This year feels especially tender for me. My daughter and I are spending Christmas in Thailand, and either side of the holiday two of my siblings will be getting married. It will be the first time in more than thirty years that my mother, father, and all of us children will be in the same room. I feel both the joy of reunion and the apprehension of stepping back into a dynamic that once defined me so intimately.
The roles we learn to play.
Food is woven through all of this: the meals we share, the rituals we repeat, the roles we slip into. In many families someone becomes the bridge, the peacekeeper, the helper, the rebel. I have long been the feeder — the one who nourishes and anticipates needs before they are spoken.
Recently someone asked me a question that stopped me:
Is your devotion to feeding others a role you inherited from an older wound in your lineage?
As some of you know, my maternal Dutch grandparents survived starvation in Japanese concentration camps during the second world war. Trauma can echo across generations, shaping instincts and behaviours we never think to question. So this month I booked myself into a Family Constellation day to explore which roles I have inherited, which ones I have outgrown, and which ones I can finally release.
Choosing curiosity over old patterns.
Family gatherings have a way of pulling us back into old versions of ourselves. The responsible one. The peacekeeper. The one who feeds everyone. This year I am practising something different: curiosity. Who are we now? What might unfold if I show up as the person I have become, rather than the person they remember?
My intention is to stay grounded, eat what nourishes me, listen more closely, and allow space for surprise. Authenticity and kindness soften long-standing patterns more than anything else. If you are navigating your own mix of family, ritual, and emotion this month, I hope you enter it with the same openness.
Food, family, and the mirror they hold.
Because beneath the tinsel and noise lies the real opportunity of this season: to notice ourselves more clearly and to meet our families as they are now. To recognise that food gathers us, but it can also separate us. The way we eat together often mirrors how we relate.
I know many of us want to stay healthy at this time of year, even when we cannot control what food is available. I feel fortunate that my family now respects my choices, and I know this is not universal.
When belonging meets identity.
A client recently reminded me of this. They wanted to change their relationship with alcohol but feared how it might affect their work and social life. Saying no was not just a behavioural shift; it touched their identity. Who would they be without the habits that helped them belong?
So I hold a lot of empathy for anyone who feels stretched this season. Social pressure, the desire to fit in, the instinct to not inconvenience others — all of these sit beside a deeper longing for love and belonging. These needs matter, just as your desire to honour yourself matters. Becoming who you want to be is rarely sudden; it is slow, imperfect, and full of course corrections.
Preparing gently.
As we accept this, we can also prepare gently:
- Do not overcommit your schedule.
- Keep up with your movement and self-care.
- Prioritise sleep and hydration.
- If you know the food will not support you, snack on vegetables and protein beforehand.
- If you choose to drink, alternate with water.
Enjoy the moment, let go of perfectionism if it is your pattern, and resist the pendulum swing of overindulgence. Be kind to yourself and stay anchored in what you value. And when in doubt, ask what your highest self would do — and let that guide you.
Coming home to yourself.
So as you move through this month, stay close to what steadies you. Eat in a way that supports you. Rest when you need. Offer kindness, especially to yourself. And when old patterns tug at your sleeve, breathe, and remember:
You are allowed to choose differently now.
Let this season be less about everything or nothing, and more about presence and awareness. Less about performing an old role, and more about coming home to who you have become — even as you go back to the home you once came from.
The end of a cycle
And perhaps it is fitting that this moment arrives now. Numerologically, 2025 is a year 9 (2+0+2+5), the completion of a cycle. A year of endings, releasing old patterns, and making space for what is waiting to be born. A gentle reminder that letting go is not loss, but preparation for new life in the year ahead.
This month’s practice
Showing up as who you are now.
A short grounding practice for the moments before walking into a family gathering — three minutes to settle the nervous system, name your intention, and step out of the role they remember.