In 2025, I thought a lot about

Almost as soon as the last bauble was back in the box, I’d broach the subject with my husband. 

“So, where should we spend next Christmas?”

Each time, the conversation would meander through the same list of considerations. 

“Well, we just spent Christmas day with your family so we should probably spend it with mine next – that’s only fair.” 

We’d agree and nod dutifully. We’d talked about others’ expectations of how we should spend our time. My mother had made her feelings very clear when my sister spent Christmas day with her in-laws when Mum believed it was her ‘turn’. 

Next consideration: how many days should we spend with each part of the family? Swiftly followed by how many of our precious days of annual leave we’d need to take to accommodate all this. 

In the early days of our relationship, we spent our Christmases traveling between families. Both sets of parents are divorced and remarried so we did a few years of 4 Christmases. Four present ceremonies, 4 turkey-based dinners in too few days to be acceptable, and 4 days of being on good behaviour as guests. 

It became clear why Vince Vaughan and Reese Witherspoon’s characters in the film of the same name go on holiday, rather than visit all factions of their families over Christmas. Dragging a week’s worth of clothes and a sack full of gifts the length and breadth of the country on over-crowded, always-delayed and often-broken-down public transport was chaotic. 

It was tiring. It was a lot. It was not christmassy.

Next, we began to alternate who we spent Christmas with, which was easier in terms of travel. But we struggled to get our ‘turns’ to match with other siblings, so would miss seeing them. 

We got brave for a couple of years and went away. But in the main, we’ve stuck with fitting in with everyone else because that's what we felt we should do.  

It has meant we’ve spent years sleeping on air beds; eating early to suit other people’s children; sitting through many stockings-worth of noisy, brightly-coloured plastic contraptions; and being expected to play boardgames which – more often than not – end in bad tempers and alcohol-fuelled foot stamps. 

Now, we are not scrooges. In fact, I love Christmas. But surely there’s a way that at least some of the merriment can be on our terms.   

Everything changed last year when my best friend got married. She and her husband spent their first Christmas as a married couple at home, just the two of them. No driving around the country. No trying to fit people in. No tiring themselves out to accommodate other people’s schedules. They wanted to use Christmas as a calm time to look back on the year and celebrate their milestone. 

Something clicked. When my friend – who is the most extroverted person I know – made these lowkey plans, I somehow gave myself permission to do the same.  

We made the decision but it didn’t come without anxiety. How would we tell our families?  What reason for our absence would be inoffensive but satisfying enough for them? When would be the best time to tell them? What alternative arrangements could we offer to soften the blow and avoid conflict? 

It worked out alright in the end.

We started our Christmas celebrations with our families in November and finished them in January, but it meant that when Christmas week itself came, it was glorious. 

In previous years, my favourite part of Christmas were those few days back home when my husband and I had done all the family stuff. We’d then have a couple of days of nothing and I cherished those days of living life to our schedule. We’d get up late. Cook nice meals, and plan which wine we were going to drink with them. We might see a couple of friends, but mainly we'd work our way through a new Lego project. 

And so last year, we replicated those few days and stretched them into a lazy week whilst wearing our fancy matching Christmas pyjamas, and rising late from festive bedding.

On Christmas day, we went to an amazing local restaurant, which felt like a real treat.

I went back to work feeling refreshed. When they asked what we’d done for Christmas, colleagues got a wistful look in their eyes. They'd say something like: “Oh, I’d love to do that, but [insert something about pressure from unreasonable in-laws].”

As someone who has put a lot of energy into conforming throughout my adult life, it felt liberating to know that I hadn’t been agonising over how I could contort myself to be part of other people’s plans.

So, go on. Ask me. Ask me how we’re spending Christmas this year. I’m ready with my smug smile knowing that we’re doing pretty much the same as last year: Christmas on our terms, our way.