Around the time Halloween candy shows up in the store, I begin to feel unsettled.

Most of the time I'm not even aware of the slow creep of holiday stress. My winter calendar starts looking like a pack of highlighters got into the aforementioned candy, and everyone else's planner fills up too. We're all juggling work, travel, family, and time off schedules that don't match anyone else's. Some part of me quietly concludes that the next two months are going to be mayhem: miserable, unpredictable, and mostly out of my hands. Its the part that sees the holidays coming and just…gives up.

This part—let's call her Path of Least Resistance Pammy—throws in the towel and surrenders to the seasonal scramble. After all, why plan for chaos? My pattern in the past has been to slog my way from October to January, then land in the new year feeling like I’d been run over by a very festive truck.

This year, I'm trying something different, and it started with a small, slightly embarrassing realization. My facepalm-emoji moment was this: “The holidays are chaos and I'm just along for the ride” isn’t a fact. It’s just a story. A very convincing one, with plenty of past evidence behind it, but still a story. 

As a therapist—especially as an ACT therapist—I’m supposed to be good at spotting stories. As it turns out, it's not always easy to catch when you're getting hooked by your thoughts. (I can hear my clients saying "yeah, Anne…that's what I've been trying to tell you.")

Once I noticed the story, I asked myself a question: in the midst of what feels like holiday madness, where can I take action? 

I'm guessing that most women reading this have a holiday story of their own. These stories are old and well-rehearsed. Maybe yours is “If I don’t make this season special, no one will.” Or “I’ll be the only one without a perfect holiday.” Or “My family will push my buttons and I’ll smile through it anyway.” Maybe your narrative has more of a shut-down theme: “It’s all too much, so I’m out of here.” The last one looks like something I've done in the past—disappear into a hidey-hole of holiday misery until it's all over.

Stories like these aren’t silly or foolish. They come from real experience. The holidays are legitimately a lot, and it makes sense to feel distressed going into them. And when we're distressed, our mind makes up stories—it's just the way the human mind works.

Problems arise when we don't notice our holiday narrative and it starts to run the show. A story that says “the next few months will be miserable and I’m powerless” does a very efficient job of making sure you stay stuck. Then, if anything goes wrong during the holidays (as it's bound to do, because, you know, humanity) your mind gets to say “told you so.” Year after year, your holiday story gets reinforced.

How to take the reins this holiday season

So here's my experiment this holiday season—you're welcome to borrow it and see how it goes for you.

Name the story

Start by naming the story your mind tells you about the holidays. You can do this out loud or on paper. Try writing down all the thoughts you have about the holidays, then come up with a one-sentence title for those thoughts. This title doesn't have to be a polished "final draft" version. What would you call the annoying earworm that plays in your head starting in October or November? 

“The holidays are ___, and I’m going to ___.” Notice how sure it sounds. Then notice that a prediction about the future, however confident, is not the future.

Sort what’s yours from what’s not

Next, take a bit of time to distinguish what’s in your control and what's not. This part is where you get to take back the reins. You can't control your mother-in-law's running political commentary, or whatever nonsense American Airlines is getting up to.

You do control what you say yes to, how long you stay, what you plan for yourself, and what you tell people ahead of time. The goal isn’t to control the season. It’s to find some steadiness no matter what the holiday storm brings. 

Decide in advance

Decide a few things in advance, and tell people early. You don't have to plan for everything, because a color-coded holiday spreadsheet is just another way to over-function (and avoid). Instead, see if you can identify a handful of holiday to-do list items that tend to cause the most scrambling and leave you feeling the most stressed. 

You get to decide when you’ll arrive and when you’ll leave. What you’re hosting and what you’re not. When you're working, and when you're taking time off. This is what taking the reins looks like, and it turns out to be much less dramatic than it sounds.

Treat the whole thing as data collection

Finally, treat the season as an experiment instead of a verdict. This is the part most high-functioning women will find the hardest, because the perfectionistic brain wants to get it right. But “get the holidays right” is a recipe for the exact pressure you are trying to get away from. 

Instead, try asking a different question: what happens if I do it this way? Then, come January, you can make notes about the results of your experiment. Your observations in the new year are worth more than any amount of dread in October.

I don’t know yet how my own experiment will turn out. I’m not promising a calm, cozy, Instagram-worthy season, and neither should you. People will cancel, flights will be delayed, and someone (most likely me) will cry at Gate E7 at DFW. At this moment, I can say that I'm walking into November with some steadiness instead of swirling, and a plan I made on purpose instead of a story I inherited by default.

The holidays may still be loud. You get to decide whether you throw up your hands and let the chaos take you for a spin, or grab the reins and steer your own sleigh this time around.  

If you notice your own holiday story running the show and want company while you work with it, I’d love to talk. I work with women across Colorado, in person in Durango and online.