• Kelly Okrepkie, 47, lives in Monroe, Connecticut and loves Christmas.
• She started decorating Christmas trees in her house in 2011, with the goal to have one in each room.
• She now has 13 Christmas trees that she decorates every year.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Kelly Okrepkie. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I love Christmas.

When I was little my mom worked at a department store and I would always walk by their Christmas trees and think, "I want this when I grow up."

I started with my first tree when I got married in 2011. Then I had an idea: why don't I have one tree in each room? And then I started looking at the corners of each room and it slowly started to expand.

Now I have 13 Christmas trees that I put up every year.

Each tree has a meaning

I enjoy decorating trees that represent a certain meaning. I have a gold tree and a silver tree that remind me of the song "Silver and Gold" from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. That song takes me back into my childhood.

I have a tree for my dad. I decorated it with cardinals and I actually found ribbon with music notes on it. He loved music. He grew up on a farm so I used burlap and natural wood, too. I also have a tree for my mother-in-law. She always wore red, so I used lush red roses with big blooms — it's very vibrant. There's an angel at the top to represent her.

I feel so excited when I decorate trees for my loved ones who have passed. It's like I get to celebrate Christmas with them.

I put a little glass angel in every one of my trees as a blessing for the new year. My nephew bought them for me years ago at his school fair.

I like to decorate trees for my husband, Joe. My "Emerald City" tree is for his favorite childhood movie, The Wizard of Oz. For that, I made a hot air balloon and I put ruby slippers under the tree. This year I'm making him a Pontiac-inspired tree. He loves cars.

I plan the trees a year in advance

I start planning my trees a year ahead of time. I begin getting ideas and slowly collect ornaments throughout the year so that when the time comes, I already have everything and I'm ready to start.

I have bins and bins and bins of ornaments in the basement, all categorized. It takes me days to bring everything upstairs. I start making props in July. I made an ornament wall out of styrofoam that I glued to the wall. I hot glued every single ornament. It took me 12 to 14 hours.

When I create, I can't have any interruptions. I get filled with adrenaline and excitement. I just put on Christmas music, put my phone on vibrate and get into the zone.

Each tree takes me about three to five hours to decorate, depending on the size. I always try to update my looks. I try to make them better and invest more into them. I learn a lot from designers on Instagram. I've learned how to work with ribbons and picks. Here's a great tip: if you want a different look for your tree, just buy picks and insert them all around. It's a cost-efficient way to change things up.

I spend between $600 to $1,500 per tree

Each tree, with its decorations, cost me probably between $600 and $1500, depending on the height and width. This year, I took a trip to the Christmas Palace in Florida and I got some giant candy canes and bears and penguins and ornaments and globes.

But you don't need to spend that much to have a beautiful tree. You can do things like add a lot of lights, add picks and cover them with a lot of ornaments to fill it out. Instead of throwing empty boxes out, recycle them under your tree. Wrap them up like big presents. I do this so my cats don't climb the trees.

I would love to design meaningful trees for other people. I'd help them pick colors and items that remind them of their loved ones. My dream is to create a Santa's wonderland where families could come visit and take photos and create traditions of their own.

When my trees are up from November until January, they're the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see before I go to bed. I don't know when this obsession is going to stop but it just makes me so happy.

• My wife and I got married earlier this year, and planning the wedding was stressful.
• Leading up to the holiday season, I felt pressure to make our first Christmas together special.
• After talking to her, I realized that just creating memories together was enough.

After a stressful year of planning our perfect September wedding, I wasn't prepared to face additional pressure now that the holidays are approaching. This wasn't an ordinary Christmas filled with relaxation, eggnog, and just a sprinkle of family drama; this was the Christmas that would mark our first milestone as a married couple and set the tone for years to come.

During our first year planning the holidays as a married couple, we learned that navigating the season as a twosome is more stressful than we thought. Whose side of the family will we see? What traditions do we want to create or partake in? There were so many choices to make, and people pulling us in different directions, even with good intentions. Since we'd only get one shot at our first Christmas as a married couple, I worried that if we didn't create the perfect holiday, we would ruin this special moment.

I felt pressure to make our first Christmas together special

We live in New York City, and when we decided that visiting my family in Texas was too far this year (weddings are expensive!), we offered to host my wife's family, who were only a few-hour drive away. Foregoing travel would mitigate some of the holiday stress. However, marrying into a big family like I did, I was still worried our celebration as a newlywed couple would get lost in the holiday chaos. This is without any fault to my amazing new family; it simply can't be helped.

Many of their family traditions are also different from my own. For example, they like to celebrate on Christmas Day, while I love the magic of a sparkling Christmas Eve. I can still bring traditions to their family, like decorating gingerbread houses, which I've done every year. Part of the original excitement toward the holiday was thinking about all the family traditions we would create together.

It took me a long time to voice my concerns to my wife, worried I was overthinking it or wanting too much attention to still be on us. After all, we got married four months ago. However, my fears ended up being unfounded because, like the loving wife she is, Taryn listened and asked me what would make our holiday feel special. The truth was, I didn't know. Though I had all these expectations that this Christmas was supposed to feel different, I had no idea how to make that happen.

I had to get real with myself and understand that, just like when planning a wedding, putting too much pressure on yourself is the fastest way to steal the joy out of the process. Letting go of the idea of making things perfect allows me to focus on what truly matters: creating memories with my wife.

My wife and I decided to focus on creating memories together

So how do you go about making a newlywed Christmas as memorable as possible? We started with Christmas cards. Since we had a small wedding, not everyone in our life got to celebrate with us. Sending out Christmas cards we made together to those who are important to us helped us share our love — and our wedding photos. Speaking of wedding photos, there's no better Christmas gift for our family than a photo album to remember the special day.

We got an ornament with our wedding date on it for the tree, started planning out a festive dinner for our family, and, most importantly, we decided to prioritize spending time together. Little things like these helped me reclaim the excitement of our first Christmas. I realized I didn't have to put pressure on myself — or my wife — to do big things each day to have a special holiday season. We could do simple things, like share quiet moments or cook new holiday dishes as a couple.

I'm most excited to wake up on Christmas and have a private gift exchange (and not just because I love presents). Seeing Taryn open her gift will bring me irreplaceable joy, which I'm excited to share with her as a married couple. We made our mission simple: pick out a new winter scarf we think the other will love.

Our Christmas as newlyweds won't be the only one we spend together, no matter how special it feels. Romanticizing our first holiday was great in theory until it became a pressure cooker for perfection — decidedly unromantic. But in the process of reframing my mindset, I found that there was still magic and romance for the taking.

• I had a crush on my coworker and decided to tell him when my contract was up.
• He told me he was flattered but that he had a girlfriend.
• I wonder if the timing was off, but I'm glad I put myself out there.

I remember noticing him early on at my former job. He was funny and had a sunny smile, but he also struck me as confident and competent. A wave of excitement filled my heart every time he was around me, and I felt like a teenager with her first crush — even though I was in my mid-20s.

Maybe you don't like spoilers, but I do, so I will tell the truth right now. This is not a love story. This is a story of rejection after declaring my feelings to my former coworker when my contract ended.

I waited until my last day of work to finally confess my feelings for him, but I'm not sure it was the best decision.

I finally asked my coworker out

I didn't take the decision to tell him lightly. I debated with myself for a long time if I should tell him while we still worked together.

On one hand, I thought it would be heartbreaking for me if he politely declined and I had to see him every day. On the other hand, if he accepted my invitations and we began going out together, an awkward situation would arise. Even if we were working in different departments, being in a small company where we met every day surely didn't help my dilemma.

So, ultimately, I decided to come clean when my contract was finally up. When my six months ran out, I said goodbye to all my coworkers and devised a plan. I decided to finally confess my feelings as he stepped out of the office. Unfortunately, he didn't leave the office alone, so my plan was foiled. But I couldn't keep my romantic feelings to myself anymore.

When I got home, I wrote him a message, finally revealing that I had a crush on him and wanted to tell him in person, but there hadn't been an appropriate occasion. A few minutes afterward, I added that we could have a coffee together one day — if he wanted to.

My hands were sweating as I stared at the three dreaded bubbles showing he was typing. A long text message appeared; he was incredibly kind, even when rejecting me.

He said that he knows how difficult it is to declare your feelings, so he thanked me. Still, he was already seeing another girl.

Being rejected is painful. It can easily affect our self-worth and make us feel like failures. Even though I expected this rejection, I wasn't prepared for that intrusive emptiness that left me feeling lost and thinking that no one would ever want me.

Telling my friend what happened made things slightly more tolerable, but I needed a way to cleanse this intoxicating mixture of emotions from my body and mind.

