Every year around this time, something strange happens in the therapy room. Clients look at me with tired eyes and say, “I don’t know what’s wrong, I’m just exhausted.” And then we realise: Ah yes. December has arrived. The season of joy, jingles, and… emotional collapse.
This is the famine before the feast: emotionally depleted while the world demands more.
It’s the annual phenomenon where everyone is simultaneously overbooked, overstimulated, and somehow expected to be festive. Christmas deadlines sneak up like ninjas, social events multiply without consent, and suddenly we’re all surviving on caffeine, adrenaline, and a vague sense of obligation.
And then there’s grief, the quiet stowaway of the festive season. The grief of goals we didn’t quite reach. The grief of realising it’s somehow been “a year already.” The grief of anniversaries and losses that sit a little heavier when the rest of the world appears to be speeding along.
So if you’re feeling like the year has chewed you up, spit you out, and expects you to show up smiling with a charcuterie board you’re not alone. This is exactly when mental health care matters most. Your nervous system needs gentleness. It needs permission to rest and soften.
To help you do that, here is something for the month ahead;
The Self-Care Advent Calendar: Nervous System Edition
Imagine an advent calendar… but just for you.
Instead of cheap chocolate, each tiny door opens to a moment of nourishment, a spark of joy, or a nervous-system-soothing ritual to help you stay regulated during the seasonal chaos. (Chocolate is still absolutely allowed encouraged, even.)
Instructions
Each day, open one small act of kindness toward yourself.
These activities are designed to:
- calm your nervous system
- build glimmers
- soften end-of-year burnout
- add small pockets of humour, pleasure, rest, and embodiment
Pick one a day – or several if December has been particularly… Decemberey. I would encourage you to create your own.
Day 1: Say “no” to something — anything!
Even if it’s “Would you like a receipt?”
A tiny act of boundary-setting counts as nervous system regulation.
Day 2: Step outside and take one dramatic breath, like you’re starring in your own December documentary.
Bonus points: notice one beautiful thing in nature.
Day 3: Put on joyful socks.
Festive, fluffy, novelty… yes, this is therapy.
Day 4: Light a candle for someone you miss.
Let the flame hold what your heart is carrying.
Day 5: Get crafty; make something terrible on purpose.
Ugly art = liberation from perfectionism.
Day 6: Have a shower or a bath that lasts longer than usual.
That extra 90 seconds? Luxury. Pure luxury.
Day 7: Swap one stressful task for something delightfully pointless.
Reorganise your junk drawer. Watch a “restoration” video.
Fold towels into swans. The pointlessness is the point.
Day 8: Say something kind to yourself. Out loud.
Yes, you may feel ridiculous. Yes, it still works.
Day 9: Rest.
Not “productive rest.”
Not “catching up” rest.
Just honest-to-goodness lie-down-and-breathe rest.
Your nervous system will thank you.
Day 10: Put on a song you loved at 14 and let yourself feel every melodramatic emotion
Day 11: Let the floor be your therapist.
Lie flat.
Let gravity do the emotional labour.
Day 12: Weighted blanket time-out:
Become a human lasagne for 10 minutes.
Layered. Warm. Safe.
Day 13: Exhale longer than you inhale.
Vagus nerve: activated.
Overthinking: temporarily evicted.
Day 14: Glimmer Hunt.
Actively look for one tiny, pleasant thing.
A cute dog, a warm sun patch, a smell that doesn’t smell like stress.
Day 15: Butterfly Taps
Cross your arms over your chest and tap gently.
Like congratulating yourself for surviving 2025.
Day 17: Slow Sips of Something Warm
Not drinking — regulating.
Day 18: Dance Like You’re Summoning Confidence
One song.
Zero choreography.
Maximum embodied joy.
As you move through this little Self-Care Advent Calendar, let it be a reminder that tending to your nervous system isn’t frivolous or indulgent, it’s essential. These tiny practices are small invitations back to yourself in a season that can so easily pull you in every direction. Take what you need, skip what you don’t, and let each day be a moment of gentle reconnection.
