It was one of those Christmas months where my plate felt the fullest it had ever been, and I also felt the loneliest I had ever felt. It seemed as if I was running a marathon with Christmas Day as the finish line. I was giving, giving, and giving to everyone else except myself. I longed for someone to stop, take a moment to appreciate me, and acknowledge everything I do.
Then it happened—the one incident that triggered my downward spiral. I hosted a Christmas party playdate for my kids and their friends. We decorated the table, I bought the treats they wanted, including bonbons and gifts. I stayed up late working and woke up early to prepare everything to ensure it was all perfect. But I had a work meeting that I couldn’t miss, scheduled for when the guests were due to arrive.
I explained to the kids four times that they needed to wait 15 to 20 minutes until I was done so we could open the gifts together, and I’d film the special moment. When the guests arrived, I explained it to them too, and they assured me they’d wait. I trusted them.
The meeting finished, and I walked back to the lounge room, excitement bubbling inside me, ready to see the kids’ joy as they opened their gifts. As I entered the lounge room, I was mortified. The gifts were opened, the bonbons popped, and the floor was a mess. My heart sank. Fury surged through my body as I forced a smile and asked what they’d received. The joyful moment I’d envisioned—the one I’d stayed up late and woken up early to create—was gone.
They’d broken their promise to wait. I felt undervalued and unappreciated. I was a mess, filled with a rage I hadn’t experienced in a long time. I was shaking, my head ached, and I felt paralysed. My thoughts spiralled: Cancel Christmas. Cancel all the kids’ events. Cancel everything. I was consumed by my emotions.
I’d like to say that, in that moment, I realised I’d overcommitted myself and was overwhelmed. But I didn’t. I sank lower. When I explained it all to my husband, I expected comfort or acknowledgment of how out of character my reaction was. But all he could muster was, “I can’t believe the kids did that.” He didn’t see me—not the pain, not the exhaustion, not the loneliness. He just stood there, like a statue.
Even as I sit here and write this Christmas blog, the emotions rush back, and tears well up in my eyes. I wish someone had held me close that day and said, “Hey, Ann-Marie, everything will be alright. You’ll get through this. You’re stronger than you think.”
I longed for someone to care about me the way I care about my kids when they’re hurt, have had a rough day, or face a crossroads. I wanted someone to ask, “Are you ok?” so I could answer, “No, I’m not alright. I’m struggling.” I needed someone to see that I was hurting and offer me love and support. But no one did.
And if I’m being completely honest, I was playing the victim. I’d fallen into the trap of waiting for someone else to save me. But the truth is, I needed to be the one to love, support, and prioritise myself. That’s not something I’d been doing. I’d piled more and more onto my plate, wanting to create a magical Christmas for my kids—to ensure they had friends over, experienced the Christmas spirit, and felt the joy of the season.
But here’s what I’ve learned: It’s simple, but it’s not easy. As a lifelong people-pleaser, it’s hard to shift the habit of prioritising others over myself. This year, I’m sitting here feeling emotionally drained. I survived, yes, but I’m not sure I’d call it a win.
What I needed to do—what I’m learning to do—is prioritise myself. Be clear on what I can physically and mentally achieve. Plan with margin for error and space to breathe. I’m learning to ask, “Is this realistic for me right now?” before I commit to anything new. I’m learning to be okay with saying “no”—even to my kids. Because when I’m depleted, I have nothing left to give.
Conclusion
This Christmas story isn’t just about one rough day. It’s about the bigger picture of self-care, self-love, and self-respect. It’s about stepping away from the victim mindset and stepping into personal responsibility. No one is coming to save us—not our kids, not our partners, not our friends. We have to be our own rescuers.
I’m sharing this story because I know I’m not alone. Many of us are running on empty, chasing perfection, and giving to others at the expense of ourselves. But if we don’t stop to prioritise ourselves, we’ll burn out. And when that happens, we have nothing left to give to the people we love most.
Call to Action
This Christmas, I’m encouraging you to do something radical: Prioritise yourself. Take a moment to ask, “What do I need?” and give yourself permission to honour that need. Set boundaries. Say “no” if you have to. You’re not a machine. You’re a human being with limits—and that’s okay.
If you’re tired of feeling drained and underappreciated, it’s time to stop waiting for others to notice. It’s time to see yourself. Take action, not as a victim, but as the powerful person you are. Prioritise yourself. You’ll be amazed at how much more you can give to others when you start giving to yourself first.
So this Christmas, I challenge you to do one thing that’s just for you. Schedule it. Plan it. And protect it fiercely. You matter, and it’s time you start believing it too.
🌟 Share with us! 🌟 How are you going to take care of yourself? Will you stop doing something that’s not good for you or try something new to feel better? Tell us in the comments—we’d love to know! ❤️
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