Several years ago, I was getting ready to go to my brother's annual Christmas party. It's more than just an intimate gathering and includes friends, family, colleagues, neighbors of my brother and sister-in-law.

Since starting my coaching practice, I had seen attendance not only as an obligation, but also as a networking opportunity. My husband sees it as neither and often stays home, as he decided to do that year. Party clothes on and make-up applied, I got into the car, with my two sons dutifully in the back seat. Photo by roland

And then, I began to cry.  In that moment, I felt the enormous pressure I had put on myself to be cheerful, to look perfect, to network for business. Inside, I felt like I hadn't achieved enough for the year. I hadn't reached my financial goals. I was dreading the thought of someone asking me what I did for a living or how my year had been. I felt like a failure. December has a way of doing that. Photo by Muffet.

I turned to my sons and said quietly, "We're not going to the party." At this point, they were older than grade school but not yet into the teen years. They shrugged their shoulders and walked into the house, surprised, but not upset. My husband saw me retreat into the house, and gave me a supportive look, as if to say, "Hey, why do you think I gave up on holiday gatherings years ago?"

December is my preferred meltdown month followed by January as my laying-low-til-I-regain-the-mojo month. I distinctly remember spending one December baking dozens of cookies,
not because I liked to bake, but because I was depressed and couldn't
muster the energy to do much else. Another December, I alternated between
spells of sobbing and quiet hiking and sitting in the dark in my home
office.  Attempting to make dinner for
the family made me feel even more inept. Photo by tiny white lights.

It didn't used to be this way. When I was in the corporate world, December was kickback time. I could count on a few quiet days to clean out my files and clear off my desk and eat Christmas cookies. I still got paid my regular salary.

But since become a solopreneur (and now an entrepreneur), kickback time also means less income, sometimes a lot less. And since it's also the end of the year, it means a settling up, a moment of reckoning. My Gremlin runs rampant, providing an assessment of the past 12 months in stark business terms and making me feel like I wasn't good enough. It's perverse. 

This year, I'd like to have a December without the pressure, without the meltdown. I'd like to put front and center the joy of the season, of connecting with friends and family, of slowing down to reflect (without the Gremlin), of giving thanks to all I have. I'd like to remember that I don't have to appear even close to perfect. I can stop working on my business for several weeks and pick up where I left off in January. I'm giving myself permission to just lay in bed all morning or take an afternoon nap, not because I'm depressed, but because I deserve it. Photo by John-Paul.

Whatever I have right now, in this moment, is enough. No more is needed. Really.