Redefining Christmas as a Single Mom

Christmas can feel especially heavy when traditions change—after divorce, relocation, or becoming a single parent. Today, I share what it was like to move abroad, grieve the Christmases of my childhood, and slowly learn how to create meaningful holiday traditions as a single mom.

When I first moved to Germany, I was desperately nostalgic for the Christmases my family celebrated when I was little. Although it had been years since I was with my whole chaotic family, the contrast to my first Christmas in Germany was stark—and it made me so sad.

When I was a child, we would wake up on Christmas morning, discover full stockings and mountains of presents from Santa under the tree. Our mom would make a special breakfast, and my sister and I would play all morning with our new toys.

Then, in the afternoon, we would drive to our grandparents’ house, where we would meet my dad’s big family for a Christmas celebration. My dad had three brothers, and they each had three or more children, so it was always pure chaos. Looking back, I can only imagine how my mom felt—overwhelmed, busy, overstimulated—but as a kid, it was perfect. Most of my cousins were around my age, and we would play for hours until dinnertime. After dinner, we exchanged gifts and then slowly made our way home. Without fail, I would fall asleep in the car, but stay mildly aware of when we were getting close to home.

Things changed when we got older and my parents divorced, but those memories stayed with me.

Then I moved to Germany.

My first Christmas here felt quiet and empty in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Cold streets, unfamiliar traditions, no familiar smells from the kitchen, no loud house full of people. My partner didn’t care at all about making the holidays special. He said I came to Germany, so I should celebrate Christmas the German way. (Yes, one of many red flags.)

I tried my best to make it special. I decorated a little potted palm tree in our first apartment. No stockings. No real presents. No family or special dinner. No tradition of watching Christmas movies or spending quality time with extended family.

Then we had kids, and that made things even more complicated. My ex-husband and I had very different ideas about what Christmas should look like—but that’s behind me now.

Now I’m a single mom, with no close family around (California is so far away!). And although I have an amazing sisterhood here in Germany, they all have their own families and are occupied during the holidays. The first few years were so hard. And when I’m truly honest with myself, they weren’t much harder than the years I spent with my ex-husband—he only made things worse.

One of the things I missed most was having another adult around—someone I could be myself with, enjoy a glass of wine with, sit by the sparkly Christmas tree, cuddle on the couch, and listen to cozy Christmas music.

Once the kids got a bit bigger and I felt a little stronger, my perspective shifted. I remember sitting in the living room on the 24th, looking at all the presents under the tree, and being so proud of myself. I did that. All of it—the planning, the buying, the decorating, the organizing, keeping the magic alive for my kids.

That was the moment I realized something important: I had the power to create Christmas the way I remembered it—not exactly the same, but with the same heart.

As a child, that magic brought me so much joy. I always felt so loved and so close to my family. And I want my kids to feel that too. I want them to grow up with that same sense of warmth, belonging, and love—no matter what our family looks like.

It was hard. I felt drained on many days. But slowly, I started to feel the magic of Christmas again. I felt joy and was able to celebrate meaningfully with my kids. Their excitement and happiness made me even happier.

It wasn’t always perfect, and I set the bar pretty low for us—but that’s what worked. I was happy. My kids were happy. So that’s what I’ll keep doing. We watch too much TV, eat too many cookies, and live in a house that’s way too messy. But those things aren’t what count. I know that when they grow up, they won’t remember that part. They’ll remember the magic, a loving mom, a cozy house, and our own traditions.

That thought makes me unbelievably full—full of love, joy, peace, and wonder.

As I sit here writing this, with a 5-, 7-, and 9-year-old watching a movie, I know that my best is good enough. They’re happy. I’m happy. And that’s all I can ask for.

They’ll go to their dad’s house on the 24th for the day, but instead of missing them or wishing I had my family around or a partner, I feel different this year. I am so happy with the life I’ve built—one that wasn’t chosen for me or shaped by someone else. This is my life, and even with all of its imperfections, it’s mine. And that makes me feel incredibly lucky.

So, Merry Christmas and happy holidays to everyone. I have been there—feeling very dark and alone—so if that’s you this year, I see you. I’m sorry. But I also know it won’t last forever. You are loved, and things will change.

Big hugs to everyone.