Summer meant a lot of exercise classes in parks and on the beach. I decided to trade emotional pain for physical strain, and I went to a total-body class in July's heat. Moving my body and sweating felt amazing. It made me temporarily forget this situation.

I'm ultimately proud of myself

One question kept nagging me: Was it even worth telling him the truth?

But now that some months have passed, I don't have any regrets about how things went. Sometimes, I think if I had told him earlier, things could have gone differently, but anguishing over how something could have been is never sensible.

Regardless of the timing, I am proud of stepping out of my comfort zone and declaring my feelings. As an introvert, this can be incredibly challenging.

Even if it was painful at the moment, being rejected was better than remaining in doubt about his feelings.

Rejection is like a period at the end of a sentence. It can feel like an abrupt close, but endings often turn into new beginnings.

• As the eldest sibling, I felt pressure to spend money on my family during past holidays.
• It made me happy, and I wanted to be seen as successful. This year, I'm not making as much money.
• My financial position gave me anxiety, and I needed to find a solution.

I take the role of being the "eldest sibling" seriously. As the oldest sibling, I want to be a good example for my younger brother, look out for my family's needs, and be reliable and responsible.

For me, financial success is the best way to fulfill this role. In 2023, I stayed true to my role while making a decent monthly income. After monthly expenses, I could save some part of my salary. I'd spend that on my family when I visited over the holidays. But in July 2024, I turned to freelancing. My income wasn't stable, and I felt more financial pressure than ever.

As the holidays neared, I grew more anxious about money. I was still finding my footing in the freelancing world, and my savings were drying up. If I wasn't earning well, I couldn't spend well, either.

I worried about whether I could afford holiday expenses this year. I wanted to live up to what I expected of myself and what I felt my family expected of me. I also wanted to avoid the mistakes I'd made during the holiday season last year.

This year, I'm not in the same financial position as I was last year

When I went home for the holidays last year, thanks to my stable income, I wasn't worried about spending or having a holiday budget. However, I realized I should have set a spending limit when I returned. I had gone overboard.

My "eldest daughter syndrome" had kicked in several times. Treating my family to dinners, arranging celebrations for cousins, buying last-minute gifts — I wanted to take care of everything. I wanted to be reliable.

This year, my heartbeat quickened at the thought of going home. Whenever my brother called me to plan a dinner or a trip with the cousins, I would instantly check my account and wonder how I would afford it.

I didn't have the same financial privileges I'd had the year prior. Freelancing seemed promising, but I hadn't yet gotten in the groove of onboarding regular clients and earning a consistent income. I wouldn't get paid for 1-2 months after submitting one-off assignments and had to rely on my savings for expenses.

The whole month before I went home to see my family, my anxiety was through the roof. I needed a plan to navigate my financial anxiety. But first, I had to understand why it exists.

I had to look at why I felt so much pressure to pay for everything

I had a few fears. I was afraid I'd run out of money because of last-minute expenses, like dinners and gifts. I was afraid that my family would have to cover me if that happened. Lastly, I feared they would judge me if they had to cover me. I also didn't want anyone paying my way; after all, I felt like I was supposed to look out for my family, not the other way around.

I realized that spending money on my loved ones wasn't just a way to fulfill my role as the eldest sibling. It also gave me immense pleasure and was important to me. Whether it was a small gesture or a cozy dinner, I wanted to offer it.

As I explored further, I thought about how I spent every holiday since I'd started earning my own money. My parents, my cousins, everyone would offer to pay for things or contribute, but I'd insist on taking care of it. I'd go to great lengths to make sure I was the one paying. Once, I argued with my mom to let me pay for her new sweater, in front of the cashier.

When I thought back, I realized that though I enjoyed paying for things in the past, no one else expected it from me. I wanted to do it because I wanted to be perceived as responsible. In reality, I realized that I was adding unnecessary pressure on myself, especially when I was struggling to earn well.

Once I identified the problems, it was easier to look for solutions.

I figured out ways to alleviate pressure on myself

First, I allotted money to a holiday budget and decided to take on a couple of extra freelance projects to make sure sticking to it wouldn't strain me financially. I also installed a savings app that automatically transferred a fixed amount from my bank account daily. I could withdraw those savings if I went over my predetermined budget.

I noticed that the idea of unplanned holiday expenses like last-minute gifts was freaking me out. I started looking for gifts a month in advance so I'd have time to choose things that fit my budget.

Next, I examined the pressure I always felt to pay for outings with my family. I realized that I didn't have to pay for everything while struggling to build a career — and, further, no one expected me to.

Once I gained control of my holiday budget, I started to feel more confident. I also realized that I don't — and can't — always have it all together as the eldest sibling. I had to come to terms with the fact that I can't pay for everything this year. I can foot the bill for a couple of dinners with my family and cousins, but not all of them.

Letting someone else pay might challenge how I thought of myself in my role as the older sister, but keeping up that perception for myself just isn't worth it. I decided to be open to others contributing or offering to pay. I'm trying to make my peace with it.

I also reassure myself that my budget is restricted only for this holiday and that there are many more lavish holidays to come.

• In 2019, after relapsing multiple times, I stopped drinking.
• I was discharged and decided to treat Christmas Day as any other day, not to be pressured.
• I didn't have the urge to drink, and it was exactly what I needed.

November 10th, 2019, could have been my gravestone date, but it became my sobriety date instead.

It was my fourth and final detox from alcohol addiction; I had been caught in a cycle of repeated relapse for several years — this time, I had to make it work.

During my hospital admission, I naturally thought about the future and the next steps in my recovery. At that moment, the thought of Christmas filled me with dread.

The reality is that alcoholism makes you more and more insular, and I was desperately clinging on to the few people I had left. Knowing I was going to be spending Christmas alone for the first time felt like a punishment. It was the opposite.

The previous year, I blacked out

The previous Christmas Eve, I had been in the same hospital for a mental health crisis. While there's no question my drinking significantly exacerbated my mental state, at the time, I wasn't thinking about sobriety.

When I had been discharged earlier on Christmas Day, I went home and slept through the day. It had become routine: I would be kept overnight and discharged the following day after being seen by a psychiatric nurse. I woke up at about 7 p.m. to drink just enough to prevent having withdrawals and went back to bed. Truth be told, I don't remember anything between Christmas and New Year's Day, and it was the longest I'd ever blacked out.

This time around, I was discharged after an eight-day admission for detox, and my first priority was getting through my coming holiday without any alcohol.

I treated the day like a normal one

Two days before Christmas Day, I decided to treat it like any other day but make it extra special. I bought a chicken to roast, vegetables, and an extra nice dessert.

Because I was no longer drinking alcohol, my biggest dilemma was what I should drink. So I bought fizzy grape juice — like wine but without the alcohol. Every time I felt my anxieties rise about the big day, I told myself: "It's only a day, and it will be over before you know it."

What surprised me was that no one really asked me what I was doing for Christmas, which actually made it easier. In previous years, before my epic relapse, I was invited to my friend's house. His mother would come over from Paris; he'd cook pheasant and all the trimmings. However, this year, he and his mother were going to Switzerland for a skiing trip, leaving me out in the cold.

In my teens and 20s, I would go to my dad's place, which often involved him being drunk and passing out in the afternoon. This was not something I wanted to do, and it only served as a reminder of why I needed to stay sober.

Christmas can be anything you want

I realized that there was no "right way" to do Christmas. That was where a lot of the pressure came from — the traditions, the presents, the goodwill, and the expectations that come with it.

On the big day itself, I decided to do exactly what I wanted to do. I'd earned it after all the work I'd put into my sobriety the previous few weeks. I cooked my roast chicken with unconventional herbs and spices and had my gluten-free dessert and sparkling grape juice. I allowed myself to watch trash TV, which reminded me why I never habitually watched anything.

Unlike Christmases gone by, I didn't have to get up to go anywhere or even get dressed. Knowing there were no people involved eased my anxieties. There were no awkward conversations around the dinner table with relatives I only see at Christmas, big birthdays, or funerals. Nor did I have to down a bottle of wine to ensure there was enough alcohol in my system to get me through the day. This was my Christmas, and I did it my way. It turned out to be bliss.

Many people think the idea of spending Christmas on their own sounds lonely and unappealing. For me, spending Christmas alone is about taking responsibility. The alternative is that I would re-expose myself to triggers that contributed to my complex PTSD, which underpinned my alcohol addiction.

Now approaching my sixth sober solo Christmas, I'm looking forward to it.

• Early on in our marriage, my husband and I decided to split the house chores evenly.
• He takes care of all the outdoor chores while I focus on the inside ones.
• We are more than happy to help each other out, but we have the final say over our domains.

