A Different Kind of Thanksgiving

The week before Thanksgiving, I set out to do two things I’d been avoiding:
drop off bags of baby items we no longer needed, and pick up ingredients for the holiday.

But a roadblock detoured me past our local farmers market — a place I rarely go but always admire. On impulse, I pulled over. I thought it would feel grounding to buy a few things locally instead of grabbing everything from a big grocery chain.

Two small bags of apples and sweet potatoes later, I looked at the $27 total and felt that familiar twinge of “ouch.” But on the drive home, something softened. Buying from local farmers meant buying less. Less pantry clutter. Fewer impulse extras. Nothing destined to expire quietly in a forgotten corner. And it meant contributing — even in a small way — to the people growing food right here in my own community.

It was a simple choice, but it shifted something in me.

Letting Go, With Gratitude and Grief

After the farmers market, I made my way to HomeFront — arms and trunk full of baby items I’d held onto far longer than I needed to. Formula, tiny winter clothes from when Beau was just months old, the baby carrier that felt like an extension of my body for years. The bottle maker I used every day. A bag of clothes of my own.

I’m finally coming to terms with the fact that I won’t have another baby, and that it’s okay — even healthy — to release the things that no longer serve our family. I don’t want to hold onto objects out of nostalgia or fear. Letting go is part of making space for the life I’m actually living.

But as I pulled into HomeFront, I felt emotions I didn’t expect.
Embarrassment. Tenderness. A little sadness. A quiet, uncomfortable awareness of privilege.

Women were walking toward the entrance — some who looked unhoused, others navigating language barriers, all of them trying to find basic items for themselves or their families. I sat in my Cadillac, unloading bags of things I was lucky enough to “no longer need,” and it hit me: the inequity. The randomness of circumstance. The uncomfortable truth that life gives differently to each of us.

I felt emotional for them, and emotional for myself — for the baby years I’m saying goodbye to, for the women living realities so different from mine, for the gratitude I feel and the guilt that sometimes comes with it. It was a moment of surrender, humility, and perspective.

And strangely… it grounded me.

The Holiday That Felt Different

That sense of groundedness followed me into the holiday.

For the first time ever, I ignored Black Friday completely. I didn’t refresh the deals or feel tempted by the noise. It all felt… empty. The urgency, the “savings,” the manufactured scarcity. Especially after witnessing, just days earlier, how many people are in need of the basics.

I didn’t want to buy more things I didn’t truly need. I didn’t want to participate in a system that pushes consumption as connection. Not this year.

Softening Into ‘Enough’

And because of all of this, Thanksgiving felt lighter.

I didn’t obsess over a picture-perfect tablescape.
I used the flowers available and created simple vases instead of one big statement arrangement.
I didn’t bake as much as usual, and it didn’t spark guilt.
We had enough.
I had enough.
Life felt… enough.

There was a quiet beauty in not striving.
In letting things be exactly what they were.
In giving myself permission to soften.

What I’m Taking With Me

Looking back, this Thanksgiving wasn’t just different because of what I did or didn’t buy.
It was different because of what I felt — and what I let myself feel.

It reminded me that:

• Letting go is its own form of gratitude.

• Buying less often means living more intentionally.

• Conscious choices ripple into how we show up everywhere.

• Perspective is humbling, heartbreaking, and clarifying all at once.

• Grace lives in the places where we stop forcing perfection.

Maybe that’s the invitation of this season:

To release what we’ve outgrown.
To support the people and places that matter.
To consume with care.
To honor the quiet shifts happening within us.
And to create a home — and a life — that feels rooted in presence, not pressure.

If you felt a shift this year too, you’re not alone.
There’s a gentler way to move through the holidays.
And it feels like grace.