Kate Didd

Running into this week, it was hard not to spiral over everything I didn’t get to.

I couldn’t bake cookies with my kids.

I couldn’t finish shopping before the weekend.

The tree hadn’t even been picked up yet.

I was eternally behind.

And just when I thought I was finding my footing again, someone who inspired me died. Suddenly, I was stuck all over again, frozen in place. Who knew this could still happen to me? Who knew I could still be so afraid that if I didn’t get everything right, I would somehow ruin Christmas.

Friends showed up. They helped me shop.

My daughter helped with the groceries.

The kids pitched in and cleaned after schoolwork one day.

It was a break, yes, but I still wasn’t taking care of myself.

I hadn’t worked out.

I was living in a low-grade nightmare of panic, wondering if this was going to be enough… if I was enough.

Then last night, my rib went out.

The pain was so sharp I couldn’t breathe. I was crouched over a chair, genuinely wondering if this was it. Forty-one years old, did I stress myself into a heart attack? Was it a panic attack? I hadn’t felt anything like this in ages, and suddenly it all hit at once. I was completely overwhelmed, and it had been a very long time since I’d been there.

In a household built inside uncertainty, we wanted to give our kids something stable for Christmas. Honesty had to be the foundation. So we talked, really talked, while he worked on my back on the massage table, trying to loosen the muscles around my rib that had seized from stress. Trying to maneuver through a world that feels like constant unknowns.

I have plans, five or six of them.

Different places across the country.

Maybe even abroad.

I have ideas. So many ideas.

All of them possible.

I just have to choose. And I have to consider what kind of support I’d have wherever I land.

And then I took a breath.

My rib slipped back into place.

It felt like my heart restarted.

Everything suddenly aligned.

I realized I want a future where forgiveness is possible because I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, and I’d like another chance too.

After setting out the gifts, four each, plus a little something from Santa, sprinkling in some magic, matching pajamas, and tucking everyone into bed… there was nothing left to do.

This morning, I woke up and said nothing.

I just sat there with my coffee, absorbing the quiet. Positive affirmations on repeat. Taking stock of how far I’ve come. Christmas carries weight for me, it was the first tradition I ever built on my own. This is the sixth year I can clearly see the journey, the growth, the commitment I made to myself and my children.

I’m proud of us.

When my husband handed me my coffee and asked if I was ready for the day, something was different. I saw calm. I saw support. He stepped into the traditions with me, not resisting them, not tolerating them, but leading alongside me.

We laughed. Real laughter. The kind that erupts from your soul.

No whining.

No sadness hanging in the air.

Just sarcasm, presence, and excitement.

This is the moment I’ve wished for my entire life, to feel fully safe in the world I’m living in.

It didn’t happen by accident.

I worked really hard for this. I worked really hard to believe in myself, in my choices, in my voice. This is the life I’ve been building, and it’s okay, necessary, even, to appreciate your own effort.

Maybe I’m a little late to the party.

But here’s the truth: children who grow up traumatized become adults who crave childlike whimsy, for themselves and for their kids. And all I wished for this Christmas was calm.

A peaceful holiday.

And somehow, against all odds, I got it.