Ain’t That A VHIT
By Von C. Howard
I’ll be honest, the holidays hit differently in your forties. When I was younger, the season was full of laughter, noise, and the familiar rhythm of family, someone always cooking in the kitchen, kids running through the house, and old-school music playing in the background. Back then, joy came easy. It felt natural.
But as time passes, things change. People you love are no longer here. Traditions that once brought comfort now come with a quiet sadness. Even when the room is full, it can still feel a little empty. The holidays can become a bittersweet mix of gratitude and grief, thankful for what is, but missing what was.
There have also been times when the heaviness came not from loss, but from pressure, the need to make everything perfect, to show up strong, to please everyone else while quietly running on empty. Somewhere along the way, I realized I was chasing the idea of happiness instead of allowing myself to experience the real thing.
These past few years, I’ve been learning, slowly and intentionally, how to put the happy back into the holidays. It starts with giving myself permission to feel. I’ve stopped pretending that everything is fine all the time. Missing people doesn’t mean I’m weak; it means I loved them deeply. Some days that looks like tears, other days it’s laughter. Either way, both are healing.
I’ve learned to slow down, too, to let go of the pressure to do it all. Sometimes peace looks like staying home, enjoying something simple, or just sitting still with a cup of coffee while thanking God for another day. When I do that, I start to notice the small joys again, the warmth of a hug, the sound of good music, the beauty of simply being present.
Most of all, I’ve learned to live with gratitude, to appreciate what’s still here: faith, family, growth, and grace. Those small moments of thankfulness have a way of softening the ache.
And as I keep working on these lessons, each moment, each day, each year, I’ve also learned to look beyond myself. Because while I’m navigating my own feelings, somebody else nearby may be doing the same. Not everyone around us is okay just because they smile. So, this season, let’s be sensitive to those quietly coping, offering a kind word, an extra hug, or simply your presence. Sometimes that’s all it takes to remind someone that they’re not alone.
The joy may look different now, but it’s still there, steady, quiet, and real. You just must make space to let it back in.
As I grow older, I’m learning that joy isn’t found in perfect moments, but in the people, memories, and peace we choose to hold on to, even when the holidays feel heavy.
