It’s Mid-December. Here’s How to Support Someone Who’s Grieving (Without Making It Harder)
I’m avoiding it.
I have the luxury of working from home, so I’m choosing my moments carefully.
Going out when I need to. Staying away when I don’t.
Avoiding the lights, the trees, the noise, the forced cheer.
Not because I’m fragile.
Because I’m paying attention.
Grief doesn’t disappear in December; it gets louder. Brighter. More confrontational.
Every shop window, every invitation, every “can you believe it’s nearly Christmas?” is a reminder of what’s missing.
Avoidance, for many of us, isn’t denial.
It’s protection.
And most people don’t realise that.
Why December is harder than people think
Grief at this time of year isn’t just emotional … it’s sensory.
Lights, music, crowds, conversations, expectations.
Your nervous system doesn’t get a break.
It’s constantly bracing, scanning, absorbing.
So when someone says, “You should come, it might be good for you,”
what we often hear is: Please manage your grief in a way that makes this easier for me.
Most people mean well.
They just don’t know what grief actually feels like from the inside.
The quiet harm of avoidance
There’s another thing that happens in December, and it hurts just as much.
People go quiet.
They don’t know what to say.
They don’t want to upset you.
They’re afraid of making it worse.
So they say nothing.
But silence doesn’t land as neutrality.
It often lands as abandonment.
When people avoid you, it can feel like your grief has made you socially unsafe.
Like the loss is unspeakable.
Like your person is too uncomfortable to name.
Most of the time, avoidance isn’t cruelty; it’s fear.
But it still leaves us carrying everything alone.
Here’s the truth supporters need to hear
You don’t need the right words.
You need the right posture.
Grief doesn’t require fixing.
It requires witnessing.
If you’re scared of saying the wrong thing, say that.
That honesty is far kinder than silence.
Things that actually help sound like this:
“I don’t know what to say, but I’m thinking of you.”
“I’m so sorry. I remember Kahlia.”
“I don’t want to say the wrong thing, but I didn’t want to say nothing.”
“I’m here. You don’t need to reply.”
“I’m holding space for you today.”
They’re not polished.
They’re human.
And they tell us: You’re not alone in this.
What makes December support different
Support at this time of year needs to come with flexibility and permission.
That looks like:
Invitations that come with an easy out
No pressure to explain why we can’t come
Letting “no” be enough
Not insisting on cheer as a requirement for belonging
And please, don’t say “She wouldn’t want you to be sad.”
Love doesn’t erase grief.
And sadness isn’t a failure of gratitude.
If you’re grieving
You are allowed to protect yourself.
You’re allowed to avoid what hurts.
You’re allowed to say no without justification.
You’re allowed to show up halfway, leave early, or not come at all.
Avoidance can be wisdom.
Boundaries can be care.
You don’t owe anyone a performance of coping.
If you’re supporting someone
Your job isn’t to pull them back into the world.
It’s to meet them where they are.
Presence matters more than positivity.
Naming the loss matters more than smoothing it over.
Saying their person’s name matters more than finding the perfect words.
Being afraid of saying the wrong thing is understandable.
Saying nothing at all is what does the damage.
And one last thing that matters
This isn’t just about the first year of grief.
It’s for the fifth.
The tenth.
The rest of a life lived with loss.
Time changes the shape of grief, not the depth of love.
People don’t stop needing care just because the world thinks they should be “further along.”
Grief doesn’t expire.
And how we show up still matters.