The Gifts We Don't Wrap, Part Two

Kindness and attention are perhaps the most important gifts we give to the people around us, not only at Christmas, but (hopefully) all year long—and last week, I shared some of the hard ways I learned that lesson through childhood abuse and neglect.

Feeling unseen, unimportant, and inconvenient as a kid played a huge role in the way I value emotional presence now, but breaking cycles of neglect and building safe relationships can be challenging when your family of origin is built on toxicity. And while I still have great respect for the circumstances many members of my family have endured and overcome, especially without the benefits of mental health awareness or trauma-informed compassion, my own journey to faith and mindful living has meant a lifetime of exploring the definition of what family really means.

As bad as it was, maybe it's ironic that my first and most lasting experiences with empathy and compassion were shared by a family member; we're only a few months apart, and as children, we knew unspeakable trauma before we could spell our own names. By the time we hit kindergarten, one or the other (or both) of us had seen suicide attempts, sexual abuse, drug use, violence, and abandonment.

The bond of blood gave us the only support we had, and the isolation of invisible wounds too horrifying to be openly shared taught us the value of meaningful connection. Four decades later, we also know grief, loss of children, homelessness, death threats, and hostage situations—but together, we learned gentle compassion, emotional resilience, empowerment after abuse, and the fulfillment of hope after trauma. She taught me that family means showing up for others with dignity and humanity. That relational mindfulness is a gift of love through action. And that redefining family doesn't always mean leaving everything behind.

Flame moved from the lighter to the candles, but it didn't stop there. Instead it settled in rich, dark eyes, gleaming with the soul-deep joy of intentional inclusion. The light in her eyes warmed her face, molding the simple sight of human flesh into the comfort of hot chocolate. The wide, beautiful smile...the gleefully folded hands...the barely contained vibration of energy...in that moment, she was the very picture of what it means to recognize that the greatest gifts aren't things.

The lighter went out but the flame burned on, in the hearts of those around the table. The soft-spoken young woman who's made it her calling to coach and guide children with difficult disabilities. The wonderfully complex success story who carries herself with such strength you'd never guess the depth of her evolution—except that she'll share it with you if it helps you heal your wounds. The gentle Georgia peach, so frequently bruised by a life of challenge, so desperately humble she cannot fathom the depth of what she means to those who love her. The little girl, her life painted in such bold strokes of trial and adversity, her heart as soft as brand new Play-Doh. The phoenix baptized by fire, her sweet fragility balanced beautifully by strength devoid of hardness.

The song was sung, the candles were extinguished with excited breath, the cake was sliced and served. But for a moment, it was so much more than a birthday. It was community as family, relational healing through belonging. It was kindness as connection, a visible reminder of how small gestures with big meaning leave us feeling seen and remembered. A celebration where nothing was wrapped but our birthday girl was showered in the gifts that matter.

That moment wrapped itself around my heart like lights around a tree, and this year it is the root of my holiday joy—warmly illuminating countless gifts that seem just as small but mean just as much.

The woman who reads nearly every word I write, and has for decades. The one who doesn't care for reading, but she triggered her own trauma multiple times as she read Fighting For Freedom before it was published, then bought the e-book the day it was released, and still bought the paperback, too. "If it's important to you, it's important to me," she said.

The woman I only talk to once or twice a month because our lives are busy and time is precious—but also because we're both fully aware that there's no way we can talk for less than three giggle--filled, advice-heavy, constantly interrupted hours.

The soft-spoken, eternal gentleman who throws his head back and laughs at my jokes, who kisses my cheek as gently as a breeze, whose eyes twinkle when I flirt with him because it's always nice to feel young again, even when you're sixty-five. The woman who sat beside me while I grieved the dog who was my best friend for 12 years. The ones who keep my allergies in mind when they stock their own pantries, who send me photos of product ingredient lists, "just to be sure." The ones who saw me cry during my daughter's cancer scare and never made me feel like I was over-reacting.

The vibrant, adventurous couple who have become second parents to me. He who is dutiful, responsible, and humorous, who is full of stories and surprising anecdotes, who stunned me into tears of gratitude the first time he called me "daughter" in passing, as easily and as casually as if he'd always done it. She who challenges me, prays for me, checks in on me, and occasionally threatens me to keep me in line.

They'd look funny under the tree, all lumps and bumps and energetic laughter, but this chosen family—where emotional safety flows freely and nobody gets left behind—are truly the richest of holiday gifts.

Everything else? Just icing on the cake.

*****

The gifts we long for are often varied and complex. We want the safety of knowing the light bill is covered, the joy of a new bottle of perfume. We want a home we feel safe in, a vehicle we can count on. We want the warmth of candles and the coziness of fuzzy socks.

But when it comes to holiday connection, being present for loved ones is infinitely more magical than buying presents for loved ones. I doubt you'll find healthy attachment, the power of listening, or the gift of attention on holiday shopping lists—but I can promise that if you're celebrating someone you love, supporting friends, and offering unexpected kindness, you become the gift someone remembers.

Because this level of mindful giving? This empathy in action, this conscious act of noticing people as they are and loving them where they are? It fosters compassion and connection most people don't even realize they're starving for.

You can't wrap it or tie it up with a bow, I know. But while being heard and valued are easy gifts to overlook, they're the gifts that soothe old wounds. The ones that inspire new growth. The ones we hold in our hearts long after we declutter our homes.

The ones that hold us steady, even when it's hard to...

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