This year, I’ve found myself indulging in something new: Christmas movies.
Not the dramatic, high-budget epics, but the soft, predictable, heartwarming ones. The kind where—within the first three minutes—you can already pick out the two characters destined to fall in love. Every scene is set in a cozy home with perfectly coordinated décor, twinkling lights, and the unmistakable glow of cinematic holiday magic.
And as charming as these movies are, they have a sneaky way of painting a picture of what the holidays should look like.
Recently, I was sitting in my own very ordinary, very imperfect home when I felt a flicker of that familiar holiday pressure. The sort of gentle internal nudge that whispers, “Shouldn’t things look a little more put together by now? Shouldn’t everything be finished, polished, perfect for the season?”
In my case, it showed up as noticing the small, unfinished things—the kind that simply accumulate when life is full. For a moment, I caught myself imagining how everything ought to look by Christmas. How complete. How festive. How perfect.
And then I paused.
I took a breath.
And I laughed.
Because I realized exactly what was happening: I had absorbed the movie version of the holidays and momentarily held myself to the same standard.
It’s incredible how quickly those images—on screens, in ads, and even in our own minds—can turn into expectations. Without noticing, we start believing our homes, our families, our celebrations should somehow match the glossy, curated perfection we see around us.
But real life doesn’t function that way.
Real life is full of half-finished projects, mismatched ornaments, busy schedules, and moments that don’t fit neatly into a scripted scene.
And the truth is, the holidays don’t require perfection.
They ask for presence.
They ask for connection.
They ask for what is real.
When I sat with that awareness, something softened. It reminded me that the meaning of the holidays lives in relationships, shared laughter, memories, and tiny moments of warmth—not in flawless décor or completed to-do lists.
So as we approach this season, I’m choosing to stay real.
To notice the pressure when it arises.
To breathe and let go a little.
To lean into what actually matters to me.
And I invite you to do the same.
If you find yourself absorbing expectations—from movies, social media, or even your own internal “ought to” list—pause for a moment. Check in with yourself. Ask what truly holds meaning for you this time of year. Let that be your guide.
Because the beauty of the holidays isn’t in their perfection.
It’s in their humanity.
With warmth,
Annika
Annika Schaefer
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