The Weight of Holiday Traditions – A Burden Or A Blessing?

I can still see it now. Well, technically, it was a still-dark, crisp Christmas morning. I didn’t need a clock at six years old to know it was before 6 a.m.—when my dad always left for his 48-hour fire station shift. Even then, I knew how precious those moments before his departure were. Gathering around the tree at the crack of dawn had become an awaited tradition and likely a familiar one for folks like me, whose parents risked their lives for others not just on Christmas but every day. 

My mom, still in her silky robe but feathery, Aunt Viv-esque curls intact, corralled me and my older brother downstairs. My dad popped in The Temptations’ Christmas Card cassette—a sound as familiar as the crackling of wrapping paper. Today, I laugh at the thought of a cassette, but back then, it was the soundtrack of my joy. We had exactly 30 minutes to open gifts (when your dad is a Navy vet and career firefighter, you simply thrive on a schedule) while I drank microwaved Swiss Miss hot cocoa. Then, I danced around him in a circle, ecstatic over my Easy-Bake Oven,  and he’d lift me in the air, squeezing me tight before grabbing his duffle bag and venturing into the slowly awakening world.

This small series of events meant so much to me then because, even as a kid, I was strangely aware of where my dad was going—and that, in the very best case of scenarios, he would make it back home. By the grace of God, he did, day after day, year after year. Looking back, I can see why I fought so hard to keep these specific traditions, even years after I’d grown out of orange Flintstone vitamins and my dad had transitioned from active fire duty and into administrative roles: I believe the ritualistic wake-up, the familiar thrum of The Temptations’ Silent Night, and those chewy, processed marshmallows were some kind of protective shield for my dad, one of a few Black firefighters at his station, and for my family, the only Black people on the block. That is the power of tradition, a gilded thread linking past and present. For resilient Black families like mine, traditions aren’t just celebrations—they’re acts of preservation. They carry the weight of ancestry, connecting us to those who came before and those who will come after.

We see it in the foods we share, the specific care and discipline passed down from generation, and fortifying many more to come. Just think about the sacred debates in almost every Black household over who gets to make the macaroni and cheese for Christmas dinner and why. It’s not just a dish; it’s a badge of trust and mastery, passed down through generations like a family heirloom. That person, in their majestic, cheddar cheese prowess, is the preserver of all that is right on what is one of the most culturally significant times of the year in our community, whether it be for religious reasons or just a time to gather in the garage for a game of spades. In my household, the Macaroni-In-Chief is, of course, my mom, who taught me: colby-cheddar-mozzarella mix, one egg, and powdered mustard, never yellow. Paprika on top for color, and don’t you dare forget the pats of butter.

And before y’all fight me about the recipe in the comments, I want to point out just how awesome it is that we, as a community, can even have such dialogue over epicurean tradition. Food is our lifeblood despite our varied backgrounds and upbringings. I’ll throw a little more seasoning on this argument: baked macaroni and cheese, as we know it, has been attributed to James Hemings, enslaved by President Thomas Jefferson, who brought it to America from Paris in the 18th century. And here we are, centuries later, still building community around what we love. (If you’re hungry for more, read this exploration of mac-and-cheese’s roots in the Black-owned Tennessee Tribune).

Maybe it’s the beans, greens, potatoes, and tomatoes that bring your family together, or maybe it’s the music. Honeyed, gospel-tinged stylings from iconoclasts like Sam Cooke and the aforementioned Temptations always warmed my home. Admittedly, growing up, it didn’t occur to me that there was neither a Sinatra nor a Bing Crosby beneath our roof, as we often see in mainstream American Christmas films and TV shows. My parents grew up in the Jim Crow-era South. They were intrinsically motivated to embrace Black culture—which includes the top-tier Jackson Five version of Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer—in a world set out to erase and eradicate. That tradition, for them, was a sign of resilience and one I still keep up today.

Still, not everyone experiences the holidays as a season of joy. Loneliness and isolation are especially common during this time, with experts warning about the heightened risks of depression and anxiety. For Black Americans, these struggles can be compounded by economic challenges, systemic racism, and inequitable social circumstances, according to the National Institute on Minority Health and Health Disparities (NIMHD), and these risk factors can be exasperated during the holiday season. 

While I find traditions to be the balm for life’s break-neck pace, helping us to ease back into connection and empathy, I want to stress that regardless of how you spend this holiday season, I hope taking care of yourself remains the priority.

As 2025 inches closer, there is an undercurrent of anxiety beneath the swell of new-year possibilities. In January, America will see Donald Trump inaugurated as the President of the United States for the second time, a fact that has left many Black women—specifically, the 92% who voted for current Vice President Kamala Harris—uneasy about what the future holds for us. That being said, no matter how small, holiday traditions remind us what we value most and want to solidify in our futures: community, faith, and love. So, if you can, embrace them as a means to stay grounded amid uncertain times ahead.

This year, for me, Christmas will look a little different. My partner and I decided to stay home, indulging in some rest and much-needed reflection. Our Christmas tree will have sweet childhood ornaments his mom sent us. Jackson Five’s Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer will mingle with Kendrick Lamar’s dodger blue. Egg Benedict for brunch while we watch Coming to America for the umpteenth time and reading a towering stack of holiday romance novels I can’t want to devour. These are new traditions, and I look forward to watching them become as seasoned as my mom’s cast iron skillet, growing richer with time as they blend the comfort of the old with the excitement of the new.

This year, I’m reminded that traditions anchor us in a world that often feels unpredictable, giving us a sense of continuity, comfort, value, and belonging. Each tradition is a gift, intricately wrapped in love and handed down through generations. Although I’ll be spending the holidays away from my family this holiday season, I’ll cherish the old and new rituals as sacred threads binding my past, present, and future. However you choose to celebrate, I hope you, too, find blessings in your own traditions. 

Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?

The Mexican Holiday Tradition I Share With My BFF

How I Cope With Holiday Grief After Losing My Mom

Adorably Corny Black Christmas Films To Stream Now

This article was originally published on refinery29.com.