Very early on in our marriage, my spouse coined the phrase "Outside mine, inside yours."

It has been our guiding principle. The saying meant he took care of all the outdoor work, and I handled all the indoor chores.

In other words, I could decorate however I wanted, and he didn't want any gruff about how short he was cutting the grass.

This mantra has worked for us for 10 years, and I think it's the key to happiness in marriage.

We separate our chores evenly

My husband tills the garden, plants, and schedules watering. He also cleans the chicken coop and fills their food and water containers. He chops wood, mows, mulches leaves, and does anything else that needs to be done. In winter, that includes salting and shoveling snow.

The "outside" part of our mantra also includes vehicle and camper maintenance.

We were gifted an antique metal set of monkey bars that he'll soon install in the backyard. Between that and his garage projects, it's more than enough to keep him busy. Our two young boys also enjoy helping with the outdoor chores.

As the trio tromps happily outside, I fold laundry and scrub dishes in peace — usually with an audiobook playing in my ear.

It helps us take ownership of our domains

We will ask for the other's opinion about a planned project, but ultimately, we have the final say in our own areas.

For example, we had a small rustic fence that my husband wanted to remove. I wanted to paint it and decorate it with antiques, but because the task was technically in his domain, he ultimately decided to remove it. I stepped back and let him handle it.

Indoors, I have often rearranged and ordered rugs, chair covers, etc., and he lets me without comment.

But we also help each other out when needed

Just because the indoors is my lane doesn't mean he's immune to inside tasks — or vice versa. I'm regularly asked to feed pets or help with the birds. Meanwhile, my husband helps with laundry and often cleans the bathroom.

Our arrangement is less about "I'm only doing this" and more about "You are the manager of this area." It removes the mental workload from the other's list and allows us to focus on one area. While I don't mind helping in the duck pond, it's nice that I don't have to remember when it needs to be done. In the same way, I'll often ask if he can clean the counters or fold the towels because it's on my list of what needs to be completed and not his.

My more flexible work schedule also affects what chores I complete and when. As I'm home more, it's simply easier for me to run laundry. However, he folds and puts his own away.

Winter also means fewer outside chores that need to be completed. Meanwhile, with four of us helping inside, the indoor workload is lowered for all.

This division helps us stay united

We end up with a fairly even set of tasks that also highlight our individual skills. By dividing and conquering the mental load of outdoor vs. indoor chores, we're able to get everything done with less stress and planning in advance.

It also shows our sons that gender-specific chores don't exist; it's about working as a team and putting your abilities where you're most talented. To really send this home, we rotate the chores that they are in charge of completing, whether it be putting dishes away, vacuuming, stacking wood, sorting laundry, or cleaning the garage. We focus on the fact that we all live under one roof, and a part of that is helping take care of the space, whether it's inside or out.

This setup helps my husband and I avoid arguments about one doing more work than the other. In this way, we are a team and happier for it.

• Dr. Ferdinando Mirarchi has practiced emergency medicine for more than 25 years.
• He's seen many misunderstandings about end-of-life medical wishes.
• Families can start the conversation, but professional input is critical, he said.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Dr. Ferdinando Mirarchi, DO, founder and CEO of MIDEO Health. It has been edited for length and clarity.

When I was a medical intern, I was in the intensive care unit one day when a 55-year-old mother went into cardiac arrest. I ran in to shock her heart back to life when the nurses started waving papers at me. The woman had signed a "do not resuscitate" order, they said.

I was paralyzed. This lady was dying in front of me, and I knew I could save her quickly. Luckily, a cardiologist rushed in and restarted her heart. She eventually went home to her family.

A few years later, during my residency at a trauma center, a man in his 60s came in, very ill. He was septic and unresponsive, but I thought, "I'm not going to make that mistake again." I started treating him aggressively until his wife came in and told me he had end-stage cancer and was in hospice. He just wanted to die without pain.

I realized that end-of-life care was a mess

I had made a life-and-death mistake on both sides. I had withheld treatment from a young, relatively healthy mom but over-treated a man who didn't want aggressive intervention and would die anyway.

That's when I realized that end-of-life care was a complete mess in our medical system. I started researching end-of-life wishes and wrote a book about living wills, which convey medical wishes. I conducted more research on how often people's wishes are misinterpreted or misunderstood and eventually created a video-based advanced directive, which conveys your wishes if you're unable to speak.

The issues around "do not resuscitate" orders (DNRs), advanced care directives, and living wills are complex and systemic. Still, we can't shy away from conversations about medical wishes with our loved ones. Here's how to have impactful discussions, and may reduce the risks of misinterpretation.

Recognize this is a hard conversation

There's a misconception that talking about medical wishes can be simple, but it's not. This is a hard conversation to have over a holiday dinner, asking Mom about her death and then saying, "Please pass the mashed potatoes."

Still, the holidays and family gatherings can be a spot to start the conversation without getting into the nitty-gritty details. People avoid this conversation because taking action is hard, so even a small step forward is helpful.

Focus on safety, not death

Death can be scary. So, instead of starting the conversation focused on end-of-life issues, center it around patient safety. Say something like, "Mom and Dad, we want to do what's right for you and make sure we're keeping you safe." Then, have a conversation about what safety means to each of you in a medical or care setting.

Set aside the idea of long-term life support

Some people think this conversion is black and white: do you want life support or not? But there's a lot more nuance. While most people say they don't want to live on machines, that doesn't mean they should sign a DNR.

For example, if you have a heart attack, there are simple procedures that can save your life without impacting future quality of life. When you take the idea of long-term life support off the table, you can have a more detailed conversation about what your loved one really wants.

When in doubt, err on the side of intervention

Many times, life support can be used as a bridge while you learn more about someone's condition. Remember, you can always start treatment, then decide to stop it. The opposite is not true—you can't bring people back.

Put your opinions aside

Always keep the patient at the forefront, and emphasize that their healthcare is their decision, up to the end. You can say something like, "If you want aggressive care and treatment, that's fine, but if you want something else, that's OK too." Many older patients are comfortable with death, but they never want to feel pushed toward decisions like signing a DNR.

Revisit the conversation

Choices around medical care look different as your life changes. I have an older mother and a 55-year-old brother who already went into cardiac arrest once and needed a life-saving bypass operation. As their health evolves, we update their wishes at least once a year. These are not one-and-done conversations.

Talk with a doctor

The choices around end-of-life care are very intense and nuanced. You may think you're being clear, but to make sure your wishes are followed in an emergency, you must present them in a way that clinicians can follow when they only have seconds to decide what to do. As part of my practice, I now help patients and their loved ones articulate their wishes using the specific terms that physicians use.

After more than 25 years in emergency medicine, I've seen the problems with end-of-life care, but with more informed conversation and better means of communication, I'm confident we can reduce ambiguity and misinterpretation.

• Coming together over food has always been a core part of my family's holiday celebrations.
• In my 20s, an eating disorder took the joy out of gathering with family and friends.
• Now, my family gatherings — and the food at them — are enjoyable once again.

Food is a core part of holiday traditions for most families — especially mine. "Some people eat to live, but we live to eat," my grandfather would always say. Every year, I looked forward to the over-the-top spread at Thanksgiving, and the countless decadent desserts on display at Christmas. It was wonderful — until I developed an eating disorder at 21.

How it started

I spent my last semester of college interning in Los Angeles — about two months in, after a devastating and blindsiding breakup with my boyfriend, my mother began losing our home back on the East Coast. I felt like I had lost control of the wheel. The one thing in my life I could control? What I ate.

It started with a food journal. I carried it everywhere, jotting down every single thing I put in my mouth. Even a couple of grapes or a small handful of granola had to be tracked and recorded. Then I began following several nutrition blogs and reading those oh-so-problematic "what I eat in a day" posts. Now I know that those bloggers' meals didn't provide enough calories for me, but at the time they were something I looked to for inspiration.

The false sense of control I gained from tracking calories and counting almonds was intoxicating — and my habits gradually spiraled. Soon I had to measure every tablespoon of peanut butter I spread on a sandwich or the oil I drizzled on a salad. It became impossible to enjoy a meal out with friends, because I knew I'd lie awake later that night riddled with anxiety about not knowing exactly what I'd consumed.

It's funny. At the time, I felt so in control when in reality, the disorder had begun controlling me. It had the final say on where, what, and how much I could eat, and the joy I could derive from enjoying food with loved ones.

Needless to say, when the holidays rolled around that year, the emphasis on food no longer felt like a perk. Instead, it was agonizing. In the days leading up to Thanksgiving, I spent hours plotting how I could fool my family into thinking I'd feasted along with them while hiding food in a napkin. And then I spent countless sleepless nights after Christmas simultaneously shaming myself for my choices and wrestling with regret that I hadn't allowed myself to indulge in my favorite treats.

