The Holiday Season: My Personal Villain Trilogy

Let’s talk about the holidays — because honestly, I hate them.

Halloween kicks it off, and right out of the gate, it makes no sense.
We spend all year telling kids not to talk to strangers, not to take food from strangers, and to be home before dark. Then October 31st rolls around and suddenly it’s: “Go ahead, wander the streets in the dark, knock on random doors, and take candy from adults I’ve never met!” What?!

I don’t even let my kids go to a friend’s house if I haven’t met the parents — but somehow, on October 31st, I’m supposed to let them break every rule I’ve ever taught them?

And let’s be real — if someone in a mask knocked on my door any other night of the year, I’d call the police. But on Halloween, I’m supposed to hand them chocolate? Some of these “kids” are six feet tall with horror-movie masks and deep voices. No thank you. Go away.

“No thank you. Go away!”

And apparently, I’m not the only one who feels that way. That’s why so many adults just leave a bowl of candy on their front porch. But if no one’s actually answering the door, what’s the point of Halloween anyway?

And don’t even get me started on the money people spend for one night. Costumes, decorations, fake cobwebs, inflatable pumpkins that deflate into sad plastic puddles by morning. Why spend so much on the “perfect” costume when no one can even see it in the dark? Sure, maybe you’re cool enough to get invited to a killer Halloween party — but let’s be honest, what are those odds? I’ve never once gotten an invite from Heidi Klum, a.k.a. the Queen of Halloween herself.

Then, before the leftover candy even goes stale, we’re shoved straight into Thanksgiving.

Except… have you noticed? Stores pretend Thanksgiving doesn’t exist. It’s Halloween, then BAM — Christmas everywhere. No in-between, no slow transition, nothing.

And honestly, it blows my mind, because Thanksgiving actually has the potential to be a great holiday.
Think about it: it’s centered around food — and not just any food — we’re talking pure comfort food. The cozy stuff. The good stuff. The kind of food that makes you want to put on stretchy pants and mentally prepare for a nap you absolutely intend to take.

So why does retail treat it like a throwaway moment? Why do we leapfrog right over an entire holiday built on mashed potatoes and carbs? Thanksgiving could be the crown jewel of fall… if we actually let it exist for more than five minutes.

And it’s not just the food — fall itself is elite.
Pumpkins, leaves, cozy-colored decor — you can put it all up in September and leave it until late November. That’s three months of festive laziness! No other season gives you that kind of return on effort.

So yes, Thanksgiving should be great.
It has all the potential in the world.
But somehow… it still manages to go off the rails.

Because once you get past the food fantasy, real life kicks in.
Whose house are we going to? Who’s cooking? Who’s bringing what? Will there be enough food? Will I even like it? And why are we all pretending that sitting around with people we barely tolerate is some kind of sacred tradition?

So we gather. We eat. We nod politely. We talk about the weather because anything real might cause a scene. Or we don’t talk at all — we just sit there scrolling on our phones like we’re all strangers waiting at a bus stop.
It’s fake, it’s forced, and it’s somehow expected.

“It’s fake, it’s forced, and it’s somehow expected.”

And just when you recover from that… here comes Christmas.
My least favorite of them all.

It’s supposed to be magical — twinkle lights, hot cocoa, holiday cheer. But underneath the glitter? Work. So. Much. Work.
The boxes, the tangled lights, the endless decorating. Everyone’s thrilled to help put things up, but guess who’s left to take it all down? Me. Alone. In January. While everyone else moves on, I’m knee-deep in glitter and regret.

Then there’s the gift madness.
I actually love finding the perfect gift — that one thing that makes someone’s eyes light up. But most of the time, I can’t find it. So instead, I end up buying filler gifts — junk no one wants but everyone feels obligated to exchange. It’s exhausting. And then you have to open them in front of everyone, fake a smile, and act thrilled while secretly thinking, Who can I regift this to next year?

And let’s not forget the nightmare of Christmas lists.
Kids these days don’t ask for toys or games anymore — oh no. They want Tiffany earrings, UGGs, Jordans, iPhones, laptops, and cars.
Cars.
Like somehow, because it’s Christmas, the laws of reality — and my bank account — just stop existing.

When I was a kid, we circled stuff in a Sears catalog and hoped for the best.
Kids now send curated mood boards with links, discount codes, aesthetic color palettes, and Pinterest-level expectations — like I’m their personal shopper.

And the best part?
They fully expect to get it.
They write it down with confidence.
Bold. Underlined.
Like Santa’s going to roll up with a down payment and a giant red bow.

And don’t even get me started on shopping.
Crowds. Chaos. Parking lots that feel like war zones. By the time I get to the register, I’m already over humanity. And then the cashier asks, “Would you like to make a donation today?” Every. Single. Store.

Like, do people only need to eat during the holidays? Do kids only need toys in December? Ask me in April — when I’m not already spending a small fortune just to participate in this circus. I’ve already made a donation — to capitalism. But sure, let’s add guilt to my receipt.

“I’ve already made a donation — to capitalism. “

And while everyone else posts their matching pajama photos and “family is everything” captions, I’m just quietly wishing my family were all here.
That’s the part no one really talks about — how lonely or complicated this season can be. How some of us don’t feel joy wrapped in tinsel and tradition.

I’m not the Grinch. I don’t hate happiness — I just hate the season that tries too hard to sell it.
Because honestly? Between the candy, chaos, and carols, I’m just over here trying to survive with my sanity (and my bank account) intact.
So if you need me, I’ll be hiding out with a cup of coffee — maybe with a splash of Baileys — waiting for the new year… when the fake cheer fades and the gym floods with people who suddenly “discover” fitness for exactly 17 days and decide this is the year they’re becoming fitness influencers. But that’s a different rant for another blog.