Post 7: Blogmas 2025 | Depression During the “Cheerful” Season

Trigger warning: depression, grief, chronic illness, chronic pain.

December is loud, not always in the literal sense (although yes, the music really is everywhere), but loud in the way it demands a certain mood from you. There is a required level of cheerfulness you are supposed to perform in order to be considered normal, and when you cannot meet it, it starts to feel like you are doing the season wrong.

I am writing this for Blogmas because I promised I would show up, but also because I know I am not the only one who reaches this time of year and feels their brain and body start bracing for impact before anything has even happened.

When “cheerful” season feels like survival season

For me, depression in December is not just sadness. It is numbness, and it is the quiet, constant effort it takes just to survive the day. It is seasonal depression, yes, but it is also grief layered on top of chronic illness, all wrapped up in the strange pressure of everyone acting like the world is made entirely of twinkle lights and cocoa.

My hard season actually starts much earlier, toward the end of September. That is when my father’s birthday is, and it is strange how my nervous system seems to remember before I consciously do. By the time the leaves begin to change, something in me is already sinking, even if I cannot fully explain why yet.

I push through October and November the best I can, and by the time December arrives, everything feels ten times heavier. It does not really let up until early February, when I hit another grief marker. A mom figure in my life passed away around that time, and every year my brain circles back to it, like it is checking a bruise that never quite healed.

So when people say, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year,” I do not feel wonderful. I mostly feel tired.

The part nobody wants to talk about

There is a version of depression that is dramatic and obvious, and then there is the version that looks like nothing at all. The nothing version is the one I live with most often.

I can be sitting on the couch with a blanket, cats piled on me, and still feel like I am not really here, like I am watching my life through a window instead of fully inhabiting it. Sometimes it is not even sadness. Sometimes it is just blank, and that blankness can be scarier than crying, because at least crying proves that something inside you is still moving.

Chronic pain makes it heavier

I also live with chronic illness and chronic pain, and I need to say this plainly, because people tend to underestimate it. Pain changes your personality. When my pain is unbearable, it is not just that I hurt, it is that everything becomes harder in ways that are difficult to explain.

Getting out of bed becomes a negotiation. Eating feels like a chore instead of a basic function. Answering messages can feel like lifting something heavy using only your brain. When you are already depressed, pain has a way of turning the volume up on every bad thought, making them louder and harder to ignore.

A bad day for me is when I cannot get out of bed at all, or when I get stuck in that familiar loop of thinking “I should be able to do this” while my body is giving me a very clear no.

Social pressure is a trigger all by itself

I wish I could say the holidays are hard because of one big thing, but honestly, a lot of it is the constant pressure.

The pressure to:

• be excited
• be grateful
• be social
• be productive
• be festive
• make memories
• respond quickly
• show up everywhere

Even if nobody is directly asking it of you, it is in the air.

And when you are depressed, that pressure can feel like failing a test you did not sign up for.

If you are someone who needs quiet to function, December can feel like the world is yelling.

“What helps?” I do not have a neat answer

This is usually the part where a blog post offers a list of things that are supposed to fix it. I do not have that list. I have not found the magic routine or the perfect mindset shift that suddenly makes this season easier.

What I have found is smaller and less satisfying, but also more honest. Sometimes the goal is not to feel better. Sometimes the goal is simply to get through the day without making it worse, and if I can do that, it counts.

What a “good day” looks like right now

A good day is not a perfect day. A good day is waking up on the right side of the bed, or having my son come to visit, or being able to exist in my house without feeling like I am dragging myself through it.

And yes, a good day often includes a lot of blankets and a lot of kitty cuddle time. I am not above building a small nest and staying there when that is what my body needs.

How this shows up in my business (very honestly)

Running Upper Room Prints during this season is complicated. The holidays are supposed to be the big push, the busy season, the time when you are posting constantly, shipping constantly, and creating constantly.

I can do some of that, but I cannot do it the way people expect. Depression and chronic pain do not care about my content calendar. There are days when I can make things, film things, package orders, and feel like myself, and there are days when I cannot do any of that.

There are days when my only real job is to stay alive, and that has to be enough. If you are a small business owner reading this, especially if you are disabled or chronically ill, I need you to hear this clearly. You are not failing just because your body has limits.

What I wish people would stop saying

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year.”

I know people usually mean well, but when you are depressed, that sentence can feel like a spotlight. It can feel like being asked to smile on command, or like being reminded that everyone else is having a good time while you are struggling to keep your head above water.

What I wish people would do instead

I wish people would treat it like any other day. No pressure, no forced cheer, no “come on, it’s Christmas.” Just normal kindness, normal conversation, and the ability to exist without having to perform holiday joy for anyone else.

If this is you too

If December is hard for you, you are not broken. If you are sad during the cheerful season, you are not doing it wrong. If you are numb, exhausted, or simply trying to survive, you are not alone.

You have permission to:

• be sad
• be quiet
• skip things
• rest
• do the bare minimum
• make your world smaller for a while

You are allowed to just be.

Not alone

That is the whole ending. Not a perfect bow and not a motivational speech. Just this. You are not alone.