I love my family. Really and truly I do. I am one of those incredibly fortunate/smug people for whom spending time with them is a joy, rather than a chore to be endured through gritted teeth. My mum – otherwise known as “The Smoo” for spurious reasons that have long been lost in the mists of time – is a delight. Her husband is the perfect host, never letting a wine glass get below an inch of Vouvray before sloshing in a generous top up. My nieces are precocious and hilarious, my brother-in-law a font of fascinating conversation and my sister is, quite simply, the best human that ever lived.
But however great one’s family is, Christmas is always tricky to navigate as the token unmarried, child-free adult in the mix. No one infantilises me, and yet it’s nigh-on impossible not to feel like a spare part. Without the traditional trappings of adulthood to my name – a long-term partner, dependents, my own nuclear family – I’ve always had to slot in around other people’s plans, pretzeling myself to fit in with the “proper” grown-ups’ festive itineraries. That’s meant eating Christmas dinner in a bleak, conference centre-type setting at my step-brother’s behest, spending it in the home of my brother-in-law’s parents, and being squeezed into my step-sister’s oversubscribed table at the last minute.
Every single year of my life, barring two – one spent in a ski resort as a 21-year-old holiday rep, the other with an ex’s family – I have been the proverbial odd (wo)man out.
I know, I know: I’m incredibly lucky to have extended family willing to make room for me at the inn, especially considering that approximately 11 per cent of the UK’s population will spend Christmas day alone this year, according to analysis from home care provider Noble Live-In Care. But, while it’s no one’s fault or intention, during the Christmases when my sister goes to her in-laws’ and it’s my stepdad’s children’s turn to host, I inevitably go from being a person to a problem to be solved. “What will we do with Helen this year?” is the unspoken question hanging over my head. That’s the lot of the spinster or bachelor of this parish: to be a piece of lost luggage, shunted from place to place and plonked wherever there’s space.
It’s in stark contrast to the rest of my adult life where I have a real sense of agency. For whatever reason, this is the only time that advocating for myself – admitting I have my own preferences for how to spend the holidays – triggers an instant guilt reflex. When you don’t have the excuse of a significant other to fall back on, it somehow feels inherently selfish to vocalise the desire to maybe, just occasionally, do your own thing.
I’m certainly not alone in this. A whopping 57 per cent of people won’t be spending the festive period in their ideal way, forced to make compromises due to varying family circumstances, according to new research from Tesco Mobile. Meanwhile, a YouGov poll found that family tensions were the worst element of Christmas for four per cent of Brits. And one of the classic threads of the Twitter of old (pre-Elon days) was “Duvet know it's Christmas?” – a hashtag where grown adults would post the weird and wonderful sleeping arrangements they’d been given while back home with their parents. These were overwhelmingly shared by singles: camp beds under pianos, inflatable mattresses surrounded by gym equipment, bunk beds with Iron Man bedding. You get the picture.
Now, after 38 years of tip-toeing on eggshells and diplomacy and dancing around the subject, I finally decided to “take back control” of my 2025 Christmas, Brexit-style. I was going to ditch the guilt and do what I wanted for a change, planning a very grown-up “Friendsmas” with two other single, child-free queens.
Even making this decision seemed an oddly radical act as an unmarried woman. I steeled myself for the conversation with my immediate family with the kind of gravity usually reserved for revealing a terminal diagnosis, fretting about how to deliver the news (in person? Over the phone?), how many of my bullet-pointed reasons I should share, and bracing myself for tears and recriminations or passive-aggressive “I’m fine”s.
As is so often the case in life, my anxieties were completely unfounded. When I told my mum that my friends and I had booked a lavish-looking house in Margate, complete with sauna and outdoor rolltop bathtub, she immediately said it sounded like a marvellous plan. My sister got emotional, but only because she felt I’d had to carry the burden for so long, forced to conform to what everyone else was doing out of a sense of duty. If anything, there was an air of, could it be... relief? Unsurprising when you consider that nearly half of us (47 per cent) feel the pressure to host the “perfect” Christmas (whatever that is), according to a recent survey from Sainsbury’s.
Once the cat was out of the bag and I could relax, I realised I have rarely experienced such liberation
Once the cat was out of the bag and I could relax, I realised I have rarely experienced such liberation. Free from expectation, constraints or the immovable weight of family tradition, our trio began to plan the genuinely perfect Christmas. Could we go for a Christmas Eve pub crawl and then eat a whole baked camembert in front of the TV? Of course! Could we get matching pyjamas with Santa hat-wearing leopards on them, including a pair for Kenny the dog, and pose for a kitsch “family” portrait? Why not! Could we have almond croissants for breakfast, play a range of board games, watch Love Actually and drink Chapel Down sparkling wine from morning ’til night? Hell yeah!
We each chipped in preferences and brought our own traditions, laying them reverently at the altar of this newly forged holiday. Carols from King’s; a small present to open on Christmas Eve; a Boxing Day dip. Anything and everything was possible. Nothing was rigid or set in stone because “we’ve always done it like this”. I haven’t felt such anticipation in the run-up to 25 December since I was a kid.
If you’re reading this with envy, allow me to give you permission: you too can do what you like. It’s your day too – even if you’ve thus far not managed to procure a romantic partner or provide the requisite grandchildren. Nor is it selfish to break free from the shackles and put yourself first.
So why not give yourself the gift of an indulgent, grown-up Friendsmas? It’s probably the best Christmas present you’ll ever receive.
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