THE SANTABLOG SERIES, DAY 5. (When Christmas Stops Feeling Like It Used To… And Why That Isn’t The End Of It)

THE SANTABLOG SERIES

DAY 5

Somewhere along the way, Christmas changes.
It creeps up on you quietly, and you don’t notice it at first. You just realise one day that the build up doesn’t hit you like it used to. That electric buzz you had as a kid, the butterflies, the way the world felt bigger and softer and full of possibility… it all fades without any big dramatic moment. It just… slips.

And the strange thing is, it doesn’t happen on a certain birthday or a milestone year. It’s not like turning eighteen switches off the magic. It happens slowly, in little pieces, usually while you’re busy living life and not paying attention. Then suddenly you’re older, standing in the middle of December, wondering why it all feels different and why everyone else seems to be loving it more than you.

As a kid, Christmas used to live in the little things. Seeing the first house put up lights. Hearing the first Christmas song in a shop. Opening that cheap advent calendar where the chocolate tasted like wax but you didn’t care because it meant you were one day closer. Back then, the world felt exciting because everything was new. Experiences were fresh. You hadn’t been bruised yet, not in the way adulthood bruises you.

Back then, you didn’t have to think about money, or work, or expectations. You didn’t have to manage everyone’s feelings. You didn’t have to juggle stress. Christmas just happened around you while you sat there taking it in.

And for a while, growing up doesn’t change that. As a teenager you can still feel some of it. Nights with mates, staying up late watching films, laughing at nothing, buying stupid presents that didn’t matter but still felt thoughtful. You still felt connected to the excitement, even if it wasn’t as magical as childhood.

But then life starts happening. Real life.
The sort of life that doesn’t give a shit that it’s December.

Responsibility.
Bills.
Work shifts.
Lost people.
Broken families.
Arguments.
Growing distance between you and people who used to be everything.
Late nights worrying about things you never thought you’d worry about.
Years piling on top of each other faster than you can process them.
Life changing you in ways you don’t always notice.

And that’s when Christmas starts to feel different. Not worse, not dead, just different.

It’s not that the magic is gone. It’s that it moved.
And now you have to go and find it instead of waiting for it to land on you like it used to.

But almost nobody talks about that part. The moment you realise Christmas doesn’t live in the same places it once did. Instead of waking up buzzing, you wake up tired. Instead of counting down with excitement, you count down because you’ve got too much to do. Instead of decorations making you smile, they remind you how quickly the year disappeared and how much you didn’t get round to doing.

And here’s the thing… feeling like that doesn’t make you cold.
It doesn’t mean you’ve lost something.
It doesn’t mean you’re broken.
It means you’re human.

And you’ve lived enough life now that Christmas sits differently on you.

The older you get, the more weight the season carries.
You’re not just thinking about presents.
You’re thinking about people.
The ones who are gone.
The ones who drifted.
The ones you haven’t spoken to.
The ones you wish you could bring back.

You remember things you haven’t thought about in ages. A certain dinner table. A certain laugh. Someone’s voice. Someone’s smell. Someone’s terrible Christmas jumper. All these memories sit with you when the world slows down for December.

It’s not sadness for sadness’ sake.
It’s the reality of a heart that’s lived.

Christmas changes because you change.
And that’s not something to fight, it’s something to understand.

There’s also this weird pressure that starts creeping in as you get older, and it builds every year without you noticing. Pressure to make everything perfect. Pressure to be excited even when you’re drained. Pressure to keep traditions going even when they don’t fit your life anymore. Pressure to show up for people even when you have nothing left in your own tank. Pressure to smile for the pictures, to be present for the kids, to wrap gifts like you’ve got a degree in origami.

And the thing is, half of this pressure isn’t even real. Nobody sat you down and told you to do all this. Nobody gave you a rulebook. But somewhere along the way, society whispered in your ear that Christmas is supposed to look and feel a certain way, and if you don’t match it, you’re failing.

