Kneading Through the Holidays: Finding Joy in Baking & Discovering New Holiday Traditions

The house is quieter than usual this December. The kids’ stockings hang empty on the mantle, waiting for their return from their 8-day trip with their dad. The holiday season after divorce brings a particular kind of silence – one that echoes with memories of Christmas mornings past but also whispers of possibilities yet to come.

This year the kids spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with their Dad’s side of the family out of state. We were still able to celebrate a few days before Christmas with my parents and brother.

I found myself in the kitchen yesterday, surrounded by flour and almond extract, realizing that sometimes the most therapeutic thing you can do is create something with your hands. It started with a simple sugar cookie recipe – Italian Christmas Cookies.

But this time, instead of rushing to keep little fingers from eating raw dough or managing flour fights, I could take my time. I could measure precisely, knead thoughtfully, and let my mind wander through the rhythm of rolling pins and cookie cutters.

Michael sure does like to bake. In fact, he asks to make chocolate chip cookies 2-3 times a week. Mom’s big [and messy] helper!

There’s something deeply meditative about baking. The precision required leaves little room for the anxious thoughts that tend to creep in during quiet moments. When you’re carefully measuring baking powder or watching egg whites form stiff peaks, you can’t simultaneously worry about whether the kids are having fun without you or if they miss you as much as you miss them.

The truth is, co-parenting during the holidays is a masterclass in finding silver linings. While my heart aches for the moments I’m missing, I’m learning to appreciate this gift of time – time to discover who I am beyond being Mom, time to develop new traditions, time to heal. Each batch of cookies becomes a small victory, a reminder that I can create joy even in unexpected circumstances.

I’ve started experimenting with more recipes- like perfecting dinner rolls. Earlier in the week I tackled candy cane sugar cookies with a simple frosting – cookies that require patience, precision, and a willingness to embrace imperfection. Much like this new chapter of life, they don’t always turn out perfect, but there’s beauty in the process. Some crack, some have lopsided feet, but each attempt teaches me something new about both baking and resilience.

The kitchen has become my sanctuary, a place where I can channel my energy into something productive when the house feels too empty. There’s profound satisfaction in watching dough rise, in smelling butter and sugar caramelize, in creating something beautiful from raw ingredients. It’s a metaphor for this phase of life – taking the raw ingredients of change and gradually transforming them into something sweet and nourishing.

To other co-parents navigating the holidays: it’s okay to feel both grief and growth, emptiness and possibility. Sometimes the most healing thing we can do is pour our love into something new. Whether it’s baking, painting, gardening, or any other creative pursuit, finding a hobby that speaks to your soul can be a lifeline during difficult transitions.

When the kids return, they’ll find new treats waiting for them – evidence of their mom’s journey into this unexpected passion. Maybe one day they’ll understand that these cookies and cakes represent more than just dessert; they’re proof that joy can be found in life’s different seasons, that love can be expressed in new ways, and that sometimes the best things rise from the moments we least expect.

For now, I’ll keep baking, finding comfort in the precision of measurements and the warmth of the oven. Each recipe is a small step forward, each successful bake a reminder that while life may not look exactly as we planned, it can still be filled with sweetness.