plenty of us are missing someone.
- An empty chair doesn’t mean something’s wrong with us. It’s proof of how much we loved, and how much we were loved.
- Grief and joy can share the same table. Honoring the people who are gone, while cherishing the ones still here, is what makes the season meaningful.
“Holiday sadness is something few people like to admit, but it’s all too common. Behind the decorations and the full tables, many of us are quietly missing someone, and pretending we’re fine only makes the season feel heavier.” — Anonymous
The Holiday Table and the Empty Chair
Notable holidays such as Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Hanukkah revolve around the dining table.
For some households, that might be a folding table and chairs set up in the living room, covered with a tablecloth and set with dinnerware that only comes out once a year.
For others, it’s a traditional dining room, where the kids sit on chairs covered with old towels to protect the light-colored fabric from food, which often finds its way everywhere but on the plate.
Either way, these tables are where we enjoy the foods we only eat once a year, along with plenty of laughter and a well-intended promise not to go back for seconds this time. (Note: We always do.)
But for many of us, the holidays also bring a sense of loss, one represented by an empty chair.
Despite the noise (a great-aunt’s unmistakable laugh, the bustle of preparing and clearing away the feast, the familiar rituals that hold the room together), we often find ourselves staring past that empty chair, forcing a smile for everyone gathered around the table.
That absence is impossible to forget, no matter how hard we try to ignore it, and it only deepens the holiday sadness so many of us carry around during this time of year.
Why Does Holiday Sadness Hit Harder When Someone Is Missing?
For me, the answer is simple. The holidays ask us to slow down, gather, and remember, and when we do, an empty chair is impossible to miss.
There’s no shortage of reasons a seat might go empty: death, estrangement, a falling-out, a political rift, or simply plans that pulled someone in another direction. Whatever the reason, what’s left behind is the same: a longing for someone we never imagined wouldn’t be sitting across from us.
The rest of the year, that absence is easier to overlook. We busy ourselves with work, errands, and other responsibilities, and life moves so fast that we rarely have time to reflect.
But the holidays are different, especially those that fall at the end of the year.
Such holidays mark both an ending and a beginning. A new year brings hope for possibilities we can’t yet see, while the old one reminds us of the year gone by and just how much has changed.
The end of the year often forces us to think about what’s important, and to gather with the family and friends we may have neglected while we guarded our time for everything else. It also reminds us of what’s no longer meant to be.
Lost in a sea of nostalgia, we start to long for the past, for a time when families valued connection more, when gathering around the holiday table didn’t feel so awkward because we rarely spend time together anymore.
And time, well, time has a way of reminding us that nothing lasts forever. It tells us to hold on tight to the people we always assumed would be here, the fabric that held our hearts and our joys together all year long.
The Empty Chair at My Own Table
This time of year has gotten harder for me as I’ve gotten older. For many of the reasons I’ve mentioned, the holidays feel like something’s missing, and much of that has to do with the empty chairs around my table.
Don’t get me wrong. My table isn’t empty. Many of the people who still gather around it have been with me for many, many years, and I appreciate that loyalty more than they know.
But new faces have arrived while older ones have disappeared.
They were people of another generation, whose values and traditions created a sense of continuity, and with it, a kind of care we don’t often see today.
They paid attention. They made the effort. They were committed to being present, to showing you how much you were loved and how much they appreciated having you in their lives.
Sadly, many of us have forgotten that kind of care, or no longer value it the way we once did. We’re too caught up in chasing our own happiness to share that happiness with the people right in front of us.
Is It Normal to Feel Holiday Sadness?
Yes, holiday sadness is normal, and I’d argue it’s far more common than any of us like to admit.
What I like to believe is that the holiday sadness we feel, as painful as it can be at times, doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with us. On the contrary, it’s genuine proof of how much we cared, and of how much we were cared for.
We don’t ache for people who meant nothing to us. The sting we feel is simply the shape of the space they once filled.
And while our holiday tables today might pale in comparison to the ones from years ago, it’s important to remember that our lives were once filled with such beauty. We were so blessed to experience unconditional love, and to appreciate not what was in front of us, but who.
That’s what makes the holidays so amazing. It’s not the gifts, the feasts, or the over-the-top experiences. It’s the people who make every tradition, every story, every laugh, and every recollection so incredible. And no one can ever take that away from us.
So can the holidays still be joyful after a loss? I believe they can. Sadness and joy aren’t competing for the same seat; unfortunately, they’ve always sat side by side.
How Do You Cope With Holiday Sadness?
I wish I could say I have the answer to how to combat holiday sadness, but I don’t. What I do have are a few things I’ve learned along the way.
Let Yourself Feel It
I think it’s important, so very important, to give ourselves permission to feel the empty chairs around our table. Pretending they aren’t there only makes holiday sadness heavier. Memories can be hard to sit with, but they still bring a gift to the table: what once was, and how wonderful that felt.
Tell the Stories Out Loud
Share stories from the past. Don’t hide them away because you think they’re too painful to share. Sharing those stories is what keeps the people who were so dear to us alive. Talking about them makes them feel closer, even when they’re so far away. Ask the person next to you for a favorite memory, then share one of your own. You might be surprised how quickly the table fills with laughter.
Look Across the Table
Even if your table doesn’t show the familiar faces you long to see, even if only one other person sits across from you, your holidays can still be something wonderful. One person who cares for you without expectations, loves you without conditions, and gives you their full attention is more than enough to fill a room. So look at them. Thank them. Tell them what they mean to you while you still can.
Leave the Door Open
Not every empty chair is permanent. When the absence comes from estrangement or a falling-out, the holidays can offer a small opening: a card, a short text, a simple “I’ve been thinking about you.” You can’t control how it’s received, and you’re allowed to protect your peace, but you can decide to keep your side of the door open.
Be the One Who Shows Up
The people we miss most were the ones who paid attention, made the effort, and showed up. The best way I know to honor them is to become that person for someone else. Call the friend who’s spending the holiday alone. Give someone the kind of care you were lucky enough to receive.
And if your holiday sadness ever feels like more than you can carry on your own, please talk to someone, a friend, a doctor, a counselor. Reaching out isn’t a weakness. It’s one more way of showing up, only this time for yourself.
The Table Was Never About Perfection
This year, when you sit down and notice the empty chair, I hope you’ll let yourself feel the holiday sadness that comes with it. Then I hope you’ll look around at the faces still there, and really see them.
Because the holidays were never really about the perfect table. They’re about the people gathered around it now, the ones who used to be, and the love that keeps bringing us back, even when the table looks different than it once did.
The chair may be empty. The love that filled it never will be.