A turning point

This December marks 13 years since I hit rock bottom. And from this vantage point, it's hard to believe that my eating disorder almost ruined all of my favorite holidays for me. Although my mom and other family members had urged me to get help, only I could make that decision for myself and put in the work it takes to recover. When I realized that my eating disorder was impairing my social life, dating life, and ability to travel while also holding me back from achieving my career goals and sapping all the joy out of fun celebratory occasions, I decided to seek professional help.

It took extensive therapy for me to get here — to unpack the fears and feelings at the root of my disordered thoughts and habits — but I finally reached what I consider to be a full recovery from my eating disorder at age 23. I feel so fortunate to have worked with Dr. Jennifer Thomas, a psychologist who has since become the co-director of the Eating Disorders Clinical and Research Program at Massachusetts General Hospital. During our weekly sessions, she gave me challenges to try at home that often felt uncomfortable — eating at different times than my usual schedule, incorporating "fear foods" back into my routine one by one, and offered invaluable support as I dug into the desperation for control that was driving my eating disorder.

Now, I make a choice to be healthy every day

Since then, I've given several speeches at my local chapter of the National Eating Disorders Association to offer hope for people on their own recovery journey. During these speeches, I've made it a point to give people a realistic idea of what life looks like post-recovery. In setting those expectations, I've told them: "It's not like your disorder disappears. It's just so much easier to squash that toxic inner dialogue."

Mindfulness has played a key role in my recovery — and the way I cope at food-focused holidays and other occasions. For so many years, I ignored what my body was trying to tell me. It got to the point where I didn't even notice hunger cues or cravings anymore. Practicing mindfulness has helped me to tune back into those signals so that when disordered thoughts arise, I can check in internally and make decisions based on my body's actual needs.

When surveying the family-style feast on Thanksgiving, my mind is sometimes quick to whisper: "You should load up on carrots rather than mashed potatoes," or "You already had sugar-laden cranberry sauce, you should skip the pie." The difference now is that it's become easier to dismiss that voice, like an old frenemy whose advice and opinions I just don't value any longer. And every time I opt to pay no attention to it, it gets a little bit quieter. Nowadays, I often reach the end of a holiday celebration realizing that I didn't hear my eating disorder's unhelpful input at all.

Research shows that only around 21% of people make a full recovery from an eating disorder. I'm very grateful to count myself among that minority because as the holidays fast approach again this year, I'm not worrying about how to "get through" while depriving myself of all the foods that bring me joy and pleasure. I'm far more focused on how grateful I am to even have access to these foods — something so many Americans lack.

My memories of those holidays during the peak of my disorder feel so hazy, like a photograph that's faded beyond perceptibility. This year, rather than being distracted by my own anxious thoughts, I'm focused on being present with my family and friends. I want to remember every conversation — and every bite.

• It's getting harder to continue some of our family holiday traditions as my kids get older.
• As my children move out of the house, I know they will have different priorities.
• I'm trying to accept this change while also allowing myself to be sad.

My family has cut down our Christmas tree in the mountains for many years now. But this year, I wasn't sure if we'd all make it.

My oldest is in college. He has a job, plans with friends, and other events going on. I'm grateful that he arranged his schedule around our family tradition for this year, but I'm not sure how long that will continue.

Another of my teens decided the night before that she didn't want to go, and I get it. The Rocky Mountains are cold; we walk through deep drifts of snow, trying to find our tree. There's a lot of tromping up hills. We have to cut down the tree. We then have to carry it back down those hills, slipping and sliding our way to the car.

She complained about all these things after our Thanksgiving dinner when we were all very warm and sleepy. Spending the next day in the frigid outdoors wasn't appealing.

I'll admit it: I guilted her into going. I said sadly that I wasn't sure how many more years we'd all be together to do this. I bribed her with Starbucks. I pleaded a little. To her credit, she came along, and she was a delight. There was no complaining about being cold or the lack of bathrooms in the forest. We had cocoa and snacks. We picked the perfect tree. The views were breathtaking, even if we were freezing as we admired them. We had a wonderful time, the six of us.

But I don't know if this will happen next year.

Our traditions have been changing for a few years now

I noticed a few years ago that the pile of Christmas picture books I always bring out went unread. With two of my children graduated from high school, we have fewer holiday choir concerts and piano recitals. I don't have photos of my kids in big, poufy Christmas dresses and festive sweaters, posing in front of our tree anymore.

Even Christmas morning is different now that we don't have eager kids jumping on us at 6 a.m. to get up. Our kids are happy to open presents and grateful for what they receive, but the unhinged enthusiasm of toddlers and preschoolers is long gone. I'm now the one jumping on beds to wake people up on Christmas morning.

I know things will change more in the future

As my kids get older, it might be harder to get everyone together for holiday activities. Our house was chaos when we had four little kids running around, but I was in charge. They did what I planned. Now, they're making their own plans.

My college kid is graduating next year, and we don't yet know where he'll be at the end of 2025. There's no guarantee he'll be home on Tree Weekend. Last year, we were missing my older daughter who traveled to her grandparents' house in California for Thanksgiving.

I won't be the deciding force in my kids' lives in the coming years, and that's how it's supposed to be. I want them to have jobs they enjoy and partners they love. I want them to live in a place that makes them happy. But each of those things has a pull on them that means they might not be home when I want them here.

I'm trying to focus on what matters most

In the end, how we get a Christmas tree isn't what's most important to me. I don't even need to eat our Thanksgiving meal on actual Thanksgiving. If we give up some of our other holiday traditions, I can be OK with that, too.

What I really care about is everyone being together.

I moved 1,100 miles from my own parent, and we don't often get to spend the holidays together. But we visit in the summer for longer than we'd be able to spend at Christmas. I'd rather have that extra time, even if it's not during the holidays. I know I'm going to have to remind myself of this as my kids move out. I'll focus on the time we have together, whenever that is.

I won't give up all of our traditions, either. I'll keep doing them with whoever is around and wants to participate. It might just be me and my husband some years, but I'm not going to stop doing things I enjoy because not everyone can be there.

I'm also giving myself permission to be sad. I didn't expect everything to stay the same as when my kids were little. But I'm going to miss those days with everyone under my roof for the entire season. I can be happy for them, sad about things changing, and excited for everyone's future all at once.

Meanwhile, I'm going to soak up all the time that I have with these guys this year. I'm going to savor every Christmas memory we make, even if I have to shamelessly guilt some of them into participating.

• Over the last 25 years, I've been on over a dozen multigenerational family vacations.
• I've learned planning early and keeping the limits and interests of those going in mind helps.
• It can also be helpful to book separate accommodations if possible.

My Roman holiday taught me that pillows are not just for sleeping. They're my coping method of choice, excellent at muffling frustrated screams while locked in the bathroom on a three-week family trip in the Italian capital.

I've done over a dozen multigenerational trips, from large reunions to birthday cruises and seaside anniversaries. Planning to avoid such moments — when you, the adult child, turn back into a sobbing five-year-old thanks to a triggering argument with your mother — is key to a successful family holiday.

Making golden holiday memories with the ones you love most requires someone to be the adult in the room, armed with strategies to avoid the pitfalls — about money, the itinerary, past grievances — and ensure that great experiences are created, instead of ones that belong in Dante's circle of hell.

A multigenerational vacation usually includes three (or more) generations of family members, but there are no hard and fast rules on inclusion. When you've got a large group with wide-ranging ages (anywhere from newborns to 80+), differing physical abilities, financial resources, and interests, trip organization can become an overwhelming and stressful juggling act. Planning and patience are key to surviving a multigenerational trip and ensuring it goes as smoothly as possible.

Plan in advance, and think about who is going

Our most recent multigenerational trip involved celebrating my parents-in-law's 60th wedding anniversary in the Belgian seaside town where they were married. We started planning the date one year in advance and worked backward on booking accommodation and flights, invitations, catering, the party venue, etc.

The organizational heavy lifting can be a group endeavor, but it's best to appoint some lead planners or go outside the family circle entirely and hire a travel agent to handle the booking complexities. "Going pro" can ease the load and save time and stress.

It's important to remember trip participants' ages, interests, and limitations. Our Belgian adventure included teenagers and octogenarians, blind uncles, and frail aunts. We planned day trips and activities to do together and apart, and this made the trip better for everyone.

Separate accommodations are helpful, if possible

I chalk that success up to experience. My first multigenerational trip with my parents and kids was to Honolulu, Hawaii nearly 25 years ago. Two kitchen-equipped apartments within easy walking access to the beach meant carefree time with our then-toddlers, who were solely interested in sandcastles, ice cream, and little else.

