I’ll be honest: the first Christmas I celebrated after leaving faith, I mostly hid under a blanket with a glass of wine, scrolling Instagram and quietly judging everyone else’s festive cheer. It wasn’t the tinsel or the carols that unsettled me, it was all the invisible scripts I’d carried for years. The pressure to feel grateful. The guilt for wanting rest. The old “Jesus is the reason for the season” messaging that used to buzz around like a constant background track. Even years later, Christmas still has this uncanny ability to dredge up feelings of obligation, nostalgia, and a little existential panic about who I am and what this season means now.
If you’re reading this, maybe you know that feeling too. Maybe the holidays still come with a side of old trauma, expectations, or questions about what it means to be “good” when the usual markers of faith and ritual are gone. And yet, it’s also a chance to do something radical: to define Christmas entirely on your own terms.
Here’s some grounded, practical thinking on navigating a season that can feel loaded, even when you’ve left religion behind.
Unpacking the Old Scripts
Even years after leaving a faith tradition, some scripts stick with us. They can show up in subtle ways: a tightness in your chest at the thought of sitting around a dinner table, a sudden urge to apologise for not sending cards, or that familiar guilt when you consider saying “no” to something that doesn’t feel nourishing.
These scripts often sound like:
- You must be grateful. (And if you’re not, something is wrong with you.)
- Resting is selfish. (Even when your body or mental health is screaming for it.)
- You’re supposed to feel joy and wonder. (Even if your heart feels heavy or empty.)
- Everyone else’s version of Christmas is “right.” (Even though there is no ‘right’)
These aren’t just annoying habits, they’re echoes of a high-control system, of messages that told you how to behave, feel, and even think. They aren’t truths about you; they’re inherited scripts.
A big part of Christmas after leaving religion is learning to recognise these scripts without letting them dictate your experience. That means noticing them, naming them, and giving yourself permission to question them: “Do I really need to do this, or is this a leftover commandment from a life I don’t live anymore?”
Creating Spaciousness: Option Over Obligation
One of the gifts you can give yourself after leaving faith is choice. Instead of following a predetermined plan of action, you get to ask: What do I want this season to feel like? And crucially: What do I not want?
Here are some ways to reclaim optionality:
- Reimagine rituals: Maybe you still enjoy decorating, but without the religious framing. Maybe lighting candles or hanging ornaments becomes about marking the season in a way that feels meaningful to you, not anyone else.
- Redefine generosity: Gift-giving can feel oppressive when it’s tied to obligation or guilt. Consider swapping elaborate gifts for small, intentional acts; time, a handwritten note, or baking cookies for friends.
- Say “no” early and often: Social events can be draining. It’s okay to prioritise rest over attending everything. Boundaries are an act of self-respect, not selfishness.
- Slow down the narrative: You don’t have to force yourself into joy, nostalgia, or connection just because the calendar says December. Let your pace dictate your presence.
Creating spaciousness is about noticing the pressure and actively choosing otherwise. It’s about giving yourself permission to experience the season authentically even if that looks wildly different from everyone else.
Finding Your Own Meaning
One of the hardest things after leaving a faith tradition is realising that the old framework for meaning is gone. And yes, that can be scary, but it’s also liberating.
Meaning isn’t pre-packaged. You get to define it. That might look like:
- Connection: Focusing on the people who genuinely support and uplift you. This could be chosen family, friends, or online communities where you feel safe.
- Reflection: Using the slower pace of the season to check in with yourself, acknowledge your growth, or even grieve losses. For many of us leaving faith, loss is real and complex. Christmas can be a time to honour that without shame.
- Rituals of your own making: Maybe you write a gratitude list that’s actually honest, without pressure to frame it in religious terms. Maybe you light a candle for loved ones, or create a playlist that feels celebratory without being tied to carols you don’t connect with.
- Joy without apology: Allow yourself moments of delight like watching a festive movie, baking something you love, or simply enjoying a quiet morning. Joy can exist independently from tradition or obligation.
It’s worth acknowledging that some years, meaning may feel thin. That’s okay too. The point isn’t to force joy or spirituality; it’s to carve out a season that doesn’t feel like a performance.
Navigating Guilt and Expectation
If you’ve spent decades learning to equate “goodness” with participation, generosity, or obedience, guilt can still sneak in. “I should be sending cards.” “I should be hosting a dinner.” “I should feel grateful.”
Here’s the thing: you don’t have to.
- Name the guilt: Instead of letting it silently weigh on you, label it. “Ah, this is old guilt from my religious upbringing.” Naming it is a powerful way to reduce its control.
- Question it: Ask yourself whether this expectation aligns with who you are now. If the answer is no, it’s okay to step away.
- Reframe rest: Rest isn’t laziness, it’s survival, healing, and self-respect. You’re allowed to honour your energy and capacity.
- Shift the lens: Instead of “I’m doing this wrong,” consider: “I’m choosing what works for me.” That’s radically different from the obedience-driven mindset you may have carried for years.
Guilt often thrives in silence. Bringing it into the light, reflecting on it, and choosing your own response can be incredibly freeing.
Making Space for Community, On Your Terms
Even outside faith, community is powerful. But community doesn’t have to look like it did in your past.
- Choose your people: Focus on relationships that feel nourishing, supportive, and free of judgment.
- Co-create traditions: Invite friends or chosen family to contribute in ways that feel meaningful, rather than following rigid scripts.
- Hybrid celebrations: Maybe you want a low-key dinner one night and a solo reflective morning on another. Or a combination of online connections and in-person gatherings. Your calendar is yours to design.
- Honour absence: Sometimes people who matter aren’t present, physically or emotionally. You can acknowledge that without forcing a “merry everything” narrative.
Community post-faith can feel like a blank canvas. That can be intimidating, but it’s also a chance to experiment and find joy in connection that’s real and affirming.
A Gentle Invitation
Christmas after religion can feel strange, uncomfortable, and full of old echoes. And yet, it’s also a season you can make entirely your own. It’s a chance to experiment, reflect, rest, and, if you want, find sparks of joy.
The key is this: notice the scripts, reclaim your choice, and allow yourself to create meaning that actually resonates. You don’t have to perform gratitude or joy. You don’t have to adhere to someone else’s calendar of what the season should feel like. You can let it be spacious, optional, and tailored to who you are now.
If you feel stuck, small experiments can help: one morning spent in silence with a cup of tea, a handwritten note to someone you love, a walk through twinkling lights without any expectation of ceremony. These small gestures are radical, and they’re yours.
Christmas doesn’t have to be a test, a guilt trip, or a performance. It can be messy, quiet, reflective, celebratory, or all of the above. And the truth is, any version you craft with intention is valid.
Question for Reflection: This season, what would Christmas feel like if no old scripts or obligations applied? What would you keep, what would you let go, and what would you invent?
If this season feels heavy, confusing, or full of old scripts you’re ready to unpack, talking it through with a therapist can help. Therapy is a space to explore your feelings without judgment, discover what traditions actually serve you, and create boundaries that feel safe. You don’t have to navigate Christmas or any part of life after faith alone. Reach out, and give yourself permission to experience the season on your own terms.