Reposting an older blog today because I’ve got a pretty bad migraine and I can’t stare at the screen too long. This one still feels real and relevant, and maybe someone out there needs it today. 💛

Holidays Looking Different This Year

The holidays used to feel big. Loud. Full.

Now they feel a little quieter… and if I’m honest, a little heavier too.

There’s this strange pressure to pretend everything is the same as it used to be — the same energy, the same traditions, the same excitement. But when you’re navigating cancer, the holidays shift. Your body shifts. Your capacity shifts. Your finances shift. Your heart shifts.

You start measuring the season differently.

Not by presents or plans, but by moments you can handle and moments you don’t want to miss.

Everything becomes intentional:

• Which gatherings you have the energy for

• Which traditions feel comforting, not overwhelming

• Which memories matter more than the money it takes to create them

And then there’s the guilt — because no one talks about the guilt.

Guilt for not being able to show up the same way.

Guilt for needing rest instead of running around.

Guilt for watching your bank account shrink while your medical bills grow.

Guilt for wanting the season to feel magical even when life feels anything but.

But here’s the truth I’m learning:

The holidays are allowed to look different.

You are allowed to look different in them.

Different doesn’t mean less.

Different doesn’t mean worse.

Different just… means honest.

And maybe that honesty makes room for a new kind of tenderness — a softer version of the holidays where joy is smaller, but somehow deeper. Where the people who truly love you adjust with you, not around you. Where “making the most of it” doesn’t mean forcing yourself to sparkle… it means letting yourself be real.

🐾 Mojo’s POV

“Mom keeps saying the holidays are smaller this year, but I’m pretty sure the amount of food I plan to steal remains exactly the same. Also, if she needs extra snuggles or a reason to stay home instead of overdoing it — hi, it’s me. I volunteer.” – Mojo

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Even in the hardest seasons, this community is my favorite part of the holidays.

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I’m Izzy

Welcome to mojo and the mess, This isn’t the blog I ever expected to write — but it’s the one I needed.

I’m Izzy, a twenty-something living (and dying) with terminal cancer, navigating the messy, heartbreaking, unexpectedly beautiful in-between. Here, you’ll find raw reflections, real talk, dog snuggles (shoutout to Mojo), and the unfiltered truth about what it’s like to face the end of your life before it really got going.

This space is for the ones who’ve felt forgotten, the ones who don’t know what to say, and the ones who are still holding on. It’s not always pretty, but it’s always honest.

Thanks for being here. You’re part of the mess now — and I mean that in the best way.

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