The separate accommodations allowed us space and independence so we could plan activities (naps, couple time) separately or together with ease.

Patience — with yourself and each other — is key

It's taken me a bit longer to figure out how to pack my patience — that key accessory so vital when traveling with others, when even the best relationships are tested by jet lag and ancient grievances.

Knowing the touchpoints that can trigger strong emotions and finding the patience and coping mechanisms — screaming into cushions, taking a walk — are necessary to cool situations that can ruin both vacations and family ties.

Talk about money before the trip

Conflict about money is one of the most contentious aspects of multigenerational trip planning. Unless you have a grandma or uncle with deep pockets, no one party is going to cover the entire cost of the trip. Honest conversations about who will pay for what — well ahead of the departure date — will help reduce arguments down the line.

Traveling with family is worth it. At its best, a multigenerational trip is an unforgettable opportunity to spend time with the people you love the most; for littles to enjoy priceless moments with grandparents; and for adult children to savor and foster relationships across generations. Just remember the pillow.

• My husband and I moved from Hamburg, Germany to a small Italian town in August.
• The town offers homes for 1 euro and we were worried about the poor reputation these places have.
• However, we took the risk and we're so glad we did.

My husband and I became interested in the 1-euro housing schemes in Italy last year but were concerned about investing time and money into a house in a village that was dying out.

We are in our early 30s and had read online that the catch to these 1-euro homes was that they're usually falling apart and located in towns that are basically desolate retirement homes with little to no businesses.

We were coming from Hamburg, Germany, which has a population of 2 million and were nervous about what life would be like and being lonely in one of these small Italian towns.

However, after visiting some properties in one of these towns, we decided to take the risk, and it was worth it.

In the end, we avoided the 1-euro homes and bought a farmhouse for 29,000 euros, about $30,400, instead. Our worries about being lonely in a run-down town quickly disappeared after we arrived.

We were pleasantly surprised by how lively our town was

We moved to Sant'Elia a Pianisi, a village with about 1,500 residents in southern Italy.

When we arrived in August, there were festivals every day and night. There were parades, concerts, festivals with free food and drinks, sword fighting, and fire-breathing shows.

It felt surreal, moving to this tiny town in the middle of nowhere Italy, yet hearing English and German everywhere we went.

Sitting at the local Irish pub, we were surrounded by older US Americans who had left during a diaspora between the '40s and '70s, when many Italians ended up in the US or Germany for work.

Now, as they age, many have returned to their hometown to enjoy retirement. Their relatives also come to visit and explore their heritage.

Many still have family homes here in the village and donate money to keep the village running well while they're away. This contributes to lovely projects, including handicap-inclusive playgrounds, parks, and holy places.

In August, we also met a lot of young people who have left the town for university or better work opportunities. Many expressed a longing to return to Sant'Elia and hope that the increase in remote work availability will allow them to come back sooner rather than later.

The town quiets down after August but is still full of life

We were afraid Sant'Elia would be a ghost town after August. To be honest, it did become much quieter, but not as much as we had anticipated.

There are still parades every month. The three restaurants are quieter but still full on Saturday nights with live music and sometimes karaoke.

When hanging my laundry outside on the clothesline, I hear children screeching and giggling. There are families, both young and old, and they are all so kind and warm.

Most people in town gather at an outdoor market once a week, which offers fresh cheeses, vegetables, fruits, plants, and new and used clothing and shoes.

We can buy these items any day of the week at the multiple little grocery stores, bakeries, butchers, and clothing stores in town, but the market also offers the opportunity to socialize with other residents.

We don't speak Italian, but can still communicate

My husband and I are learning Italian, but neither of us would say we speak it yet. That doesn't stop the townspeople from wanting us to feel welcome.

We use what little broken Italian we know, and they accommodate with their own broken English and German.

When the language barrier becomes too tough, we resort to hand gestures or a quick game of charades to get our point across.

Words aren't always necessary, though.

Many of our new neighbors have given us presents, from squashes and pomegranates to homemade cheeses and olive oil.

We feel very welcome and are happy to be part of this community.

We're not far from the city

If we want more action and entertainment, we don't have to go far.

The nearest city, Campobasso, has a population of about 47,500 and is a half-hour drive away.

One downside is the drive itself. It's a windy one through the mountains with a lot of sharp turns and steep hills. Almost all of our friends we've driven through it wanted to throw up by the end.

Campobasso, though, offers a beautiful historical center, shopping malls, nightclubs, movie theaters, markets, museums, and cultural events.

Even without Campobasso, there is never a dull moment. I recently joined an expat Facebook Group for the region where people post daily about coming wine and food festivals, parades, and musical performances in their towns.

Sant'Elia is a small town in a small region of Italy, but we have found everything we could have ever wanted from this community.

• When the world followed the advice of Marie Kondo and decluttered, I did too.
• I soon discovered my digital life needed to be decluttered just as much as my house once did.
• A weekly routine helps me manage digital clutter so it doesn't become overwhelming.

Like most people, I have too much stuff. But it's not just physical stuff; the amount of digital clutter I amass is nothing short of spectacular. Between bookmarking apps, "watch later" lists, and email newsletters, it all adds up to one big mess of distraction that lingers at the edge of my subconscious and calls for my attention — attention that could be better spent engaging with the real world.

I didn't always know that my digital stuff was a problem, but I realized my physical stuff had gotten out of control when I (finally) read Marie Kondo's, "The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up." The book launched me into a love affair with minimalism, resulting in a complete declutter of clothing, books, old papers, and dozens of boxes of stored possessions I hadn't touched in over a decade.

It felt amazing to wave goodbye to every load I donated, recycled, or threw away. But the invisible problem of digital clutter still weighed heavily in the back of my mind. I had to face reality: My digital life was a complete and total mess, and I was overwhelmed.

Tackling a physical declutter made me realize I had too much digital stuff

"Read later" apps were a big part of my problem. I'd been saving anything that looked even remotely interesting since my family first got a PC in 1998. As bookmarking options got more sophisticated, I tested several tools (and saved dozens of links) before settling on an organization app called Bublup.

The app's engaging interface, handy browser extension, and catch-all "Review Later" folder made it easy to save all types of content with a few clicks or taps. Between Bublup, the "Your Episodes" list in Spotify, and YouTube's "Watch Later" list, I managed to stockpile links to hundreds of articles, podcasts, and videos that I intended to look at — you guessed it — some nebulous later time that rarely materialized.

Things got worse when I briefly fell down the rabbit hole of second brains and Zettelkasten, systems that promised I could reclaim some of my attention by organizing digital clutter into a magical note taking app that would somehow free my brain to make new connections between the ideas contained in what I saved. But for that to work, I had to shoulder the task of taking detailed notes on every piece of content, categorizing them, and implementing an intricate cross-referencing system that would supposedly enable me to access entire hubs of externalized knowledge at a moment's notice instead of scrolling through endless bookmarks.

It was exhausting.

I finally had to admit that I needed a digital declutter

I started to feel like I was going nuts — until books came to my rescue once again.

Nicholas Carr's "The Shallows," Nir Eyal's "Indistractable," and Cal Newport's "Digital Minimalism," all opened my eyes to how my constant bouncing across content and tools was stealing attention from other, more important, areas of my life—things I truly enjoyed, like reading, knitting, and face-to-face interaction with friends. And the authors armed me with practical steps to refocus that attention on what mattered.

I dove into digital minimalism with enthusiasm, starting with Eyal's suggestions for dumbing down my smartphone. I turned off the color, shut off notification tones and badges, and moved distracting apps to a second home screen I couldn't access when the phone was in Focus mode. Then it was time to corral the collection of content that had run wild across my bookmarking and media apps.

It took days to go through the majority of my bookmarks, delete what I no longer wanted, and organize the rest with a system of subfolders and tags. As I had done during my physical declutter, I waved goodbye to content and apps that had long been taking up space and my fragmented attention started to unify for the first time in years. It was as if the brain I'd had when I was a kid was coming out of hibernation, the brain that could read an entire book in one sitting and had no problem staying focused on a game or craft for hours.

It felt like I was waking up.

I have to keep on top of my digital clutter every week

Is my system perfect? Of course not. But I've developed a weekly routine that helps me reign in digital clutter on a regular basis. Each week, I take about 30 minutes on Friday or Saturday to sort through anddelete saved content that no longer interests me. I turn the remaining content into reminders on my weekly schedule so I have something to read, watch, or listen to each day that's actually worth my time.

I often get busy and miss a week or two of digital cleanout. But learning about digital minimalism and doing a digital declutter has helped me become more focused—and think more seriously about how I spend my time and attention.

