There comes a moment for many single parents when you realize the holidays will never look the way they did before. Your family looks different. Maybe you lost your spouse to death. Maybe your marriage fell apart, leaving lots of hurt and sadness in its wake. Maybe you yearn for the days when the giggles of your kids would wake you up (way too early) on Christmas morning because now, it’s quiet. Lonely. 

Maybe it hits you as you peer into the store window, gazing at towering trees of ornaments. Your ornaments are in a box, covered with dust and backlogged dreams. Maybe you are packing to move into a smaller place and you decide to let go of the boxes of decorations that once filled a different house, a different life. Maybe you simply cannot afford the big display you used to get so excited about every year, and it feels like one more reminder of everything that has shifted.

You look around and think, “I don’t recognize this version of Christmas. This isn’t what I wanted. I never expected this.” 

Underneath that thought sit two real pain points.

First, the loss of past traditions that once anchored your family. The trips to see the lights, the Christmas pajamas, the jokes you shared while hanging the same decorations every year.

Second, there is so much pressure to create “magic” out of thin air as a single parent, often with less time, less money, and a heart that is still healing.

It can feel impossible. Yet hidden inside this terrain is a quiet invitation—not to recreate what used to be, but to build something that fits who you and your kids are now.

When You Cannot Go Back To The Way It Was

Author and single parent, Marissa Lee, remembers moving after her husband’s passing and deciding she did not need Christmas decorations at all. The thought of unpacking ornaments tied to the life she had with her late husband felt unbearable. In her words, she became “the Grinch.” She thought, “We will just get through the day. No celebrations. No big deal.”

But her kids had a different experience. When December arrived, they started asking for things they remembered. “Where is that snowman?” “Where is our old stuff?” They wanted to decorate. They wanted some connection to the Christmases that came before. But she had already gotten rid of most of it.

So she did something unexpected. She gave her boys some money, dropped them off at a hardware store, and told them to pick out some new decorations. They came back with quirky items she never would have chosen herself. Those pieces did not match the old life she had with her husband. They matched the life she had begun building with her sons. What started as a reluctant errand has become one of their favorite traditions—picking out something new and different each year has become their way of saying, “This is us now.”

You might have your own version of this story. Maybe you used to drive through certain neighborhoods to see lights. Maybe you always hosted a formal dinner with fancy dishes. Maybe you had traditions that were beautiful at the time but no longer fit your reality.

Letting go is not a betrayal of what you had. It is an acknowledgment of what actually is.

You are allowed to release traditions that no longer serve your family, and you are allowed to build new ones that reflect who you are now, not who you were before everything changed.

Small Budgets, Big Meaning

One of the most discouraging parts of rebuilding holiday traditions as a solo parent is often money. Your kids see elaborate inflatables in other yards. They see commercials filled with perfectly decorated homes. They make wish lists that stretch beyond your income. You want to give them the world, and the numbers in your bank account seem to scream, “You cannot.”

There is grief in that. There is disappointment. There is also room for creativity.

One mom took her kids to a thrift store, gave them a few dollars, and told them to find the most delightfully tacky Christmas items they could. They came home with mismatched and hilariously outdated decorations. They laughed. And they hung them up anyway. Those “awful” decorations are now part of the family story. They come out every year. They carry memories in a way no curated Pinterest board could.

Your kids do not need perfection. They need presence and participation.

A movie projected on a sheet in the backyard, with neighbors and friends in camping chairs and kids bundled in blankets, can become the Christmas moment they remember. A five-dollar white elephant party with cheap, silly gifts can be the thing they talk about in the car for weeks.

Holiday magic is not about the size of your yard display or the height of your tree. It is about the sense of belonging your kids feel when you invite them into the story you are building together.

Reframing Old Traditions 

Sometimes you do not have to scrap a tradition; you just have to change your role in it.

Maybe your former spouse started a certain holiday ritual and it feels strange to keep doing it without them. You might be tempted to block it out completely. However, there is another option.

