My parents are divorced: here’s how I decide where to spend Christmas

For children of divorce, Christmas can feel less about celebration and more like a military operation, says Lucy Pearson. Changing how I spent the big day brought the magic back

Like many children of divorce, my parents’ separation happened when I was too young to have any say over where I spent Christmas. The plan existed; we followed it. It was only later – once my three sisters and I were old enough to drive, form opinions, have boyfriends, and take on part-time Christmas jobs – that the festive season started to become more complicated.

I’m one of four girls, which meant the holidays came with military-level coordination, a burden my parents inevitably carried for many years. Who was going where, in what order, with which car, and at what time?

Every decision had to feel fair, even if no one could quite define what fair actually meant. Was it better for the four of us to be divided down the middle, two at each house? And if not, and we stayed together, where did we have the main festive meal? At whose home should we swap presents and open stockings? Leaving one house often felt like a managed operation rather than the natural end to an afternoon.

It wasn’t that anyone behaved badly. On the contrary, everyone was very nice, which somehow made it harder. There was a lot of cheerful flexibility, a lot of “don’t worry about us!”, and plenty of silent mental note-taking. By the end of the day, I’d usually eaten too much, felt old sibling rivalries resurface, and realised I’d spent Christmas managing the schedule rather than enjoying it.

Choosing how to spend Christmas Day with divorced parents came with military-level coordination (Getty/iStock)

As we got older, things became more elaborate still. Partners were introduced. Work commitments appeared. Someone always had to be back for something, or leave early for someone else. Christmas stopped being one day and became a series of handovers, conducted with coats on and engines running. However efficiently we organised it, the day itself was never going to feel relaxed.

After a few years of this, I’d had enough. I loved the lead-up to Christmas – the carol services, the ice-skating, the general merriment with friends – but dreaded the logistical nightmare of the day itself. So I did something that still feels quite radical, more than a decade later, and stopped spending Christmas Day with either parent.

It’s a decision that still prompts the occasional raised eyebrow. People often assume it signals fractured relationships, when in fact the opposite is true. I adore both my parents, have the best step-parents in the world, and am very close to my sisters. This was never about not wanting to see them; it was about making Christmas work for me.

Instead, I started going to my aunt and uncle’s farmhouse in Yorkshire. Christmas there is unapologetically jolly. My cousins are there, along with my aunt’s sister’s family, all of whom I adore. There are log fires, muddy walks, too much booze, and an abundance of festive cheer.

That one decision quietly solved the central Christmas problem. I now see my mum and stepdad before Christmas, and my dad and step-mum afterwards. I get proper, uninterrupted time with both – and without the pressure of the day itself, those visits feel easier, calmer, and far more enjoyable.

It’s also given me an unexpected advantage. When friends start complaining about December – the travel, the in-laws, the sibling politics – I recognise the tone immediately. I know that particular brand of festive exhaustion. And yet, in a way, it now feels slightly removed. I get four days in the countryside with people I love, followed by quality time with each parent on either side.

There’s something liberating about stepping away from the default Christmas narrative altogether. What surprised me most, though, is that removing myself from Christmas Day didn’t make it feel less important. If anything, it did the opposite. Without the pressure to perform festivity on a specific date, the time I spend with each parent feels more meaningful. There’s space to talk, to linger, to be normal.

Of course, this set-up wouldn’t work for everyone. It relies on geography, flexibility, and an uncle with a farmhouse big enough to absorb several extra guests without complaint – and, crucially, a family where another person at the table is seen as a bonus rather than a burden. But it has made me realise that a successful Christmas has very little to do with tradition and a great deal to do with practicality.

For years, I assumed Christmas was simply something to endure – tiring, intense, and followed by a recovery period in January. Now, it feels like an actual break. And if that means a less conventional Christmas than the one we’re sold in the films – spending the main event with my extended family, then catching up with my parents once the wrapping paper’s cleared – it’s a small price to pay for a drama-free December.