Some things change with time. Some wounds are still there when the holidays come around.
Thanksgiving is here again.
For many people, it’s a time of family, laughter, full tables, warm homes, and the comfort of knowing they have somewhere they belong.
For others, it’s a reminder of everything they don’t have.
For me, it’s another reminder of the emptiness that comes with being without family. Another day watching the world celebrate together while trying to make sense of what it means to face another holiday alone.
A year ago, I wrote about these feelings. I wrote about the silence, the solitude, and the hope that better days were ahead.
Here we are, another year later, and those words still feel painfully familiar.
There’s something difficult about that.
You hope that time will soften the edges. You hope that things will change, that relationships will heal, that somehow life will become a little less lonely.
But time doesn’t magically fix everything. Sometimes, you simply learn to carry things that you never wanted to carry in the first place.
Not everyone has a place at the table
We spend so much time talking about what Thanksgiving is supposed to mean that we forget the people for whom it means something entirely different.
Not everyone has family waiting for them.
Not everyone has someone asking how their day was, saving them a seat, or wondering why they haven’t arrived yet.
Some of us have to watch the celebrations from the outside, quietly pretending that another ordinary day is all it is.
But it isn’t always ordinary.
Sometimes, the hardest part is knowing that somewhere, people are enjoying the very things you’ve spent years wishing you could have.
Sometimes, it’s the silence in the house.
Sometimes, it’s the realization that another holiday has arrived, and nothing has changed.
And sometimes, it’s the simple desire to be wanted. To be remembered. To feel like your presence would actually matter to somebody.
That shouldn’t be too much to ask for.
Yet somehow, for some of us, it feels impossibly far away.
Strength doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt
People talk about strength as though it means never breaking, never crying, never admitting that something hurts.
I don’t believe that anymore.
Sometimes, strength is getting through a day that you wish you could skip entirely.
Sometimes, it’s admitting that you’re lonely instead of pretending you’re fine.
Sometimes, it’s waking up, facing another difficult day, and continuing forward even when you have no idea what you’re moving toward.
And sometimes, strength is simply surviving a holiday that makes you painfully aware of everything missing from your life.
There is no shame in that.
You don’t have to turn every painful experience into a lesson. You don’t have to pretend you’re grateful for being hurt. And you certainly don’t have to smile for the sake of making everyone else comfortable.
You are allowed to acknowledge that life has been difficult.
You are allowed to wish things had turned out differently.
You are allowed to want more than simply getting by.
To those spending Thanksgiving alone
If you’re reading this and feeling the same emptiness, I want you to know something.
You are not less worthy of love because your family isn’t there.
You are not a failure because your life doesn’t look like the photographs filling your social media feed.
And you are not weak because today hurts more than an ordinary day.
Some of us are fighting battles nobody sees. Some of us are carrying years of disappointment, rejection, and heartbreak behind a perfectly ordinary face.
We keep going because we have to. We get through the hours because somehow the hours keep coming.
And even when we don’t have all the answers, our stories are not automatically over.
I can’t promise that tomorrow will be better. I can’t tell you that everything happens for a reason, because sometimes terrible things happen and there is no satisfying explanation.
But I can say this: your worth is not determined by who shows up for you, who walks away, or who fails to recognize what you bring into this world.
You matter, even when it doesn’t feel like anyone notices.
Another Thanksgiving
So here we are.
Another year. Another Thanksgiving. Another reminder that life doesn’t always turn out the way we imagined.
I’m not going to dress it up with empty promises or pretend that a few comforting words can erase the loneliness.
Some things still hurt.
Some absences are still felt.
And some holidays are simply harder than others.
But I am still here, still writing, still trying to make something meaningful out of the things that hurt.
Maybe that’s what strength looks like for now.
Not having everything figured out. Not pretending to be happy. Just continuing to exist, to hope, and to leave a little room for the possibility that life might still surprise us.
If Thanksgiving is difficult for you this year, I hope you give yourself permission to feel whatever you need to feel.
You don’t owe anyone a performance of happiness.
And you don’t have to be surrounded by people to deserve kindness.
To everyone sitting with the silence this Thanksgiving: I see you. I understand that the holidays aren’t always happy. And I hope that, somewhere along the way, we all find the love and belonging we’ve been missing.
Until then, we’ll keep going.
One day at a time.
Not every story is happy. Not every wound is healed. But every voice deserves to be heard.
— Notes2Noone