I want to start by apologizing for this rant. My poor wife has listened to me wrestle with this for the past week, and I still don’t feel settled. I’m honestly at the point where I’m ready to say I’m done celebrating Christmas—and maybe even Thanksgiving—with my parents and siblings altogether.

At the center of it all are my parents, my mom and dad. They’re both in their eighties now and won’t be with us forever. That fact matters, and it weighs on me more than I probably let on. Then there’s my wife and I, and our three kids—all grown, all adults, all working and living their own lives. That still feels strange to say sometimes.

I have two brothers and a sister. One brother is married with kids, two of whom are now adults with their own jobs. Watching the next generation step into adulthood really drives home how quickly time passes. My youngest brother is also married, but his family is in a completely different season—three young kids, full of noise, energy, and chaos. I recognize that life because I’ve lived it.

Then there’s my baby sister. She’s married and has a son in his twenties who is autistic. While his age says “adult,” his needs and world often look more like those of a teenager. He’s special—everyone knows it, including him—and I think he’s figured out just how wrapped around his finger the family really is.

The real issue, though, isn’t any one person. It’s the expectation that everyone must be present at every family function. My mom believes that if something is planned, everyone has to be there—no exceptions. For years, Christmas has been pure hell because of this mindset.

If someone couldn’t make it, she would get upset and cry. As the oldest, I’ve tried to talk to her calmly, suggesting she pick a date and let people work around it. But there are two things she refuses to accept. First, our family has grown, and people now have other obligations—spouses, in-laws, jobs, kids, and schedules that don’t revolve around one household. Second, if Christmas falls on a weekend, many people still have to return to work on Monday. She cannot understand why they can’t “just ask off.”

Here’s the part that still stings the most. I’ve been married since 1991, and from day one, my wife and I always gone to my parents’ house for Christmas lunch. Always. My wife’s parents also had lunch every year, but we never went there first. We would eat at my parents’ house, open gifts, then rush out and head to either her parents’ house or her brother’s—arriving late every single time. They would be waiting on us.

Year after year, this happened. And not once did my wife complain, because she understood exactly how my mom would react if she didn’t get her way.

Now things have changed. My wife’s parents have both passed away, and her family now gathers at her sister’s house. That house is in the opposite direction from where my family meets. Trying to fit both sides of the family into one day is no longer just stressful—it’s impractical. What used to be exhausting is now simply unreasonable.

About five years ago, something finally changed for the better. My mom told me she and my sister had talked and decided that the Saturday after Christmas would be our official family Christmas. It felt like a miracle. Everyone could make it. No tears. No drama. No guilt. It worked.

Until yesterday.

My youngest brother’s wife, who works as a prenatal nurse, had to work late. My mom went hysterical. Suddenly, Saturday “won’t work anymore.” According to her, the solution is that we’ll all meet the day after Christmas because she’s convinced a future executive order will make it a federal holiday.

I tried explaining—calmly—that even if something like that ever happened, it wouldn’t affect healthcare workers, and many employers wouldn’t observe it anyway. Changes like that take years, if they happen at all. None of that mattered.

And just like that, we’re back to square one.

What makes this so hard is knowing that my parents are aging. Time is limited. I don’t want resentment to be what I remember. I don’t want the holidays to feel like obligations instead of moments. Honoring our parents shouldn’t require everyone else to bend themselves into knots, sacrificing peace and fairness to avoid tears.

Wanting boundaries doesn’t mean I love them any less. It means I’m trying to protect my wife, my kids, and myself from decades of emotional strain that always seems to fall on the same shoulders.

I don’t have all the answers yet. I just know I’m exhausted. And for the first time, I’m seriously questioning whether continuing these holiday traditions—exactly as they’ve always been—is worth the emotional cost.

With time being what it is, I want whatever holidays we have left to be filled with meaning, not tension. Maybe stepping back isn’t giving up at all. Maybe it’s the only way to find peace while there’s still time to appreciate one another.