Allowing Yourself to Feel Joy During the Holidays While Grieving

Is it okay to feel happy during the holidays when someone you love has died?

Yes, feeling joy while grieving is not only okay, it's a natural part of being human. Your grief and your capacity for joy can exist at the same time.

The holidays are here, and maybe you're wondering if you're allowed to laugh at your cousin's joke. Or whether it's betraying your person's memory if you actually enjoy the meal everyone worked so hard to prepare. Perhaps you're standing at the edge of a family gathering, feeling the weight of who's missing while also noticing a small flicker of warmth when your niece runs up to hug you.

Here's what I want you to know right from the start: you're not doing anything wrong by feeling moments of lightness. Grief doesn't require you to suffer constantly to prove your love was real.

For many BIPOC and LGBTQ+ folks, the holidays already come with their own complicated layers. Maybe you're navigating family members who still don't use the right name or pronouns. Maybe you're the only Person of Colour at your partner's family dinner, already doing the work of existing in a space that wasn't built with you in mind. Maybe your chosen family is scattered, and you're figuring out what "home" even means this year. And now, on top of all that, someone you love is gone.

The pressure to perform happiness or hide your grief can feel suffocating. And the guilt that creeps in when you do feel a genuine smile? That can be its own kind of grief.

I'm a grief and loss therapist working with BIPOC and LGBTQ+ communities in Surrey, Coquitlam, Greater Vancouver, and online. I work alongside people who are holding the particular weight of grieving while also navigating cultural expectations, family dynamics, and identities that don't always get space in traditional grief conversations. This post is for you.

Why does feeling joy during grief make me feel guilty?

You might feel guilty about joy during grief because of cultural messages that say "real" grief looks a certain way. Many communities have specific mourning traditions that span weeks, months, or even a year. These rituals can be grounding and important. They can also create an unspoken rule: that moving through your day without visible sadness means you didn't love them enough.

For some Black families, there's an expectation to "be strong" and hold it together for everyone else. For some Asian communities, open expressions of joy too soon after a loss might be seen as disrespectful to elders or ancestors. For LGBTQ+ folks who've lost chosen family, you might not even have your grief recognized by others, let alone permission to feel anything beyond sadness.

And let's be real about something else: if your person was someone who faced marginalization, maybe their life was already hard. Maybe you fought together, survived together, celebrated small wins together. The idea of feeling joy without them can bring up questions like, "Do I deserve this when they're not here to experience it?"

These feelings make sense. They're not irrational. But they also don't have to be the final word on how you move through the holidays.

How can I honour my grief and still let myself feel moments of happiness?

Here's the truth that might feel counterintuitive: allowing yourself joy can actually be a way of honouring your person. Think about what they would want for you. Would they want you to shut down every good feeling for the rest of your life? Or would they want you to remember the warmth they brought to your world and let yourself feel warmth again, even in small doses?

You can hold both. You can miss them desperately and still laugh at something funny. You can cry in the car before the holiday dinner and then genuinely enjoy your auntie's cooking. You can feel the absence and also feel love from the people who are still here.

Here are some ways to honour both your grief and your capacity for joy:

• Create a small ritual that includes your person. Light a candle for them before the meal. Wear something that reminds you of them. Share a story about them that makes people laugh. These moments don't erase your grief; they weave your person into the day in a way that feels intentional.

• Give yourself permission to step away when you need to. Joy doesn't mean forcing yourself to be "on" the entire time. If you need to take a walk, sit in your car, or excuse yourself to the bathroom to cry, do that. Coming back to the gathering after giving yourself what you need is not weakness. It's wisdom.

• Notice the moments without judging them. If you find yourself smiling, don't immediately shut it down with guilt. Just notice: "Oh, I'm smiling right now." Let it exist without making it mean something about your love or your grief.

• Talk to someone who gets it. If you have a friend, a partner, or a therapist who understands your specific experience as a BIPOC or LGBTQ+ person navigating grief, reach out before or during the holidays. Sometimes just naming the complexity out loud to someone who won't minimize it makes all the difference.

  
  

What if my family or community doesn't understand why I'm struggling?

This is one of the hardest parts. You might be at a family gathering where people expect you to "move on" or where your grief isn't even acknowledged because your relationship wasn't seen as legitimate. Maybe you lost your partner and your family still refers to them as your "friend." Maybe you're grieving someone from your chosen family and your relatives don't understand why you're so affected.

You don't owe anyone a performance of being okay. And you also don't have to educate everyone in real time about why your grief matters.

