10/11/2026
Being the black sheep of the family makes the holidays complicated. Add grief, the absence of those who once made you feel loved, supported and welcomed, and suddenly a holiday centred around gratitude and togetherness can feel incredibly lonely. ❤️
Those who know me, or have followed my journey for a while, know that I have always been transparent about my experiences. The beautiful moments, the messy ones, the healing, the heartbreak and everything in between.
And this Thanksgiving weekend, I’m carrying a lot of heaviness.
Over the years, I’ve learned something incredibly important about myself. When I’m feeling vulnerable, whether physically, mentally or emotionally, I need to be mindful of the environments and people I surround myself with.
Sometimes that means choosing not to attend family gatherings.
For someone who spent most of her life being a people pleaser, that hasn’t been an easy choice. The guilt, the expectations, the fear of disappointing others… those old patterns don’t disappear overnight.
But neither does the emotional fallout of putting myself in situations where I leave feeling even more vulnerable than when I arrived.
My peace, my emotional safety and my well-being are no longer things I’m willing to sacrifice for the sake of keeping others comfortable.
You see, for years I was the one making the effort.
Checking in. Remembering the little things. Reaching out. Offering encouragement. Celebrating others. Helping wherever I could. Trying to maintain connections because relationships and family have always meant so much to me.
And I genuinely wanted to do those things. That’s who I am at my core.
But something became painfully clear when I stopped being the one holding those connections together.
Things went quiet.
When I was struggling, there were no check-ins. When I shared what I was going through, there was often silence. And when I finally found the courage to express my truth, rather than curiosity, compassion or a willingness to understand my perspective, I was met with judgment and distance.
That kind of realization hurts.
Especially when you’ve spent so much of your life wanting to feel like you belong.
And here’s something I want to make very clear.
Just because I’ve chosen to protect my peace doesn’t mean I’m holding a grudge. And just because I can forgive doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what certain experiences have cost me.
I’ve had to pick myself up off the floor more times than I care to remember.
I’ve crawled through trenches I never imagined I’d find myself in. I’ve dug myself out of some incredibly dark places. I’ve had to rebuild my confidence, my sense of worth, my trust in myself and my belief that I deserve to experience a life filled with peace, love and happiness.
And I know exactly what that has cost me.
The tears. The exhaustion. The sleepless nights. The moments of questioning myself. The emotional and physical toll of constantly trying to be strong when all I really wanted was somewhere safe to land.
So no, this isn’t a victim mentality.
This is me acknowledging just how damn hard I’ve worked to become the woman I am today.
A woman who is still healing. Still learning. Still growing. Still making mistakes. But also a woman who is finally learning that she doesn’t have to abandon herself to maintain a connection with someone else.
I can love people from a distance.
I can wish them well without giving them unlimited access to me.
I can appreciate the good memories while acknowledging the experiences that hurt.
I can hold compassion for others without dismissing my own feelings.
And perhaps one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that being related doesn’t automatically make a relationship emotionally safe, and setting boundaries doesn’t make you unloving.
This Thanksgiving, I am allowing myself to feel the grief, the disappointment and the heaviness without judging myself for any of it.
Because gratitude and grief can coexist.
I can be incredibly grateful for the life I’m creating, the people who genuinely show up, the connections that feel reciprocal, and the beautiful moments I’m experiencing while still grieving the relationships and sense of belonging I once hoped to have.
Both can be true.
I’m not sharing this for sympathy. I’m sharing it because I know there are others who find the holidays difficult. Others who feel like outsiders. Others who carry grief quietly while the world around them celebrates togetherness.
And maybe someone needs the reminder that choosing yourself isn’t selfish.
I’m learning to give myself the same compassion, encouragement, patience and love that I’ve so freely given to others.
Because at the end of the day, I need to be able to show up for myself and for the family and life I’m nurturing.
And I can’t do that if I’m constantly pouring from an empty cup just to meet someone else’s expectations.
Self-abandonment is not love.
Self-sabotage is not loyalty.
Self-sacrifice is not proof of your worth.
And none of them are noble simply because we’ve been conditioned to believe that putting ourselves last makes us good people.
You can be compassionate and have boundaries.
You can be loving and choose distance.
You can be grateful and still grieve.
You can be the black sheep and finally find belonging within yourself.
This Thanksgiving, I’m not choosing bitterness. I’m choosing myself.
And perhaps that’s one of the greatest things I have to be grateful for. ❤️