• My girlfriend and I dated for a year and a half before we decided we wanted to live together.
• While thinking of where we wanted to live, we decided on Manchester, a city new to both of us.
• We found a two-bedroom apartment and we love exploring our new city together.

While dating, my girlfriend and I lived in different cities. We met on X — we started following each other back in 2021 and began speaking more frequently after she offered to give me some comments for an article I was writing the following year. Our first date was in January 2023, and we made things official in March.

For the first year and a half of our relationship, we had a gap of over 100 miles — seen as fairly long-distance in the UK, particularly if neither of you drives. The frequent trains and buses can be stressful and take up a lot of time.

We decided to end the long-distance chapter of our relationship

My girlfriend had been living in London for almost seven years, first as a student and then as a graduate, and she wanted something different. I'd lived in a few different cities and liked the idea of moving somewhere else for the longer term.

Her lease expired in August 2024, while mine was on a rolling monthly contract, so we explored the prospect of moving in together.

While London is a great city, it's very expensive; even though there are so many things to do, it's difficult to afford them. Other cities I've lived in, like Southampton, Cardiff, and Bath, are all great in their own ways, but there's often either not much going on, or they have less desirable transport links.

We settled on Manchester, still one of the UK's biggest cities but in the north of the country, which tends to be more affordable. So, there's still plenty to do, and we're also more likely to have the money to actually do it.

We found a great apartment and have settled in nicely

We looked at a few different apartments, and found a development in walkable distance to the city center for shops and amenities. Not living in London, we were able to get a two-bedroom apartment and use one as an office — I work from home full-time, while my girlfriend goes into the office once or twice a week.

The extra space has been a major benefit because it makes it so that we aren't always under each other's feet. And self-employed life can get lonely, so I like having my girlfriend here during the workday, even if we're both busy and aren't talking much during the day.

Moving to another city together means that you're both in the same boat and dealing with the same stress of moving — one isn't uprooting their life for the other. And when it comes to things like finding friends, we've been in the same position, and have hung out with people both as a couple and alone.

We love exploring our new city together

It's been exciting to explore the city together, too. While we'd both been to Manchester before, neither of us really knew our way around. Together, we've been able to explore a wide range of exciting bars, pubs, cafes, and restaurants, not needing to rely on one of us to act like a tour guide for the other.

An additional perk is the proximity to family. My girlfriend's parents live about an hour's drive away, so it's been nice for her to be closer to them after so long in London, while it's also easier to get to my family.

One of the first things we did when moving was adopt two cats. Moving somewhere new has meant that we aren't seeing friends as much as we might have before, but the added company of the cats has helped us adjust — and given us something to focus on together. Though going out in our new city is fun, the cats can make a quiet evening in so much more entertaining.

• In 2018, my husband and I had nearly 5 times more credit card debt than the average US household.
• So, in early 2019, we made a resolution to follow one simple rule. We called it Consumption.
• By spring 2019, we'd paid off our smallest revolving balance credit card and were debt-free by 2021.

Every Sunday night I opened my purse and piled up the weekend's bounty of receipts. This would typically trigger a piercing pain in my neck and shoulders and I'd start to feel hot. I was clearly stressed and for good reason.

It was 2018, and I was in my late 20s, married, a mother of three, and swimming in $32,000 of credit card debt — the average American household at that time had about $6,832.

Our spending, of course, added to the debt, but the interest was making it climb higher every month. We had no clue how to tackle this monster, and I couldn't stop spending.

How we got into so much debt

In the darkest of hours, I was dipping into future salaries. I'd promise myself that the check I'd receive in eight weeks would pay off that current weekend's haul.

I'd send huge lump sum credit card payments, only to turn around and swipe for groceries.

Groceries and household necessities like toilet paper, laundry detergent, and cleaning supplies made up the bulk of our joint spending, but then there were the others: sushi dinners, designer bags, and high-end makeup.

My husband and I grew up in lower middle-class homes. Necessities were provided, but luxuries were rare. We were approved for our first credit cards during the era of the YouTube haul and social media rise with little to no financial literacy, and our debt showed it.

I knew an income increase wouldn't solve our problems. My husband was already working two jobs. I worked full-time. His salary went to student loans. Mine went to daycare costs.

We had to change our habits. Decreasing our spending was the only way forward.

We eliminated our debt by turning it into a game

In 2019, Marie Kondo's Netflix Series, "Tidying Up with Marie Kondo," had everyone sifting through their belongings, keeping the joy sparking items and ridding of the rest.

Our New Year's resolution that year was to do both. We'd minimize our belongings and decrease our spending. We made a game of it that we called Consumption.

Consumption was simple: My husband and I vowed to not buy an item until we consumed the stock we had. With that one, simple rule, we would reduce our spending and clear the clutter simultaneously.

That new limited edition lotion? Use the Jergens in the toiletries closet. A new must-have foundation release? Finish the five in the vanity. The recipe calls for cinnamon sugar? Mix the cinnamon and sugar in the baking cabinet.

Things I couldn't consume, like the clothes I'd "one day fit into," I sold on Facebook Marketplace and sent the proceeds to debt. And things we wouldn't consume, like gifts with purchase, we donated to shelters.

As the year progressed, the thrill of an online purchase was replaced with the thrill of a used item or extra online payment.

"CONSUMPTION," I recall screaming as I ran to my husband proclaiming victory after finishing a facial moisturizer, going as far as cutting the tube and squeezing out the very last drop.

Social media became my accountability partner. I updated my Instagram, following mostly family and friends and unfollowing spend-triggering influencers and YouTubers. I started sharing each emptied product and skipped sales on stories.

Before Consumption, our income was about $4,000 a month, and we were spending half of it on frivolous stuff. Our simple game helped us see we could afford to send an extra $100 a month to our credit cards to pay down the debt.

We tackled our debt with the snowball effect

We had paid off our smallest revolving balance credit card by spring 2019.

After that, we tackled the larger balances via a method called the snowball effect, which I learned about in Dave Ramsey's "The 7 Baby Steps to Debt Freedom."

By 2021, we were debt-free and continue to live debt-free today.

We no longer run around screaming "Consumption!" but the values that game taught will last a lifetime.

For example, I graduated college in 2022 with $0 in student loans because I'd already paid the $28,000 in tuition fees in cash, grants, and scholarships.

We have an emergency fund, brokerage account, high-yield savings accounts, and retirement accounts.

My husband contributes 16% of his income to his 401k. We put away 20% of our net income to savings each month. And our mortgage is on track to be paid off 20 years early.

Our home is no longer overflowing with useless stuff. My headspace is much clearer. We're even better neighbors and happier parents. And that burning pain I used to get every Sunday is long gone.

• While fantasizing about a trip to the South of France, I realized it would be more fun with friends.
• I dropped my dream itinerary in a group chat with three friends I'd known for just a few months.
• To my surprise, they all wanted to go, and we had the trip of a lifetime.

I found myself crafting the perfect itinerary to the South of France, envisioning pristine beaches and dazzling scenery from Provence to the glamorous St. Tropez and Monaco, The dilemma? Though I was planning a solo trip, I realized it was actually the perfect destination for a glitzy girls' trip. The kind you make memories you'll still laugh about years down the line. Yet, as I'm nearing 40, the number of friends I have who can take time to travel as their lives move in the direction of marriage and growing families is dwindling.

So, I took the plunge and tossed my itinerary in a group chat a friend created after we all had a blast together at my birthday brunch, where they initially all met. I was nervous about the possible chorus of, "Love this but can't… maybe next year?" replies. But seconds later, responses like "I'm down!" and "I'd be interested" came rolling in.

Following the enthusiastic replies, we started seriously planning our trip to the French Riviera in another dedicated group chat.

Planning a trip with women I didn't know well had some challenges

That's when the frustrations kicked off. We were four women with vastly different vacation styles who were now planning a seven-day trip to the Côte d'Azur.

The first issue was the budget. The pings from the group chat were never-ending as we attempted to merge various travel practices and budgets to fit the group.

Initially, it was suggested to fly into a cheaper city and completely rearrange the original itinerary. It became overwhelming, and to avoid headaches before takeoff, we ultimately settled to move forward with what I initially proposed to the group. Once we all agreed on expectations, the next step was to finalize bookings.

From there, we leaned into each other's strengths to round out the finishing touches of the planning. I assumed the heavy lifting in finding the perfect places to stay. Because we didn't know each other well, we all agreed to look for accommodations that would allow everyone to have their own room — and if that didn't work, at least their own bed. We were excited to go on the trip, but also wanted to give each other space to unwind and recharge.

My method was simple: I looked around for spaces that fit the bill, selected my two favorite, and created a poll in the group chat for everyone to vote. It eliminated unnecessary back-and-forth and decision fatigue.

