Socks. I hate them.
Yet here I was, on a mad dash to find matching socks.
I was heading out to meet with a group of highly intelligent, well-read, creative women, and I just knew I would slip off my shoes at the door, shuffle to the living room, and find I was the only one wearing mismatched socks.
So, instead of spending the last five minutes before I left chatting with my husband or pulling one of my kiddos onto my lap, I was distracted by something silly.
Here’s the thing: I never, ever manage to have matching socks. Sort them by family member? Done it. Buy everyone their own color? Done it. Throw them all out and start over? Done it.
You cannot help me.
I will never have matching socks.
That night, it wasn’t really about the socks at all. It was about what they represented—the lies I believed about myself and other women.
Every time I showed up someplace with mismatched socks, I was speaking death over myself—I’m disorganized; I can’t plan ahead;
I have a messy house.
Most importantly: I’m never going to be able to teach my kids how to do things well if I can’t do this ONE simple thing as a mom.
That’s ridiculous. But I know I’m not alone in the self-doubt. And maybe it’s not socks for you, but I bet as we cruise toward the holidays you feel inadequate about something and there’s a good chance you’re comparing yourself to someone. Which is why there’s no better topic to tackle in this Black Hills Family edition than Mom Guilt.
The holidays can be faster, frenzied, full. The parties, travel, potlucks, presents, tree, school programs … not to mention alllll the food. Who exactly is cooking the mouth-watering, picture-perfect meals and pulling in-laws and extended family under one roof in perfect harmony?
Anyone else starting to sweat? It’s. A. Lot.
At some point, you’ve dropped the ball. Or, you’ve looked at your neighbor, or your friend, and think you’re falling short.
The holidays – at their root – should bring us joy, draw us toward our faith, tradition, peace, and time with people we love. But sometimes, we get lost along the way. Distracted. Guilt-laden.
According to a 2023 study by the American Psychological Association, almost nine out of 10 U.S. adults say
they
experience added worry and stress during the holidays – mostly concerned about money, missing loved ones and anticipating family conflict.
Almost 40 percent said the holidays feel like a competition.
I used to be in that camp. I visited homes of friends who have a knack for decorating. The lights, ribbon, nativity, tree, all planned and purposeful – even themed, matched by color. (I know, again with the matching!).
Our decorations have no fancy theme – our Christmas tree is a beautiful, messy mix-up of our kids’ hand-painted ornaments and dozens of Hallmark ornaments from childhood. I used to go home and stare at our tree – chopped in the woods and lugged into the living room and feel a little guilt. Am I doing my best?
Again, ridiculous. And I’m thankful for my faith and wise counsel that reminded me of this: time is fleeting. Besides, the holidays were never about the decorations anyway. Now, instead of leaving my friend’s house with an unrealistic expectation that her Martha Stewart skills will somehow seep into me, I celebrate where she is gifted and focus my energy on the right things.
So if you need to, cue the Frozen anthem while I say this: The Mom Guilt this holiday season?
Let it go
If it’s coming from a place of comparison, let it go.
If it’s based on the flimsy idea that you can get it all perfect, let it go.
Your boss, your spouse, your neighbor, your kids, they don’t need you perfect this holiday season. They need you present. So get laser-focused on your top priorities and leave the rest in the dust. For me, it’s not about the tree, or the lights, and definitely not matching socks.
About those socks. Guess what? I sat down at that meeting that night and I couldn’t tell you anything about those women’s feet. I was too busy listening to their wisdom, their laughter, their ideas. I was too busy asking questions and leaning in for answers. I was too busy with the more important things.
If you have matching socks on today, I’m cheering for you. But I’m guessing there’s probably something else you feel insecure about, something that says you don’t have it all together. If you feel that creeping in – especially around the holidays, let me remind you that the best present you can give yourself and others is the gift of grace and you – the guilt-free version.
What to do when holiday comparison saps your joy
It was the dead of night when my friend’s house started to burn. No alarms sounded. Sleeping beside her husband, she woke to the crackling of flames. All five of their children slept downstairs. They made it out alive thanks to their quick thinking, a passing deputy, and the grace of God. But that night, they had to watch their beautiful home burn to the ground.
The sun came up, and while the rest of us tackled our morning routines, they came to grips with the fact that nearly every material possession they had on this earth had been lost.
They were all alive, most importantly. But all of their stuff was gone. All of it—her purse, their favorite books, the stuffed animal their kid sleeps with every night, all the photo albums.
Think of what we accumulate over time, the precious mementos we take from key moments in our lives, the things passed down. My friend’s husband built their kids’ beds using his grandfather’s tools. It’s all gone. They can’t get it back. Ever. And yet, there was joy there. This is the very friend who has gone a long way in teaching me, through grace and love and many noisy playdates, that less is more.
I think of their family as the holidays approach and a recurring conversation ensues – do we really need to buy more stuff this Christmas? Do our kids really need the latest gadget? How can we be purposeful in providing for their needs, creating memories and blessing them during the holidays without feeding into the annual shopping frenzy?
Far too much of my energy has gone into ‘stuff.’ I’ve noticed something during the past decade: when I am surrounded by more things, I’m scattered. I’m distracted. I’m weighed down. And I feel this acutely before, during and after the holidays.
My friend has mastered the idea that it’s okay to have extra space in a room, that it’s good and healthy to have buffers in your home and in your life. Every item in her home has a purpose. There are no bulging drawers or closets. She maintains a minimalistic prowess cultivated by years of practice and discipline.
Her mantra at Christmas is simple: We don’t need all the things, and our kids don’t need all the things.
When their house burned down, she grieved, but maintained that same perspective. The first time I spoke with her afterward, she said, “Yes, this is so hard. But our babies are here. And we’re here. And stuff is only stuff.”
It’s a shift in perspective I struggle with to this day because deep down I’m a hopeless sentimental. Even in a season of pruning there are material things I just don’t want to let go.
I’m thinking of the tiny glass bottle that carries two drops of my grandmother’s perfume. I open that lid, and if I close my eyes I’m in their Wyoming home, — my lips against a metal orange juice can, Grandpa’s snap-button dress shirts, raspberry vines crawling across the back garden.
Last night I slipped a ratty nightgown over my head. My mom dropped it off at my college dorm room in a Valentine’s Day basket and has since gifted me other pajamas, soft and comfortable, but I still slip on that night gown.
There’s more and more tucked into the drawers of my house.
Elijah’s first onesie, Hannah’s first smudged painting with the yellow sun and I love it all.
But here’s what I’m learning. Deep down, I’m holding on to these items because, really, I’m holding on to people. I’m clinging to the memories, the relationships. There’s nothing wrong with keeping a few mementos. There’s nothing wrong with buying gifts for our kids for Christmas , but I’m getting more clear on this: hold on to the people, and let the stuff go.
I will keep this in mind as we shop for friends and family this year, and for our four kids, who will hopefully appreciate this lesson someday. We hope to strike a balance. What we buy at the store will bring them momentary happiness. But the most precious gift we can give them, that will truly last, is us.
So that’s it – my Christmas wish is very simple this year. More people, more photographs, more time, more memories.
Words by Kayla Gahagan