Tag: grief

Dreading Christmas Day?

If you’re not looking forward to Christmas Day, you’re not broken and you’re not alone. For many people, this season brings pressure, noise, complicated family dynamics, painful memories, or the sharp ache of absence. The world tells us we should be joyful, grateful, and glowing, but real life doesn’t always follow the script.

It’s alright if you’re just getting through. It’s alright to keep the day small, to opt out of traditions, to say no, or to treat it like any other winter day. You don’t owe anyone cheerfulness or explanations. Be kind to yourself in the ways you can, a walk, a familiar film, a quiet moment, or a message to a trusted friend.

Christmas is just one day, not a measure of your worth or your faith, strength, or character. However you survive it is enough. You matter, deeply and genuinely, today and every day that follows.

International Migrants Day

International Migrants Day is marked each year on 18 December, inviting us to pause and really see the people behind the word “migrant”. It was established by the United Nations to recognise the millions who live, work, study, and raise families away from the place they first called home, often carrying both hope and grief in the same suitcase. Some move by choice, others by necessity, many by a mixture of both, yet all share the experience of crossing boundaries, visible and invisible.

The day shines a light on the contributions migrants make to societies, economies, cultures, and communities, contributions that are too easily overlooked or reduced to statistics. It also draws attention to the realities many face, exploitation, dangerous journeys, separation from loved ones, and the quiet strain of never fully belonging. At its heart is a call to dignity, fairness, and compassion, reminding us that human rights don’t stop at borders.

International Migrants Day asks more than polite sympathy. It challenges us to listen carefully, to resist fear-driven narratives, and to remember that migration is as old as humanity itself. It’s a moment to recognise shared vulnerability and shared strength, and to choose hospitality over suspicion, solidarity over indifference.