The word "tradition" carries a certain weight, doesn't it? It suggests something sacred, unchangeable, a thread connecting us to our past and to the people who matter most. And yet, tradition can also become a trap—a set of expectations that no longer fits who we've become or what we actually need.

Many of us find ourselves going through familiar motions year after year, even when these rituals leave us feeling drained, anxious, or inauthentic. We host the dinner we don't want to host, attend the gathering that fills us with dread, or perform the role we've always played in our family even though it stopped fitting us long ago. And underneath it all runs a current of guilt: if we change things, are we betraying our family? Disappointing people we love? Failing at something important?

From a psychological perspective, these rigid holiday patterns often reflect what I call "loyalty contracts"—unspoken agreements we made early in life about how to maintain connection and avoid rejection. A child learns that love comes with conditions: you must show up in certain ways, fulfill particular expectations, and prioritize others' needs over your own. These contracts get internalized so deeply that even decades later, as fully grown adults, we continue honoring them without question.

The problem is that loyalty contracts were formed when we had limited power and awareness. They represent a child's solution to the challenge of staying safe and connected within their family system. What worked at age eight could possibly cause harm at age forty, and yet, the prospect of renegotiating these ‘contracts’ can feel threatening. They live alongside feelings of rejection, fear, and in some cases, abandonment.

This is why changing holiday routines isn't simply a matter of logistics or preferences. It touches on fundamental questions about belonging, worthiness, and whether we can be loved for who we actually are rather than for the roles we perform. The guilt that surfaces when we consider doing things differently isn't just about disappointing others—it's about challenging beliefs we've carried since childhood about what makes us lovable and acceptable.

People who find genuine peace and connection during the holidays are often those who've had the courage to examine their loyalty contracts and make conscious choices about which traditions to honor and which to release or reimagine.

This doesn't require dramatic gestures or burning bridges. It might be as simple as leaving a gathering an hour earlier than usual, or declining to host when you're already overwhelmed, or choosing to spend the holiday differently than your family expects. What matters is the shift from automatic compliance to conscious choice. Setting these boundaries often triggers anxiety, both in ourselves and in others. Family members may express disappointment or try to pull us back into old patterns. This is normal. Systems resist change because change creates a period of instability. But it's worth remembering that healthy relationships have the capacity to evolve. 

I want to offer you permission this holiday season to pause and ask yourself some questions:

  • Which traditions genuinely nourish me, and which ones deplete me?

  • What would it look like to honor my own needs alongside others' expectations?

  • What might I discover about myself and my relationships if I approached the holidays with more personal consideration and less performance?

The goal isn't to abandon tradition or avoid family. It's to create space for the kind of presence that actually allows for meaningful connection—the kind that happens when we're not exhausted from pretending to be someone we're not or fulfilling obligations that drain our life force.

Real love, real connection, doesn't require self-abandonment. Because the most loving thing we can do—for ourselves and ultimately for others—is to honor what's true about our own needs and limitations, and trust that true relationships can weather the discomfort of change.

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We Are All Immigrants