Ahhh... The Season Starts… and So Does the Spiral

Every year, it sneaks up on you.

The lights go up, the calendar fills, and your nervous system whispers,
“Not this again.”

What first sounds like fun, begins to feel like tired electrical wiring, ready to spark at any point (and when we get there, It only takes one rogue ribbon to set you off).

I know, you love your people.

You love the food, the sparkle, the togetherness.

But also… you kind of want to hide in your car with a peppermint cocoa and noise-canceling headphones… forever.

You promise yourself this year will be different. You’ll be calm. Present. Holy even.

Then your aunt questions your life choices, someone (who obviously hates you) gives your kid a kazoo, and suddenly your jaw is tight enough to crack a walnut.

Welcome to the most overstimulating time of the year.

Why You’re Fried (Even When You’re Festive)

For us, it started with good intentions. (To you, I raise my eyebrows in ominous foreshadowing.)

By November 1st my Christmas-loving wife had her “Cozy Christmas Jazz” Spotify channel blasting 22 hours a day. 

So for those first few (like, 10) years I said yes—to everything– in the name of loving my wife, my kids, and being the festive, supportive dad.

I said yes to the concerts, yes to the cookies, yes to the “quick drop-ins” that never take less than two hours.

We stayed out on Christmas Eve til our kids were beyond tired, making our night long and exhausting… setting us up for a Christmas morning that felt like a hangover.

But we thought that was mandatory… I mean, what’s a little extra chaos between loved ones?

Except my body had other opinions.

I may have looked festive (green is jolly, no?) on the outside, but inside my nervous system was whispering: “Brother, this is not sustainable.”

I’d stopped listening. 

My body had been sending polite reminders for years, and this December it switched to all caps. 

My wife and I got home that night and just sat in the car after the kids scurried inside.

My wife spoke up first, “You’re not fine. This is not fine. And I’m not fine either. I love Christmas. But I don’t like who we become at Christmas.”

And I nodded, because same.

That was the first real breath either of us had taken all month.

The Great Simplify

We decided to try something radical: calm.
We drew a few lines in the snow.

For us, it looked like: 

• One gift for our kids.
  
  
• One event each week.
  
  
• More stillness, fewer errands.
  
  

It felt awkward at first, like we were disappointing everyone. But then something surprising happened: the world didn’t collapse.

The kids still squealed over their presents.

Our parents still loved us.

And we—miracle of miracles—had energy left for each other. (And for Jesus!)

The smaller our calendar got, the bigger our peace became.

What My Body Taught Me About Faith

Here’s the part I didn’t expect: slowing down felt spiritual.

When I stopped overriding my limits, I could actually feel gratitude again.

I remembered that the first Christmas was quiet, not chaotic; that even the angels didn’t show up until everyone was at rest.

That’s when I realized calm isn’t the absence of activity; it’s the presence of attention.

I love the fam.
I love Jesus.
I even love the lights.

But somewhere between “let’s keep it simple this year” and “could you bring an extra dessert?” my nervous system starts waving a white flag made of wrapping paper.

Add children who treat every porcelain angel as an invitation to juggle, and I’m suddenly managing heart rate, social etiquette, and other people’s Lladros like I AM the Brute Squad.

This isn’t a moral failure.
It’s biology.

Your body doesn’t know it’s Christmas.
It just knows it’s overstimulated, under-rested, and pretending everything’s fine.

So I built something to help other people get there faster than we did.

You’re trying to amp up to feel joy, but your body’s bracing for the apocalypse…

If January hits like a hangover, starting the new year from quantifiably “behind”...

If you LOVE your people and want to fully show up this year….

We’ve got you.