Chelsea, whom I had met in a group for girls who love fine dining, was the group's resident foodie. In a location as splashy as the South of France, it's easy to get lost in the ritzy beach clubs and restaurants and rack up unnecessarily expensive tabs for every meal. To help us avoid this, she did some digging on both the hot spots and local affordable gems. We didn't go a day wondering, "Where should we eat?"

Then, Jen and Michaela — who I had met individually, at a late-night museum event and art gallery, respectively — took on the responsibility of organizing travel during the trip, which included renting a fabulous convertible, perfect for navigating the beautiful coasts and charming towns.

We wanted the freedom that comes with renting a car but also needed someone who could maneuver the endless winding roads, which Jen agreed to tackle for the entire trip. And with Michaela coordinating plans for flights, trains and yachts when needed, the group trip made it out of the chat in less than a month.

We all pitched in and planned an amazing trip

Everyone pitched in, which ensured no one was burdened by an unfair amount of responsibility. I occasionally chimed in with restaurant suggestions, and we designated a second captain to assist Jen while navigating unfamiliar roads.

Additionally, we all gave each other freedom to explore while still relishing each other's company, whether it was sharing a bottle of wine with the freshest fish as the sea stretched ahead, partying at a beach club, or having a siesta on our sun-drenched balcony before a night out.

A key to a successful group trip is also accepting everyone does not have to be attached at the hip. While in Monaco, two of us spontaneously decided to splurge on a helicopter tour while the other two settled into a fabulous lunch with glasses of rosé. That kind of flexibility ensured everyone walked away satisfied at the end of the trip.

You often hear the true test of friendship is if you can travel together. For us, our stay in the South of France was just the beginning of our friendship. We all took pieces of each other home. Thanks to Chelsea, I'll always remember to look for hidden gems away from tourist traps, and I've expanded my wine lists thanks to Jen, who often said, "Why not just order a bottle?" I also came home with an appreciation for jumping off yachts with Michaela. While still laughing from memories we just made, we departed already throwing out potential ideas for our next getaway.

• Leonie Pendergast is 90 and still works full-time.
• She and her family own a few businesses, including the cuckoo clock shop she works in.
• She attributes her longevity to staying busy, never drinking or smoking, and small portions.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Leonie Pendergast, a 90-year-old businesswoman from Omeo, Australia. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I'm 90 years old and still work full-time in our family's business, a cuckoo clock shop called Omeo Clocks and Glass. I love meeting people and looking after the shop. I firmly believe that as you get older, provided you're still healthy enough, you're much better off doing something. Once you sit down at my age, it's all over.

My husband's family were pioneers in Omeo, Australia, where we live. According to the 2021 Census, it's a small town with a population of 411 people.

My work keeps me busy

My daughter Deb and her husband built the first section of our original shop, the Omeo German Cuckoo Clock Shop. However, Omeo was too quiet for a young couple, so they moved on, and I took over. I had spent 26 years working at the original shop location.

In the meantime, my husband, our son, and I bought another business, Omeo Rural and Hardware Supplies. My husband Tony, who is 88, still works at the hardware shop and drives our truck every day.

After 26 years, I sold the original building where our shop was located. When my daughter moved back to town during the pandemic, I wasn't really enjoying retirement, so she and her partner ended up reopening the cuckoo clock shop at new premises on a smaller scale, and I've been working here for the past three years.

I love meeting people — that's the main thing. We have interesting stock, too. We sell Christmas decorations and cuckoo clocks, which are unique.

I usually work from 10 a.m. until 4:30 or 5 p.m. I do everything in the shop, and my dog, Ivy, a Maltese Shih Tzu mix, keeps me company. I also spend time washing the tea towels for our family's bakery a few doors down.

I don't drink or smoke, and I stay active

When it comes to longevity, I think a lot of it comes down to genetics, but there are two things I've never done — drink alcohol or smoke. Growing up, my parents owned pubs, and we lived on-site, so by the time I was 17, I'd seen enough people drinking to last me a lifetime. It didn't interest me at all.

I also think it's important to stay active. You don't sit down if you're running a business like this one. I took even more steps in the other shop location because I had a flight of stairs to climb.

We still live on our own

Tony and I still live independently together in our own home. I have a hot dinner on the table every night when he comes home after work. Our diet is fairly plain. I always make myself an egg on toast or an omelet for breakfast. Ivy and I share a pie or sandwich for lunch, and it's always meat and vegetables or a salad for dinner. We always have small portions.

My faith grounds me, even through hard times

I'm Catholic and I believe religious faith does give you grounding. We've experienced many hardships, including bushfires that have displaced us for up to 10 days at a time. But faith gives you something to hang on to when things go wrong.

Looking back on my life, I'm happy with what I've achieved, but I would have liked to further my education. I left school the week before I turned 14. Back then, you couldn't go online and do a university degree or add to your education like you can nowadays.

Overall, I'd say my husband and I are very blessed. We have a new great-granddaughter who is due soon, and we're having a quiet Christmas because we'll be busy with the baby. Tony and I both have some health problems, but we do what our health allows us to do.

• My husband and I had been together for almost 14 years when he came out to me.
• We tried to stay together at first before deciding to divorce.
• It was painful, but we both love each other's new partners and spend time together frequently.

My husband told me he had something he wanted to tell me after dinner.

"Why can't you just tell me now?" I asked.

"Because I just want to wait," he said.

I had a bad feeling.

"So what is it?" I asked the minute the table was cleared.

"Here's the thing," he said, and then he let a few beats pass without talking. I could tell he was nervous. "I need for you to know that I have never been exclusively heterosexual." He paused. "I need to be able to explore that part of me more."

"What do you mean?" I asked. I was filled with anxiety. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

It was 1990, and my husband and I were in our mid-30s. We had been together for almost 14 years. I thought we had a great marriage. We talked and laughed and traveled, and shared a love of music and books and food and nature. He was a great dad to our daughters, who were 2 and 5 at the time. He satisfied me intellectually, emotionally, and physically. I never had a reason to question his sexuality.

"I'm sorry I never had the courage to tell you this before," he said.

He told me he felt he had no choice but to keep his desires hidden, growing up in the machismo world of Miami's Little Havana in the 60s. He thought he was gay until he was 23 — until he met me. He had never had unsafe sex, he assured me, but he also had not been faithful.

I was surprised I wasn't mad at him. I know my rage would have been infernal had he told me had slept with other women. But this felt different. This felt like a dark secret he had carried with shame for over 20 years. I just felt sad for him — and for me.

We tried to stay together at first

At first, we weren't sure we would have to split up. We still loved each other and enjoyed spending time together, including in bed. I joined a support group for straight people married to gay or bisexual spouses. It turned out I was not alone.

I sought out academic journals and read everything I could related to bisexual people and marriage. I wanted to know our prognosis. Not good. Studies showed that the couples who tended to make it were those who knew the full picture when they first got together. We weren't in that category.

I wondered what an open marriage would feel like. I viewed myself as an open-minded person, but I had a hunch my husband's nonmonogamy would be too painful for me. Could I handle him going on vacation without me? Not coming home at night? I was doubtful. We decided to play it by ear. We'd see how things progressed and then reassess.

But really, nothing progressed. We worked, we took care of the kids, and we continued to live as we had before, he told me, as though nothing had changed. But everything had changed.

Almost exactly one year later, it became clear that clinging to the status quo would not work. I knew I had two choices, and both were excruciating: stay with my husband knowing I would always have to share him, or end my marriage and be alone. If I left, my new world might be bleak and lonely, but at least it would hold the possibility of some future joy. At 35, I was still young. I wanted to find a relationship where I would feel like enough. I didn't want to compete with someone else. I wanted to be the only one.

We both came to this realization simultaneously. We sat together on the couch one dismal night. We didn't even have to say anything. I realized I could not flourish in this union, and he realized he could not live his life fully with me by his side. We held each other and cried.

Our separation was slow

I remember the last week we lived together before he moved out. There should be a name for this strange period. A Divorceymoon, maybe. A time when instead of starting to build your life together, you must begin to take it apart. Separating the books, photos, and posters was the easy part. Far harder was cutting up the fabric of our shared life. Soon, I would stop seeing him when he came home from work. Soon, I would wake up alone in the morning. Soon, the marriage would be over.

The first few weeks of starting a life apart were more painful than I expected. The house was so quiet when the kids were with him, and I was always happy when they came back. I felt like I had not understood true loneliness until then. To have a full family one day, and the next day, to be alone.

