GOOD TO KNOW
Why the Week Between Christmas and New Year Feels So Strange
The Calendar Collapses
The week between Christmas and New Year doesn’t behave like a normal week.
It’s not governed by clocks.
Or calendars.
Or even basic logic.
You wake up unsure if it’s Monday, Thursday, or some bonus day that slipped through the cracks of time. You check your phone. You check again. You still don’t believe it. Every conversation begins with, “What day is it?” and ends with, “That doesn’t feel right.”
This is the week when routines loosen their grip. Work emails slow down. Offices run on skeleton crews and vague promises of “circling back in January.” Kids forget what school even is. Adults forget what pants are for.
The calendar technically says this is a “normal” week, but nothing about it behaves normally. It’s the pause between two emotional mountains—after the sprint of Christmas, before the optimism of New Year’s. We’re suspended in between, holding leftover ham and half-formed thoughts, waiting for something to start again.
This isn’t laziness.
It’s decompression.
Your brain just survived weeks of planning, coordinating, buying, wrapping, cooking, hosting, performing, remembering, and feeling. Of course time feels strange. You didn’t fall off the calendar—you stepped off the moving walkway.
And for a brief moment, the world slows down enough for you to notice.
The Emotional Hangover
Christmas is loud—emotionally loud.
It brings joy, nostalgia, grief, pressure, memories, expectations, and hope, all piled into a very short span of time.
Then suddenly… it’s over.
The decorations are still up, but the energy has left the room. The tree stands there like it doesn’t know its job anymore. Cookies go stale. Text threads go quiet. The adrenaline fades, leaving behind a soft, confusing emotional fog.
This week carries what I call the holiday emotional hangover. You’re not sad exactly. You’re not happy either. You’re reflective. Tender. Slightly untethered. Old memories resurface. So do new realizations. You replay moments—what went well, what felt heavy, what you wish had gone differently.
And because nothing urgent is demanding your attention, your thoughts finally get some air.
This is often when people feel guilt for not being productive enough, festive enough, grateful enough. But this emotional flatness isn’t a failure—it’s recovery. It’s the nervous system standing down after being on high alert.
You’re not broken.
You’re processing.
The Productive Void
This is the week where productivity becomes… optional.
Projects stall. Deadlines blur. Nobody expects peak performance, yet many of us still feel uneasy without something to check off. We clean a drawer. Reorganize a shelf. Start and abandon three different “fresh start” plans before lunch.
This week is not meant for major progress. It’s meant for small, low-stakes movement—tidying without optimizing, planning without committing, doing without proving anything.
It’s also the week where organizing instincts quietly reappear. Not the frantic, pre-holiday kind. The gentler kind. The “what would make January easier?” kind.
You notice clutter differently now. You’re not rushing past it. You’re coexisting with it. This is where soft resets happen—the kind that actually stick because they aren’t fueled by panic or perfection.
Think of this week as the vestibule of the year.
You’re not inside yet.
But you’re no longer outside.
The Gift of the In-Between
This strange week isn’t a mistake in the calendar.
It’s a gift.
It exists to remind us that not every moment needs to be maximized, branded, or transformed into a better version of ourselves. Some weeks exist simply to let us land.
The week between Christmas and New Year gives us permission to be unfinished. To reflect without resolving. To rest without explaining. To imagine without committing.
It’s the quiet inhale before the year exhales forward again.
So if you feel a little untethered right now, good. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. Let the days blur a bit. Let the house stay imperfect. Let your thoughts wander.
January will arrive whether you’re ready or not.
This week exists so you don’t have to be.
The Productive Void
This is the week where productivity becomes… optional.
Projects stall. Deadlines blur. Nobody expects peak performance, yet many of us still feel uneasy without something to check off. We clean a drawer. Reorganize a shelf. Start and abandon three different “fresh start” plans before lunch.
This week is not meant for major progress. It’s meant for small, low-stakes movement—tidying without optimizing, planning without committing, doing without proving anything.
It’s also the week where organizing instincts quietly reappear. Not the frantic, pre-holiday kind. The gentler kind. The “what would make January easier?” kind.
You notice clutter differently now. You’re not rushing past it. You’re coexisting with it. This is where soft resets happen—the kind that actually stick because they aren’t fueled by panic or perfection.
Think of this week as the vestibule of the year.
You’re not inside yet.
But you’re no longer outside.
The Week That Doesn’t Need Fixing
The week between Christmas and New Year isn’t meant to be productive, decisive, or impressive. It’s meant to be lived in lightly. To let the noise settle. To notice what’s still standing after the decorations come down and the expectations loosen their grip.
This strange, floating stretch of days gives us something rare: permission to pause without falling behind. To rest without justifying it. To sit in the in-between without rushing to name what comes next.
Nothing is wrong with this week. It doesn’t need structure or solutions. It’s the soft landing after a long flight and the quiet breath before the next journey begins.
January will ask things of you soon enough.
For now, let this week be exactly what it is—
unfinished, unhurried, and quietly enough.