In December, I’ve noticed we drift toward quiet. The holiday traditions that many of us participate in require a certain level of calm and reverence. At the same time, external forces urge us to participate in a frenzy of cleaning, baking, shopping, planning and traveling. It’s hardly surprising that so many people find the holidays stressful.

I was talking with my husband about one of my annual December practices related to this push and pull, and he couldn’t seem to grasp my perspective, my ability to embrace and hold space for both the cheer and excitement and the darker undertones of solitude, sadness or grief. He called it, “depressing.”

I’m sure he’s not the only one who would judge it that way, this choice that I make. Because, as he expressed, “Christmas is a time for excitement and celebration and joy.” And it is. It is all that and more. It is festive and merry and bright. It is full of laughter and smiles and anticipation of giving and receiving and togetherness. And it should be that way. At least that’s what we tell ourselves as we drive ourselves crazy to make all the happy happen.

The tension lies in the fact that most of us have a shadow spot inside. For some of us it’s small, for others it’s quite imposing. Fresh grief or loss. Struggles with money or time. Sometimes, it’s just that instinct to hibernate, the impulse to get quiet and check in with the heart, mind, body and soul. That’s what I do. Some years, it has been an honoring of loss. Sometimes, acknowledging that there’s not quite enough for lavish giving or extensive event participation. I reflect on the year, which I think many of us take the time to do (though it may not always be the most gentle or effective evaluation practice at times). I consider my failures and my growth. I mourn one less year I have with my children young, and I notice how quickly it all passes.

I do this both in silence and while listening to my absolute favorite Christmas album of all time:

This year, it was around the second of December when I put the music on. There’s some jingle. There’s some beautiful melodies. There’s some sadness seeping in. I felt myself exhale. My body was warm and cozy. This is the annual hug I give myself. Bonus points for me when I can play the songs in a quiet house with a cup of tea and an art or craft project. I may sing along. I may close my eyes. I might journal or work on a blog post (ahem). This is the practice that might create a story in the people I’m close to that I am depressed. This couldn’t be further from the truth.

I first heard this album when I was working at a bookstore in Boston right out of college. Boston is beautiful during the holidays, and I loved helping people give the gift of a good read for Christmas, even when it was crazy busy in the store. There were some years back then, though, that I wasn’t able to travel back to Wisconsin to see my family for Christmas. And that wasn’t always easy, even as we created our own holiday magic without them.

The store would receive promotional CDs to play on the speaker system, and the employees got to choose much of what we played. I had a coworker that put this Christmas album on as we closed the store one night, since he was a fan of the band. And it spoke to the very depths of my being. When it was time to purge some of those promotional discs, I brought this one home to add to my collection. Because the rest of our coworkers dismissed it as that “depressing” Christmas music, so I got dibs.

Almost every year since those days at the bookstore, I have pulled out the disc to play in our household rotation of holiday tunes. These days, I often stream it using Spotify or YouTube, but because I don’t pay for those services, the ads tend to become too disruptive at times, and I’ll still end up grabbing the CD and at the very least play it in the car.

My birthday is also on the winter solstice. Another reason to reflect and celebrate. To turn inward and ask myself what my next journey around the sun might birth. There are obviously some mixed emotions that come with having a birthday so close to Christmas, and taking the time to be still serves me immeasurably. I’ve had many birthdays, as you might be guessing from the fact that I worked in a bookstore and had a CD collection, and many of them have included both joy and heartache. I love allowing myself the time and space to process the heartache so that when I’m celebrating with my friends and family, I can give more of my focus to the joy.

Next week, I’m hosting probably my most important call of my Holiday Balance group series. This is the one where we’ll be giving voice to those shadow places. So that they don’t completely black out the holiday cheer, but rather add some depth and richness to our experiences. Because as much as we want it all to be holly jolly and cheer, the more pressure we put on ourselves to make the holidays the way we think they “should” be, the harder it is to actually experience the wonderland we’re trying to create. It feels forced and fake, which only amplifies the darker feelings we’re trying to decorate over. So please consider joining that call if this is something that’s resonating with you.

I’ve learned that being with my big feelings helps to calm them. When I feel seen and heard, I can move through my shadows into light. When I love and accept my sadness or fear, I make room for peace, hope and love. It’s taken me years to figure this out and put it into real practice. Let’s not dismiss quiet introspection as “depressing.” Instead, let’s make room in our holidays, and in our lives, for the ebb and flow that is part of our very nature, not to mention the nature of the universe itself.

Here’s another song from the same band, Low, that’s worth a listen. It’s short, and so, so beautiful.