This Christmas, as the world glows with lights and warmth, I find myself reflecting on the quiet revelations that have been guiding me toward a new life chapter. Okay, I know, that every December I feel the need to talk about my reflections at this time of year. I think it’s because my « thinking systems » hibernate in the summer and re-awake in the fall, and suddenly I come alive with new information.
At least, I’ve learned that fresh beginnings rarely arrive wrapped perfectly with a bow. More often, they start with something practical—messy, logistical, inconvenient even. But beneath the logistics lives an emotional truth: I’m ready for change — at least I hope I am.
Back in July, I made a brave decision. It made sense to downsize—to form a multi-generational home, and with it, reshape my life. The renovation plans were exciting, and the possibilities were energizing. I thought the hardest part would be decluttering, making space, and simplifying.
But what I hadn’t considered were all the emotional implications of de littering, so soon after being uncoupled.
Because when the time came to actually pack up, the significance of what I was doing hit me full force. I wasn’t just sorting through drawers and closets—I was walking through the final stage of grief. Every object became a question: Does this part of my past with Pierre come with me? Or is its chapter complete?
Piece by piece, I had to chose what still held meaning… and what no longer rated high enough on the sentimental scale to keep in the new version of me.
There were things I had clung to just a week earlier that suddenly didn’t belong in the life I’m creating now. And letting them go felt both freeing and heartbreaking.
All at once, I had to accept that memories could only be held in my heart, and not in the possessions we had cherished together. That energy was gone.
And yet—here, in this Christmas season—it all feels strangely aligned. December has a way of illuminating what we’ve been avoiding and gently preparing us for what’s next. The soft glow of the holidays makes room for honesty, healing, and the promise of new memories.
I understand now, about suddenly living alone. I can relate to the pain felt by others who had to pack up a lifetime of memories with partners who left before them. As my daughter said « Mom, if you tell me a story about every item we unpack, we will be here til next year! ». But that’s what I have — an explanation as to why I have six sets of glassware, the reason I have three fondues, the memory of this fish shaped rock, the story of box in the velvet bag…
So I’m sharing this not because it’s easy, but because it’s true: fresh beginnings don’t always look like grand reinventions. Sometimes they begin with a move, a box, a moment of clarity. Sometimes they begin with grief giving way to readiness.
If you’re feeling that whisper this Christmas—your own nudge to release, reimagine, or step forward—maybe that’s your clue too. The beginning of your next beautiful unfolding.
I guess that’s why they call it a leap of faith
