If the stretch from Thanksgiving to New Year’s used to feel like a blur of travel plans, food prep, family chaos, work deadlines, and maybe a little sparkle… cancer has a way of adding a new footnote to the mix.

How many more of these will I have?

The question you never used to ask.

The one that now shows up everywhere.

It sneaks in while you’re planning the Thanksgiving menu, lighting the menorah, or choosing an outfit for a holiday party. It shows up when you’re wrapping gifts, watching your kids decorate cookies, or trying to pretend you’re not completely wiped out by the third gathering of the month. And it’s not just December. It’s birthdays. Anniversaries. New Year’s. Your kids’ milestones. Even Valentine’s Day.

All these once-a-year markers that used to feel purely celebratory now come with an unexpected emotional jolt. Because the passage of one more year suddenly feels heavier in a way it never used to.

A moment where your stomach drops and you think, Will I be here for the next one? What will life look like then?

And while everyone else is stressing about travel delays, burnt pies, or finding the perfect gift, you’re carrying a very different burden.

You’re juggling fatigue, scanxiety, body grief, and the pressure to act normal when nothing feels normal. You’re trying to keep up traditions when your energy is a fraction of what it used to be. You’re navigating relatives who mean well but say the wrong things—and friends who still don’t understand that “done with treatment” does not mean “back to who I was.”

And on top of that, you’re the one people usually rely on. The planner. The doer. The glue that holds everyone and everything together.

So you keep trying to be that person, even though cancer knocked that version of you down—and changed her in ways no one else can see.

But here’s something you may need to hear:

You don’t have to carry the holidays—or any special days—the way you used to.

You don’t have to keep every tradition alive.

You don’t have to be the strong one who “handles it all.”

And you don’t have to be happy all the time.

What if this season could be gentler? Something scaled to the version of you who exists now—not the one from before diagnosis (who, frankly, was probably pushing herself way too hard anyway)?

What if Thanksgiving didn’t have to mean hosting?

What if Christmas morning didn’t have to be perfect?

What if Hanukkah didn’t require eight nights of being “on”—or standing at the stove making latkes every single night?

What if New Year’s didn’t have to be about resolutions or beating yourself up for everything you didn’t do this past year?

What if Valentine’s Day could be about rest and quiet connection instead of fancy demonstrations of romance?

And birthdays—yours and your kids’—those can be especially complicated. Because they’re full of joy and fear. Hope and grief. Gratitude and worries you’re afraid to say out loud to another soul.

But what if all those feelings are…okay? What if you don’t have to choose one emotion? What if this is the year you let it all coexist—without judging yourself for feeling too much, or not enough?

Because here’s the truth: these holidays and milestones aren’t tests you have to pass. They’re moments. Invitations. Opportunities to decide what matters now, in this season of your life.

Maybe the question isn’t How many more will I have?

Maybe it’s this:

How do I want to show up for the days I do have—this year, this moment, this breath?

And that might look like simplifying. Delegating. Asking for help even though it still feels impossible. Letting others carry some of the weight you’ve always shouldered alone. Letting go of the pieces that don’t matter anymore—and holding tight to the ones that do.

Most of all, it might look like giving yourself radical permission to be human. Messy. Tender. Hopeful. Uncertain. A woman who’s been through something hard, who’s still healing, and who deserves a season spacious enough to allow her to feel whatever she feels.

If you want support navigating this emotional terrain—not just the holidays, but all the milestones that stir up fear, meaning, and everything in between—I’m here. You don’t have to carry any of this alone. Please reach out.

And - if you’re reading this and thinking, “Yes, this is me,” I have a special invitation for you.

Next week I’m hosting a free masterclass to help you navigate the holidays after cancer.

Please join me for “Eggnog & Latkes & Family—Oh My! Handling the Holidays After Cancer.”

Click here for more info or to register.

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