When Kindness Opens the Door

Have you ever walked into a holiday gathering feeling hopeful—maybe even a little excited—only to feel that familiar tightening in your chest the moment you step inside? The kind where you’re greeted politely, yes, but not quite welcomed. Where the conversations are already layered, the laughter is already shared, and the “come on in” doesn’t quite match the energy in the room.

Before you’ve even taken off your coat, the insider jokes are flying, the stories have momentum, and you’re standing there thinking, Oh… this might be one of those nights.

I’ve had a few of these experiences over the years. Enough to know they can slip under your skin in ways you don’t expect. And when you’re already moving through a big life shift—a divorce, a new relationship, a blended-family holiday, or even just a season where you feel a little untethered—it hits differently. It’s almost as if the room confirms the fear you’ve been trying to quiet: Maybe I really don’t belong anywhere right now.

What’s interesting is how quickly we turn these moments inward.
We start making meaning before the turkey is even carved.

They didn’t really want me here.
I’m the outsider.
They’re tolerating me.
Why did I bother?

It’s amazing what the mind can do with a half-hearted greeting and a misplaced comment. I’ve spun entire novels out of less.

But the older I get, the more I realize this isn’t just about the room we walk into—it’s about the rooms we’ve all been in. The truth is most of us have been on both sides of this story.

We’ve been the one who feels invisible at someone else’s table…
and, without meaning to, we’ve probably been the host who didn’t fully see the person standing in our doorway.

And that’s the part I keep thinking about this year.

Because for those of us who identify as introverts (I know, this news flash may be shocking for some of you), or newly single, or stepping into someone else’s traditions, or navigating a holiday after a major transition—showing up takes courage. Real courage. And the smallest gesture of genuine welcome can make the difference between feeling like an afterthought and feeling like a human being who matters.

Warmth doesn’t have to be theatrical.
Most people don’t need a marching band.
They just need sincerity.

A moment of eye contact.
A hand on the arm.
A “I’m so glad you’re here” that comes from the heart, not the script.

What I’m also learning is this: it’s okay to want to feel wanted.
Not tolerated.
Not squeezed in.
Not added to the headcount.
Wanted.

And it’s okay to speak up for that. To say, even gently, “I want to come where I’m truly welcome.” There’s something powerful about honoring your own need to feel like you matter in a space. Not in a dramatic way, but in an honest one.

If the holidays bring up that awkward ache for you—the one that whispers you’re on the outside looking in—I hope you’ll remember this: it has nothing to do with your value. You are not defined by someone else’s uneven welcome or their inability to fully see you.

And if you’re hosting this year… well, maybe take a second look at the person lingering near the coat rack, or the one pretending to be fascinated by the appetizer table. Offer the warmth you yourself have needed at some point in your life.

Sometimes we forget that we all carry a quiet longing to belong.

The holidays have a funny way of magnifying the cracks, but they can also magnify the moments of grace. A little more attentiveness. A little more softness. A little more humanity.

Most of us aren’t looking for perfection—we’re just hoping to feel like someone is truly glad we’re there.

Love & Light,
Michèle