CEO & Founder of Solo Parent, Robert Beeson, used to host a delicate, formal, “fancy dress” Christmas party when he was married. His ex led the tea-party energy, the pretty dresses, the sweet little details. After the divorce, that part of the tradition was gone. But his daughters still loved the idea of dressing up and having a special gathering.

So he reframed it. He kept the name but changed the tone. Instead of fragile tea cups and quiet music, he went all-in with a new version. A velvet jacket, disco lights, a fog machine, tubs of gummy worms, a house full of squealing little girls dancing until they collapsed into giggles. He honored what they enjoyed but turned it into something uniquely theirs.

You might have places where you can do the same.

If you used to walk through a particular light display with your spouse, maybe now you invite another single parent family to go with you and turn it into a group tradition. If you used to have an adults-only holiday party, maybe now it becomes a cookie baking day with kids, neighbors and chosen family.

You do not have to recreate the exact scene from your “old life.” You can take the parts that still matter and house them in a new container.

Being Gentle With Holiday Expectations

Underneath so much of our holiday stress is expectation. We picture a certain kind of Christmas: Our kids’s surprised reaction to each gift. The house feeling warm and emotionally close, lit up with twinkly lights. Family members behaving better than they usually do. We imagine what it should look like, and then we feel crushed by what it actually is.

If your life has taken a hard left turn, expectations can be even more fragile. You may not trust your own emotions. One morning you wake up feeling surprisingly okay, and by afternoon you are sitting on the floor, wrapping paper in your lap, suddenly flooded with grief. It can feel unpredictable and out of control.

Being gentle with expectations is not about giving up hope. It is about making room for your humanity.

You are allowed to walk into the holiday season with a loose hold on how things “should” go. You can decide in advance that your main goal is not to produce a flawless experience, but to be present to whatever is actually happening. That includes your kids’ reactions.

There will be years when they are giddy about everything, and years when they turn into angsty teenagers who shrug at the traditions that used to thrill them. Single parent, Elizabeth Cole, shared a moment she recalls while decorating the tree with her son. She held up an Elmo ornament he chose when he was two and said, “Do you remember this? You loved Elmo. You wore the costume and watched the show nonstop.” He grabbed the ornament, tossed it on the tree, and ran off to the next thing. The tender moment she hoped for did not land.

Instead of forcing it, she gave herself permission to have the moment anyway. She paused, held the ornament, and let herself remember that season of his life. His tiny costume. The Elmo phase. The gifts that year. Even the heartbreak that overlapped those months. She let her own heart feel the weight of it, without demanding that he match her sentiment.

You can do the same. Your kids’ responses do not determine the value of your traditions. The meaning lives in the love and intention you keep showing up with, even when their reaction is a shrug instead of a squeal.

These Messy Holidays May One Day Be “The Good Old Days”

In the middle of single parent life, it often feels like you are scraping by. You look at your situation and think, “This is not what I wanted for my kids. This is not the Christmas I imagined.”

Yet many parents who are further down the road say something surprising: When they look back, the seasons that felt the hardest are often the ones they treasure the most. Those moments become the stories you tell later. They become the proof that, even in grief and change and limited budgets, you kept showing up for each other.

You may not be able to see it yet, but you are living the future “good old days” right now.

So this year, when the ache rises up because things are not what they were, try this simple shift: Let yourself grieve what is gone. It mattered. Choose one small tradition that feels doable in this season. A special breakfast. A neighborhood walk to look at lights. A silly game. Hold your expectations gently and stay curious about how your kids are experiencing it. And above all, remember that you are not behind. You are not failing. You are building something new out of pieces you never asked to carry. That is holy, gritty, beautiful work.

You and your kids do not need a perfect holiday to have a meaningful one. You just need honest hearts, re-imagined rituals, and the courage to keep showing up as you are.

Join a Solo Parent Group this holiday season.  We’re here for you, you were never meant to carry this alone.