I used to think “me time” during the holidays was something other people figured out. You know, the ones with neatly wrapped gifts by December 1st and matching family pajamas ready for the photo. Meanwhile, I was reheating my coffee for the third time, surrounded by glitter-covered pinecones and someone asking where their other mitten was.
Let me tell you the truth that took me a few Decembers (and more than one late-night breakdown) to learn: you’re allowed to carve out space for yourself—even in the middle of all the magic-making. In fact, that space? It might be the thing that actually makes the holidays feel magical again—for you, not just everyone else.
So I stopped chasing the idea of perfect balance and started looking for pockets. Little places in the day where I could breathe deeper, soften my shoulders, and come back to myself without guilt. No elaborate self-care routines, no disappearing acts—just natural, nourishing resets that helped me stay grounded and present.
Here are the 9 ways I carve out “me time” during the holiday chaos—ways that have held up through snow days, school concerts, and endless wrapping paper scraps.
1. I Build Me Time Into the Margins—Not Just the Morning
The advice to “wake up earlier” to find time for yourself? That doesn’t work when your toddler wakes up before the sun or you’re already running on empty. So I started looking at the in-between places—the soft margins of the day.
Ten minutes while the soup simmers. Five minutes while the kids are building a fort. Two minutes in the parked car before going inside.
That’s when I breathe. Stretch. Sip something hot. Write one line in my journal. Put on a song that makes me feel like myself again.
These moments may be small, but they’re real. And they stack up, gently and meaningfully, over time.
Research from the University of British Columbia found that engaging in short, meaningful breaks throughout the day can significantly reduce emotional exhaustion and improve resilience in caregivers—sometimes more effectively than long, infrequent ones.
2. I Treat Sensory Rituals as Anchors, Not Extras
I used to think I had to earn a cozy bath or a hot cup of tea by checking off a dozen tasks first. But my toddler taught me something different—comfort can come first.
Now I build in sensory rituals before the to-do list. Lighting a beeswax candle while tidying. Rubbing a little lavender oil on my wrists before preschool drop-off. Putting a cozy playlist on while folding laundry.
These rituals don’t slow me down—they settle me. They bring my nervous system back to center. They’re not a luxury. They’re how I stay present for everything else.
3. I Say “Not This Year” Without Over-Explaining
One of the most loving things I did for myself last December was say no to the neighborhood cookie swap. Not because I don’t love cookies or neighbors—but because something had to give.
Instead of feeling guilty, I imagined what I was saying yes to: a quiet afternoon, no pressure to clean the kitchen, space to bake with my kids when it felt good—not rushed.
Not everything has to happen every year. Some traditions rest so new ones can bloom. And I’ve learned that a kind, confident “not this year” doesn’t need a lengthy excuse—it just needs trust in your own bandwidth.
4. I Create “Micro-Retreats” in Familiar Places
I don’t always have time for a full bath, a massage, or a solo outing—but I can build a micro-retreat right in my kitchen. I keep a basket with a book I love, a small notebook, some tea bags, and a cozy wrap.
If I get even 15 minutes alone, I light a candle, wrap up, and just be. Read a few pages. Scribble. Do nothing.
Sometimes I do this after bedtime. Sometimes in the early afternoon lull. It’s not about escaping my life—it’s about tending to the woman living it.
5. I Let the Outdoors Reset Me (Even for Just 3 Minutes)
I’ve had moments where stepping outside—barefoot on the porch or wrapped in a coat on the back step—has completely shifted my mood. Something about the air, the sky, the birdsong.
It doesn’t need to be a long hike. It could be pulling a few weeds, watching your breath in the cold, or just standing in the sun while holding your tea.
Fresh air doesn’t ask you to fix anything. It just says, you’re part of this, too.
6. I Protect One Pocket of the Day as Sacred
It changes depending on the season, but there’s always one part of the day I claim just for me. Right now, it’s the post-bedtime exhale.
I used to fill it with chores or scrolling. Now, I pick something intentional. Sometimes it’s journaling. Sometimes a slow stretch on the floor. Sometimes a quiet 20 minutes with a show that feels like joy, not noise.
This isn’t about doing more. It’s about choosing what feels restorative—and protecting it like I would a naptime or a doctor’s appointment.
7. I Swap One Thing That Drains Me for Something That Feeds Me
This shift started when I realized I didn’t actually enjoy wrapping gifts at midnight while listening to frantic holiday playlists. So I swapped it.
Now I wrap in daylight with calm music or a favorite podcast. I light a candle. I give myself space to do one or two at a time.
Wherever I feel dread, I ask: Is there another way? A natural, slower way? A way that feels more like care and less like getting through it?
Sometimes I swap social obligations for quiet family time. Sometimes I swap a fancy meal plan for a cozy pantry soup. The goal is alignment—not achievement.
According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, 64% of people with mental health concerns say the holidays worsen their symptoms. Simplifying where we can, even in small ways, helps protect mental wellness during high-pressure seasons.
8. I Let Creative Energy Have a Place (Even If It’s Imperfect)
There’s something wildly restorative about creativity for its own sake. No pressure to share or perfect—just the act of making.
For me, that might be scribbling messy poetry on the back of a grocery list. Or decorating envelopes for thank-you notes. Or rearranging a shelf until it feels like art.
It might be drawing with your kids, painting a rock, sewing a button, kneading dough with your hands. Whatever lets your spirit play.
Creativity isn’t a break from real life. It’s a way back into it.
9. I Use My Breath As My Home Base
It sounds so basic. But honestly? It’s what brings me back every single time.
When the holiday calendar feels too full. When the wrapping paper is everywhere. When someone is melting down and I feel like joining them.
I stop. I close my eyes (even for a second). And I take one deep, audible breath.
Sometimes it’s one breath in the pantry. Sometimes it’s a few more while rocking in a chair. But every single time, it shifts the space inside me.
My breath is the only “me time” I’ll always have access to. It’s sacred. And free.
Rhythm Reminders
- Don’t wait for a big window—find the sacred in the margins.
- Let scent, sound, and soft light help you come home to yourself.
- Swap “perfect” traditions for ones that fit the you of this year.
- Keep a micro-retreat basket ready for when you catch five free minutes.
- Let one deep breath be your restart button—wherever, whenever.
Wrap Yourself in the Quiet
The holiday season asks a lot of us. The lists. The magic-making. The meals. The expectations. And underneath it all, many of us are quietly wondering—where do I fit in this picture?
Here’s what I’ve learned: you don’t need to disappear to come back to yourself. You don’t need to justify your rest. Or make it productive. Or turn it into a Pinterest board.
You’re allowed to take a walk alone. To sit with your tea in silence. To say no to the thing that drains you, even if it only takes 15 minutes. You’re allowed to protect your energy like it’s precious—because it is.
And when you do? You’ll feel it. The soft return. The breath that deepens. The joy that isn’t just performed—but felt.
So this year, let your presence be the gift. And let your own heart be one of the places you take care of.
