By Deborah Blackwell

I work for a university that takes a long break between the fall and spring semesters. That means two full weeks of holiday time to “rest, relax, and restore.” But this year, it mostly meant recovering.

2025 was a hard year across the board. For me. Sir Husband. Our family and most of our friends. At work. At hospitals. At a funeral. Its aftermath. Even in social events that should have been fun respites. It was one dumpster fire after another, with gasoline poured on top.

But I always have Christmas: my favorite time of year. From Thanksgiving until Jan. 2, I love life. This was the only time growing up that my family was “normal.” There was no abuse, no dysfunction, no discord, just blissful Norman Rockwell-style holidays: chestnuts roasting, wonder-filled, joy-inducing, sparkling, big-love kind of magic. Snow fell outside. Cookies baked inside. Christmas music played in the background. The stockings were filled, and the presents were plenty. Nobody got sick, and everybody was happy.

So this year, when Halloween ended, I indulged in the sweet anticipation of the most wonderful time of the year. But as the year’s final days, hours, and minutes flew by, I realized there was one thing sucking the life out of me: overthinking — everything. I was ruminating on the still-blazing dumpster fire. It’s not an easy time in the country or the world, and life just feels unsafe. What used to be normal list checking: cookies, cards, gifts, wrapping, and normal worries: what if we don’t have enough firewood? There isn’t enough freezer space! What if it doesn’t snow? Turned into coping with and functioning within the new m.o. of a dystopian life. Norman Rockwell days are over.

Desperately trying to map pathways to both relief and joy, I couldn’t move the cloud of overthinking. And if that wasn’t enough, the week before the holiday break, Sir Husband got the flu. He coughed so hard that, two days before Christmas, he broke a rib. So our break was all about his recovery, with his multitude of haze-inducing meds, and a wife who took on all the heavy lifting. Ho ho ho.

But I didn’t let it get the best of me. My determination to find comfort and joy at my favorite time of the year took over. And for a couple of short weeks, I stopped overthinking. Illness, loss, and injury do that: They force you to be in the present moment and tend to the issues at hand. I didn’t have the flu or a broken rib, but I had some caregiving to do and some holiday magic to create. Or at least to enjoy.

But by the end of the break, I was exhausted. And the first Monday of the new year, I woke up with one thought humming through my mind and body: I don’t want to work. I don’t want to put my feet on the floor and get back into the routine of doing what I have to do; I want to get up and do what I want to do. Ugh.

I tried to motivate, out loud: “Get up, Deb. Use Mel Robbins’  5,4,3,2, 1, rule.” This grounding technique, designed to interrupt negative thought patterns, is supposed to force you to take action. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1: Get up, Deb.” Robbins says that when you hesitate for more than five seconds, your mind shifts from conscious thought to subconscious habit, so you need to get your butt moving.

I don’t really follow Mel Robbins — bestselling author, podcast host, and leading global expert on science-backed behavioral change and personal growth — I’m pretty solid in my own methods for upleveling myself and my life. But I had just heard about this 5,4,3,2,1 rule and thought I’d give it a try. 

Nope. It not only didn’t work, but it also made it worse. The Ugh overtook my mind via playback on repeat. I stood at the sink brushing my teeth. Ugh. Moved into the kitchen to make coffee. Ugh. Opened my laptop and checked my email. Ugh. And worse, the overthinking had returned at lightspeed. Ugh.

In sheer defeat, I let out a big sigh and dropped into a comfy chair. And out of nowhere, it hit me. “5,4,3,2,1: I don’t give a fuck.”

What?

“5,4,3,2,1: I really don’t.” Somehow, in a mysterious gift of surrender, I free-fell into an abyss of letting myself off the hook for everything. From overworking to overthinking to overachieving, it all disappeared. It just didn’t matter anymore. I was over it, at least for one relief-filled minute.

Deep down, I know I can’t solve the problems that are well out of my control or fixable by my small self. Plus, life can quickly gain momentum, so it’s easy to get caught up in the swirl, and you think you’re doing the best for everyone, but then you realize you had somehow hit the hyperspace button and now you’re flying at lightspeed, hoping you don’t crash. That “best” is the worst. And keeping going no matter what eventually takes a toll. Breaks aren’t supposed to be recovery; they’re supposed to be merry.

Overthinking is a bitch, and humans are works in progress, so I keep letting myself off the hook. What I came to fully appreciate during this most stressful and wonderful time of the year is that the overwhelm of overthinking, hyperspacing, incessant worrying, and stress is not going to make things better; it just takes a ton of energy and brain space and is ridiculously distracting.

I know that all I do is the best I can for everyone, all the time, and that won’t change. But how I think about it will.

Yep, my holiday break was awesome.