The Greatest Gift We Can Give Our Adult Kids This Holiday Season

This isn’t blame.

This isn’t judgment.

It’s simply occurring to me — times have changed, and the question is how I want to meet those changes with responsibility rather than resentment.

Every December, the same stories flood our feeds — aching posts from older grandparents and parents who feel forgotten, overlooked, or pushed to the quiet corners of the holidays and life. I see them as a siren.

And while the loneliness is real, so is something else:

The quiet pressure and guilt placed on adult children to fix it.

Grant it, the holiday seasons amplify everything — the empty chair, the miles between families, the nostalgia for a life that doesn’t exist anymore. But it also adds burden, is manipulative, and amplifies the guilt our kids already carry. They are adulting with all the struggles and then some of what we experienced, many are raising children, all are paying bills, caring for homes, managing careers, navigating digital chaos, and trying desperately to keep themselves afloat.

And somewhere in the swirl of all that, many also hear a message — spoken or implied:

“You owe us your time. Your presence. Your holidays. Your magic.”

But I am choosing to look at the world from a different perspective, seeing it as it is today.

And I refuse to hand that weight to my kid.

So, this is my message — to my child, and to every woman and man my age who needs to hear of another way of loving.

Times Have Changed — And So Must We

Parents a half century ago didn’t live into their eighties and nineties by the millions.

They didn’t watch their grandparents live forty or fifty years after the kids left home, and another twenty years alone after their spouses passed.

A half or even a quarter century ago, life was shorter. The responsibility for elder care didn’t span decades the way it does now.

But today?

We live long enough that our children can be caring for teenagers and aging parents at the same time.

We live long enough to feel bored, restless, isolated, and disconnected — and then we look to our kids and grandkids to fill that space.

It’s time we own that shift.

We have to grow up again—in our sixties and seventies.

Not with bitterness, not with resentment, but with clarity.

My Adult Kid, Read This Closely

I will not make you responsible for the shape, color, or quality of my remaining years.

I will not put my loneliness on you.

I will not hand you the bill for my unfinished physical or emotional work.

I will not let my happiness depend on your availability.

That is my work, not yours.

And this is important:

Whether we spend time together, I want you to know this:

If we cross paths, whether it’s the holidays or not — because it works for you and you choose it — I will receive that time as a gift, not a guarantee.

And if life pulls us in different directions — if schedules, distance, or commitments make getting together burdensome or too hard for either of us — I will still stand steady on my own two feet.

My love is not rooted in obligation, geography, or holiday choreography.

I can travel to you.

You can travel to me.

Regardless, I will simply love you without pressure.

The connection is real either way — because it isn’t conditional.

To My Generation — This Part Is for Us

We must build lives that don’t require our children or grandchildren to rescue us.

That means:

•       Live with intention and stay healthy as long as we humanly can.

•       Eat and drink like grown ass adults — forget convenience, this means whole foods, real nutrition.

•       Exercise our bodies every day, not just on the days we are feeling "motivated.”

•       Make and maintain friendships and community.

•       Build interests and meaning that don’t rely on our kids.

•       Plan for our long-term care.

•       Live within our means.

•       Create purpose—not wait for it.

This is not self-denial.

This is self-respect.

This is the responsibility and discipline required of the gift of longevity.

And it is the greatest gift we can give our overburdened kids.

What I Want My Kid to Know

Live your life boldly.

Laugh in rooms I’ve never walked into.

Build a story that belongs entirely to you.

And know that I am building mine too — with the strength I’ve earned, the humility I’ve learned, and the freedom I want you to feel.

I love you without weight, without demand, without condition — free to live and free to be. That — more than any holiday time or bobble — is the gift I leave in your hands.

If you share my feelings about this gift, please pass this on. Let's help lighten this generation's load a bit where we can.