(Coach’s Corner)
 
There are seasons when the holidays don’t feel light at all.
They feel thick. Tender. A little heavier than anyone can see from the outside.
 
Maybe it’s memories.
Maybe it’s pressure.
Maybe it’s grief that hides under the surface until the lights go up.
Maybe it’s just the quiet ache of being the one who keeps everything steady.
 
Whatever it is… you feel it.
And the truth is, your body always knows before your mind catches up.
 
Lately, I’ve noticed how December has its own kind of pull.
A tug in the chest.
A tightening in the shoulders.
A soft, almost undetectable exhaustion that settles into the edges of your day.
 
Not because you’re weak.
But because you’re human.
 
And because life has been asking a lot of you.
 
There’s a moment — sometimes small, sometimes sharp — where you suddenly realize you’re stretched a little thinner than you meant to be. You’re doing the things, showing up where needed, keeping the peace, holding the mood, tending to the people around you…
 
…but inside, you feel the tension.
Like you’re suspended between responsibilities and emotions with no place to land.
 
This is where the idea of the Hammock came to me.
 
Not the kind you lounge in on a summer afternoon.
But the kind your soul needs when life pulls from every direction.
 
A hammock isn’t strong because there’s no tension.
It’s strong because the tension is held — evenly, gently, safely — between two anchor points.
 
And I realized:
So many of us are trying to hold everything alone.
Trying to be the hammock for everyone else.
Trying to catch, support, absorb, soothe, and stabilize…
 
…with nothing underneath us.
 
But you were never meant to be the only structure holding the weight of your world.
 
There’s a softer way to move through this season.
 
A way where you’re allowed to name the pull instead of pretending it’s not there.
A way where you choose anchor points that steady you — truth, boundaries, breath, God’s nearness.
A way where small threads of support keep you from falling through the gaps.
A way where rest doesn’t need permission.
 
A way where you don’t have to brace.
You can lean.
 
This is the heart of the Holiday Hammock:
Letting yourself be held where you once held everything.
 
Letting God take what your nervous system can’t.
Letting quiet moments stitch you back together.
Letting the season be honest — not perfect.
 
So if you’re feeling the pull this year, hear me gently:
 
You are not failing.
You are not too much.
You are not behind.
You are not the only one who feels this way.
 
You are simply being stretched in places that need a softer landing.
 
May this be the year you stop gripping the edges of your strength.
May this be the year you let the hammock do its work.
May this be the year you let yourself be held — fully, quietly, without apology.