For many, Christmas is synonymous with crowded rooms, boisterous family gatherings, and a whirlwind of social obligations. But for one woman, the true magic of the season is found in profound, deliberate solitude. This is the story of a personal holiday tradition that defies expectation and embraces quiet joy.
A Perfect Day of Peaceful Solitude
The day begins without an alarm. After a festive Christmas Eve with family, the morning is a slow, self-directed ritual. A breakfast casserole warms in the oven, coffee is poured, cats are fed, and a candy cane candle is lit. The only company is a good book and the sparkle of a silver tinsel tree from beneath a velvet green comforter, the phone firmly set to Do Not Disturb.
After a leisurely breakfast, the day continues with a solo walk to a local nature preserve. The air is clean and sharp, the quiet mesmerizing. A brief, cheerful encounter with another solo adventurer in a Santa hat reinforces a shared, unspoken understanding. Back home, the simple preparation of a holiday meal leads to opening thoughtful gifts sent from friends across the globe, each acknowledged with a heartfelt text before the phone is once again silenced.
The remainder of the day is a sanctuary of relaxation: reading, napping with cats, a muted basketball game as background noise. The evening concludes with a simple ham sandwich, a classic holiday film, and a glass of bourbon. It is, as the author describes, one of her favourite days of the year.
The Pressure of "Forced Festivity"
Choosing this path is often met with confusion and pity. The author recounts the horrified reactions when she reveals her plans. "But you can’t spend Christmas alone!" is a common refrain. This pressure, she argues, is rooted in gendered expectations and a cultural script that equates holidays with mandatory social performance.
Reflecting on childhood Christmases, she remembers a mother working herself to the bone to create "holiday magic," a timer set during present-opening to keep the chaotic schedule on track. This pattern extended into her professional life as an educator, where she felt pressured to participate in workplace Secret Santa exchanges—a pressure her male colleagues could easily sidestep. "I reject your Santa Shaming!" she wanted to declare, opting out of what she calls "false frivolity" and a "seasonal capitalist agenda."
Even with gentle explanations about her extroverted teaching job making solitude a precious gift, her refusal is often taken as a personal rejection. Well-meaning friends and family extend invitations multiple times, forcing repeated, awkward declines. While grateful for the generosity, she questions why those who claim to know her cannot accept her choice.
Claiming Joy and Validating Choice
The author is clear she is not a hermit. She attends family and friend gatherings throughout the year and has accepted many holiday invitations, especially after her mother's passing in 2013 and her father's subsequent remarriage. Yet, at these events, she often felt like an observer outside a window display, performing participation without feeling true joy. Her joy, she discovered, is in the solitude.
She acknowledges her perspective may seem extreme to some, linking it to her identity as an artist, an only child, and a happily child-free "cat lady." She notes a societal tendency to tell women and marginalized people how to live. However, her choice is supported by data. Approximately 30% of American households are single-occupied, and research by behavioural scientist Paul Dolan suggests unmarried, childless women report high levels of happiness.
Finding validation in writer Caroline Knapp's essay collection "The Merry Recluse," she felt seen for the first time. Now, she is forgoing the "white Christmas lie" about having plans with friends. "My friends are the cats and my books," she writes. This year, she is committed to telling the truth and claiming her space as her full self.
She is not trying to radicalize others but simply asking for her choice to be respected. The beauty of the holidays, she concludes, lies in the tapestry of varied traditions—from chaotic family reunions to quiet, chosen solitude. "All will be calm. All will be bright. How beautiful, these choices. Let’s let each other make them."
This essay by educator, artist, and writer Erin Hill was originally published in December 2024.