So you keep pushing. You force the excitement. You pretend you’re feeling it. You try to recreate the magic from years ago. You chase a version of yourself that doesn’t exist anymore. And that chase wears you down. Because deep down, you know you’re trying to step back into shoes you’ve outgrown.

And that’s the part that hurts.
That’s the part people mistake for “losing the magic.”
But it isn’t that.
It’s you trying to force something that doesn’t fit your life anymore.

Christmas isn’t supposed to feel the same forever.
You’re not supposed to feel the same forever.

You’re not that kid anymore.
You’re not that teenager anymore.
You’re not the same person you were five years ago, or even last December.

You’ve gone through things.
You’ve felt things.
You’ve learned things.
You’ve had your heart stretched, cracked, broken, rebuilt, reshaped and softened in different places.

Christmas changes because you change. And honestly… it should.

But here’s the interesting thing.
In the middle of all that change, there’s this new version of Christmas quietly waiting for you. A version that doesn’t feel like your childhood Christmas, or the picture perfect one you see on adverts, or the chaotic one your family used to have. A version that fits the life you have now, not the one you grew out of.

And most people don’t realise that they’re allowed to build that version.

You don’t have to force old traditions.
You don’t have to match old memories.
You don’t have to fake excitement.
You don’t have to pretend the season hits the same way.
You’re allowed to grow into a new type of Christmas.

A slower one.
A calmer one.
A kinder one.
A quieter one.
One with fewer people, but deeper moments.
One with less noise, but more meaning.

Christmas doesn’t stop being magical.
It just stops being loud.
The magic shrinks and moves into the small things. And when you actually stop and look for it, you realise it’s been there all along.

Sometimes it’s in a film you love, even if you’ve seen it forty times.
Sometimes it’s in sitting by a window with a hot drink while the world goes quiet outside.
Sometimes it’s in one phone call, not twenty.
Sometimes it’s in lighting a candle for someone who isn’t here.
Sometimes it’s in finding a new tradition that fits the version of you that exists now.
Sometimes it’s in giving yourself permission to rest.
Sometimes it’s in remembering that you’re allowed to enjoy the small things without needing the big ones.

The problem is, people assume that “different” means “worse”… but that’s not true.
Different is just different.

And honestly, some of the best chapters of your life won’t feel anything like the ones that came before. They’re meant to feel new. They’re meant to surprise you. They’re meant to fit the you that’s here now, not the you that lived ten Christmases ago.

Christmas might not feel the same anymore, but that doesn’t mean the magic has gone.
It might actually mean you’re finally free to build something that makes sense to you. Something that feels right. Something that doesn’t drain you or disappoint you or push you into pretending.

When you stop chasing what Christmas used to be, you make room for what it can be now.

And maybe that’s the secret.
Maybe Christmas doesn’t fade, it evolves.
Maybe the magic doesn’t disappear, it matures with you.
Maybe it isn’t supposed to hit you like lightning anymore.
Maybe it’s supposed to sit with you quietly, like an old friend who doesn’t need to shout to be heard.

And you know what… that’s not worse.
In a lot of ways, it’s better.

Kids feel magic because everything is new.
Adults feel magic because everything means something.

There’s beauty in both.
But adults forget that they’re allowed to create meaning.
They’re allowed to reshape Christmas.
They’re allowed to choose peace.
Choose slow.
Choose simple.
Choose warm instead of loud.
Choose real instead of perfect.

You’re not losing Christmas.
You’re rediscovering it.
Not the version from years ago, but the version that fits you now… the person you’ve become, the life you’ve built, the experiences you’ve survived, the things that softened you, and the things that hardened you.

You’re allowed to build a Christmas that feels right for your soul.
And you don’t need permission to do it.

So if Christmas doesn’t feel the same anymore, that’s alright.
You haven’t failed.
You haven’t lost anything.
You’re just standing in a doorway between the past and the future, letting go of what used to be and figuring out what comes next.

And what comes next might end up being the best version of Christmas you’ve ever had… because this time, it won’t be accidental.
It will be yours.

🎅THEPLAINANDSIMPLEGUY🎅

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