If there's any energy or openness to being around others, allow yourself to receive support from the people who do see you. Even if it's not perfect. Even if it's just one person who asks, "How are you really doing?" and waits for the real answer. That support can make a huge difference.

And if the gathering feels like it's going to cause more harm than healing, you're allowed to say no. You're allowed to create your own version of the holidays this year. Maybe that's a quiet dinner with your chosen family. Maybe it's volunteering somewhere that aligns with your values. Maybe it's staying home, ordering takeout, and watching your comfort show. All of these are valid.

Can I make new traditions while still missing my person?

Absolutely. In fact, creating new traditions can be a way of acknowledging that your life has changed while still carrying your person with you.

Maybe your person always made a specific dish, and this year you try making it yourself, even if it doesn't turn out quite right. Maybe you start a new tradition of donating to a cause they cared about. Maybe you gather with friends who also knew them and share memories while doing something they loved.

For BIPOC folks, this might mean blending cultural traditions in new ways that feel true to both your grief and your joy. For LGBTQ+ folks, it might mean building chosen family rituals that didn't exist before. These aren't replacements. They're expansions. Your love for your person gets to evolve, and so do the ways you remember them.

What does moving forward actually look like?

Moving forward doesn't mean leaving your person behind. It doesn't mean you're "over it." It means you're learning to carry your grief while also letting yourself be present for your life.

Some days that will feel impossible. Some days you'll wake up and the weight will be so heavy that joy feels like a concept from another planet. Other days, you might surprise yourself. You might feel a genuine moment of happiness and realize it didn't erase your love. It actually existed right alongside it.

Remembering the fun, happy memories doesn't betray your grief. Being with family and embracing their love and support doesn't mean you're forgetting. Allowing yourself to feel joy, even for a moment, doesn't diminish the reality that it really sucks not having your person here.

You're allowed to have both. You're allowed to grieve and also let yourself experience moments that feel good. That's not moving on. That's being human.

If you're reading this and thinking, "I need someone to talk to who actually understands," I'm here. I work with folks navigating grief and loss, and I know how complicated the holidays can be when you're holding all of this. I offer therapy in Surrey, Coquitlam, Greater Vancouver, and online across British Columbia.

You don't have to figure this out alone. If you'd like to explore what support might look like for you, I'd be honoured to walk alongside you. You can book a free consultation to see if we're a good fit. No pressure, no expectations. Just a conversation about what you need right now.

Key Takeaways: Grief and Joy During the Holidays

• Joy and grief can coexist. Feeling moments of happiness doesn't mean you love your person any less or that your grief isn't real.

• Cultural and identity-based pressures add layers. BIPOC and LGBTQ+ folks often navigate additional expectations and lack of recognition around grief during the holidays.

• You're allowed to step away. Taking breaks during gatherings to care for yourself is not weakness; it's necessary.

• Small rituals matter. Lighting a candle, sharing a story, or wearing something meaningful can help you feel connected to your person.

• Support doesn't have to be perfect. Even one person who truly sees you can make a difference during hard holiday moments.

• You can create new traditions. Building new ways to honour your person while allowing joy is part of carrying them with you.

• Saying no is valid. You don't have to attend every gathering if it feels harmful to your grief process.

• Professional support helps. Working with a therapist who understands cultural and identity-specific grief can provide the space you need.

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Frequently Asked Questions

Is it normal to feel guilty about enjoying the holidays after someone dies?

Yes, guilt is a very common part of grief. Many people worry that feeling joy means they're betraying their loved one's memory. The truth is that joy and grief can exist together, and experiencing moments of happiness doesn't diminish your love.

How long should I wait before celebrating holidays again?

There's no timeline that works for everyone. Some people need to skip certain traditions the first year. Others find comfort in maintaining them. Listen to what feels right for you, and know that your needs might change from year to year.

What if my family doesn't acknowledge my grief during the holidays?

This is especially painful for LGBTQ+ folks whose relationships aren't recognized, or for anyone whose loss isn't validated by family. Seek out the people who do see your grief, whether that's friends, chosen family, or a therapist. You don't need everyone's permission to grieve.

Can therapy help with holiday grief?

Yes. A grief counsellor can provide a space to process complicated feelings, navigate family dynamics, and develop strategies for moving through difficult holiday moments. Therapy that centres BIPOC and LGBTQ+ experiences can be especially helpful for addressing the specific layers you're facing.

What are some ways to honour my person during holiday gatherings?

You might light a candle in their memory, prepare their favourite dish, share a meaningful story about them, make a toast, donate to a cause they cared about, or simply take a quiet moment to acknowledge their absence. Choose what feels authentic to you.