On Christmas expectations, inherited scorecards and the question of what counts as enough.
Am I the only one in the middle of November who is already tired from a list that has barely started? All the presents, the extra work, the events and activities to make this time of the year memorable for my kid. Okay, perhaps my low ferritin has something to do with it, but I am blaming Christmas for now.
Apparently, we have about six weeks to celebrate Christmas, catch up with everyone we have not seen enough, wrap up our work, organise our homes and somehow emerge rested enough to start a new year. Which, when you say it out loud, sounds completely fine. Totally manageable. Practically a spa retreat.
When I was writing my last post, about the book that was returned, I noticed how exhausted I already felt just thinking about fitting everything into November and December. My personal wishlist for the next six weeks is really very modest: I want to enjoy these weeks, I want the memories, I want my daughter to have lovely Christmas experiences, and I would also like to sit down on a chair occasionally. Preferably without holding a clipboard or mentally cross-referencing a gift list.
Somewhere in the middle of this very reasonable list of demands, I started wondering: is this cultural?
Why am I so exhausted in December?
Many of us hit a wall in December because several things arrive at once: our normal lives, plus the effort of producing a holiday on top of them. A November 2025 study of 293 parents in the United Kingdom measured parental burnout during Christmas and found that higher burnout was followed by less genuine emotional expression with their children, though it did not test why the exhaustion happens in the first place.
I went looking for an answer to my own question and found that study in Communications Psychology. Researchers sent phone surveys several times a day for 35 days around Christmas. Across 14,451 observations, parents who felt more burned out than usual were less genuine with their children at the next check-in. At follow-up, mothers reported higher burnout than fathers.
The study did not prove that Christmas causes burnout, and it did not test culture. Its authors describe the holidays as a mix of family togetherness and cherished memories alongside social and logistical demands. Social demands from whom, though? I do not remember voting on any of them.
I do not want to stretch what the data says. The study does not measure hidden scorecards or the pressure to look like we are thriving. Still, it makes me wonder how much of December exhaustion comes from the actual tasks, and how much comes from the performance of having a good time.
Is the December list cultural?
Since the study could not answer my question, I turned to what I know. Having lived in Brazil, Australia, Portugal, Ireland and Switzerland, I have spent a lot of time watching how people learn what counts as "doing well." We grow up seeing what earns praise and what people seem slightly embarrassed to admit. Gradually, we absorb an inherited scorecard and start grading ourselves against it without remembering who handed us the pen.
Moving countries changes a life, yet it almost never updates the scorecard in our heads. Christmas falls in summer in Brazil and Australia and in winter in Switzerland, so the idea of a good celebration naturally changes with the weather. The rules have changed, yet we are still taking the test.
Presents, food, decorations and family photos can all be genuine expressions of love. They can also turn into proof that we are generous, organised and giving our kids a magical childhood. Half the time, I cannot even name the imaginary judge asking for the immaculate table or the packed calendar. I have simply learned to look at my own life as if someone were marking it out of ten.
A Christmas tradition that feels right to me
I had always filed this tradition in my head as Finnish. Turns out, it is Icelandic.
In Iceland, people give each other books on Christmas Eve, and many families spend the evening reading them. The tradition is called Jólabókaflóð, which translates roughly as the Christmas Book Flood. It started in the 1940s, when strict wartime import restrictions limited foreign goods and books became one of the few gifts people could easily buy. Every November since 1944, a catalogue of new books, Bókatíðindi, has arrived in Icelandic households.
That is what caught my attention. This tradition has a clear, traceable origin: a wartime restriction, a catalogue and a habit that stuck. It made me wonder who wrote my December list, and whether it has an origin too, even if I cannot name its author.
I cannot tell from Switzerland whether Icelandic parents are any less tired in December, and I doubt a book cancels out the work of organising Christmas. I like the idea anyway: the gift is a book and an evening to read it, with no extra activity to produce, assemble or photograph.
What are we trying to prove?
I think about this a lot as a mother. I want my daughter to have traditions and the excitement of unwrapping presents. At the same time, I wonder if the pressure to manufacture a wonderful childhood has become just one more benchmark for parents to hit. We curate the experiences and photograph the proof.
A child can have a perfectly good afternoon without a themed craft or a planned excursion, and I suspect I am not the only parent who knows that. Knowing it does not always stop me from doing the exact opposite. There is always a very persuasive voice in my head explaining that if we just add one more festive outing and one more carefully wrapped surprise, that will be the thing that makes December truly special. Five minutes later, I am tired again.
I do not want my daughter to grow up thinking a good Christmas is measured by how much her mother managed to pull off. I would rather she remember that we enjoyed being together, preferably while I was sitting down.
I have no plans to stop celebrating or to drop the traditions we actually love. I will still buy the presents and put up the decorations. Before I add the next item to my list, though, I want to ask myself whether it is there because I love it, or because I think it proves something.
Which things on your December list are there because you love them, and which are there because you think they prove something?
Where to read more
Parenting Unpacked: Parenting Through the Loss of Self looks at the identity changes that come with raising children, especially abroad. It is written for the parent who looks completely capable on the outside while feeling lost on the inside. It is available on Kindle and, from 1 December, through Kindle Unlimited, so there is nothing extra to pay if you already read that way. If you want to read a bit before deciding, the first 40 pages are free.
Frequently asked questions
Why am I so exhausted in December?
December often brings together work deadlines, family visits, school events, gift buying and holiday preparations, along with the effort of making the month feel special. A 2025 study of 293 UK parents linked higher burnout during Christmas to less genuine emotional expression, but it did not test why the exhaustion happens.
What is Christmas burnout?
Christmas burnout is an informal term for the physical and emotional exhaustion associated with holiday preparations, social commitments and family expectations. Research has also examined parental burnout and emotional expression during the Christmas period.
What is Jólabókaflóð?
Jólabókaflóð, or the Christmas Book Flood, is an Icelandic tradition of giving books on Christmas Eve, with many families spending the evening reading. It took shape in the 1940s and is associated with an annual catalogue of new books sent to homes in November.
Is holiday stress cultural?
Culture can influence what people value, how they celebrate and what they feel expected to do. However, research on parental burnout during the Christmas period has not established that cultural differences cause holiday exhaustion.
What is an inherited scorecard?
An inherited scorecard is the set of standards for doing well that people absorb from their families and cultures, often without noticing where the standards came from. The term comes from author Jessica Gabrielzyk, and the concepts glossary explains it in full.