The separation continued at a gradual pace. We still spent time together as a family, going out to eat or to the playground with the kids. We went camping on the Cape. Once, we even traveled to Spain together. And then, a few months later, he met someone. Soon we were spending less time with each other, and I missed him terribly. But then, a few months after that, I met someone too. We had now become two separate families.

We've incorporated our new big loves into our big family

Years passed, and relationships came and went for both of us. We rarely met each other's love interests. They rarely joined us at our shared meals. They didn't feel like part of the joint family we still had together.

But then my ex met his big love. And two years later, so did I.

I guess it shouldn't have surprised me that I liked my ex's new boyfriend and that he liked mine — and that the two boyfriends liked each other. We all seemed to have the same sense of humor and spent a lot of time laughing, and often had dinner at each other's houses. Usually, I'm not a big fan of socializing with other couples. It often feels unbalanced because I rarely like both spouses. But this didn't feel like that. This felt like family.

It's now been more than 20 years that the four of us have been hanging out together, sometimes every week; sometimes more. Recently our gatherings have gotten much larger. I've picked up a stepdaughter along the way, so now we are often joined by our three daughters, three of their spouses, and three little grandkids. Last year I had to buy a bigger table and four sets of benches.

These days, the grandkids hold center stage at the table. Once the food is cleared, we'll play a round of Junior Mad Libs which will make everyone shriek with laughter. Then later, my husband and my ex will pull out their guitars and everyone will join in for a raucous round of Wheels on the Bus. Though there's not a specific name for what we are to each other, the way there are for relationships like "daughter-in-law" or "uncle," the term "family" still fits — perhaps even better than it did before.

• I was dating a guy I met on Hinge for two months before we had a fight.
• After the fight, he sent me a voice note, telling me he wanted to end our relationship.
• I felt hurt because I deserved better, but I'm proud of how I handled the situation.

At the start of this year, I dated a guy for two months.

We met on Hinge. I loved spending time with him because he never made me question whether he was into me. He was always attentive and validated my feelings. He'd bring me flowers and ask me about my day.

We got into the habit of sending each other voice notes and keeping each other updated on our daily lives. Sometimes, I would rant to him if I had a bad day at work, and he was always there to listen and validate my emotions. He'd tell me about his family, his dog, and his friends.

But never in my wildest dreams did I imagine he would break up with me via voice note while I was on a work trip abroad.

We had gotten into a fight right before my trip

I expressed that I didn't like it when he had no plan for our dates in advance. We started bickering about gender roles in relationships, and then our fight escalated.

I felt angry that we were bickering over something in texts that was supposed to be an in-person conversation and was only getting worse. But at no point did I think something so silly could lead us to call things off.

I thought it would be good to spend 10 days apart. I traveled to Tbilisi, Georgia, for work, which was a seven-hour flight away from him.

But five days later, during my trip, I decided to send a voice note, apologizing. I'm an only child, and as a kid, whenever my needs were unmet by my emotionally unavailable parents, my coping mechanism was to throw a tantrum to get them to notice my needs. Hence, when I felt like he wasn't meeting my needs, I bull-dozed into complaining rather than healthily addressing it. He sent a voice note back, breaking up with me.

Of course, it was confusing and painful. I couldn't believe it was real. I cried for two weeks straight after the breakup.

The pain still haunts me

Finding out I was single again via a voice note was hard. I understand that no one really owes anyone anything for just two months of dating, but I still feel like I deserved a face-to-face conversation. It felt like my feelings didn't matter in this scenario.

But I'm proud of myself because I was vulnerable for the first time in a relationship, especially during those breakup voice note exchanges. Before that, I was always playing the chill, cool girl who just didn't care because I wanted to hold the power. I am also proud that I didn't try to get him to change his mind once he said that he wanted to break up. A previous version of me would have done that.

Plus, I definitely won't be sending constant voice notes in the future when I have just started dating someone. I realized it builds a false sense of intimacy. We got into a pattern of constant voice notes because I was anxious that he would be dating other people, so I wanted to know what he was doing throughout the day. I can see that now — now that I've had some space from this experience.

Thankfully, I've learned to be more secure in my relationships. Moving forward, I plan to move important conversations about relationships out of the phone and prioritize connection via in-person experiences.

• After being diagnosed with bipolar disorder in my 20s, I went through a series of manic episodes.
• During one manic episode, I partied hard, bought a nightclub, and committed a white-collar crime.
• The charges for my crimes hung over my head for years and still affect my life.

I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder at 27 after I almost took my life during a major depressive episode. Instead, I ended up in a mental hospital for several days.

Seven years earlier, I'd had my first bipolar episode while studying theology. I went from being top of my class to almost failing because of the effects of depression on my mental capacity. A few months after getting out of the mental hospital, I was hit with a major manic episode.

I describe my mania as the rational part of my brain getting turned off and replaced with recklessness, impulsivity, and bad decision-making. This included partying every night at bars and clubs, womanizing, and developing a drug addiction.

In another manic episode, I committed a white-collar crime that changed my life.

I started making money illegally

In Jacksonville, Florida, I met some new party friends who were making way more money than I was.

They explained their healthcare fraud scheme to me, which involved paying illegal kickbacks to patients and doctors for prescriptions for compounded creams used to treat scars, pain, and migraines. We targeted an insurance company that would reimburse anywhere from $10,000 to $30,000. But the compounded creams were specially made by pharmacists and cost a fraction of that to produce.

In 2014, blinded by my mania, I joined the fraud. It was the easiest money I ever made. I partied much harder than I worked, setting up shop in strip clubs at lunchtime and ordering bottle service. I went on lavish party trips to Miami and Las Vegas.

In May 2015, the FBI raided our office and seized computers, paperwork, records, and prescriptions. I got a lawyer and found out I was potentially facing seven years in prison for conspiracy to commit healthcare fraud.

I didn't slow down and continued making poor decisions

I should have listened to my lawyer and slowed down, but after a brief depressive episode, another manic episode ensued. I did the exact opposite of what I was advised. I moved to Austin and bought into an after-hours nightclub.

I was partying harder than ever. I even moved my drug dealer into my spare bedroom to get a discount.

Things quickly fell apart, and I blew through hundreds of thousands of dollars — though I didn't fully comprehend how dire my financial situation was becoming.

Everything crashed around me like a house of cards: I ran my club into the ground, blew through all my money, and was evicted from my condo. I basically became homeless, living out of dirt-cheap hotels.

I found a new psychiatrist who helped me get back on track

I'd seen several psychiatrists over the years who prescribed medications, but I had trouble with the side effects. Thankfully, I was able to see a new psychiatrist who still treats me. He was finally able to put me on the right medications for my situation after years of trial and error.

My condition stabilized, and I was able to get a job in finance. I hadn't been charged in the fraud case, so it didn't come up on my background check. I was hoping the government had forgotten about it, but I was finally charged and pleaded guilty in 2019. I was on probation until I received my sentence.

I worked hard for years to get back everything I'd lost while having a potential prison sentence hanging over my head. After I was charged and pleaded guilty, I should have informed my employer. I regret it, but I was scared of being back on the street.

The consequences of my crime still follow me

In January 2023, my employer found out about my conviction and let me go. Having a felony on my record was extremely difficult, and I was turned down for dozens of jobs. I finally got a job as a delivery driver, making one-sixth of what I was making in finance. I had to start my life over a second time, and I moved back in with my family.

After 9 ½ years, I was finally sentenced last week. The judge was merciful and took my mental illness into account — after five years of probation, I was sentenced to time served. It's still surreal to have my life back after a lost decade.

I've done my best to right my many wrongs. I'm living a different lifestyle and haven't touched drugs in years. I've decided my new purpose in life is to let my mess become my message and share my story in hopes of encouraging others who are struggling with mental illness. This year, I started a coaching practice where I'm doing just that, and have begun talking candidly about my struggles with bipolar disorder on social media.

And, for the first time since I lost it nearly 20 years ago, I've finally found my inner peace.

You can follow David Funes' story on social media @bipolarguylovinglife and mybipolarcomeback.com

• In 1999, my husband took a sabbatical, and we traveled to Guanajuato in Mexico.
• We both daydreamed about living in Europe and even house-sat for our friends in Amsterdam.
• In 2004 we realized it was Guanajuato that made more sense for us to live in.

In 1999, my husband and I left our consulting gigs in Palo Alto, CA, rented our home, and took off on an international self-designed sabbatical.

We traveled to various parts of the world, but we started and ended our sabbatical in the beautiful UNESCO World Heritage city of Guanajuato, Mexico.

I thought we would retire and spend time in Europe, but fast-forward to now: At 73 years old, I spend part of my time in Mexico instead.

Our dream was a home in Europe

Both of us had always daydreamed about a base in Europe. Barry, raised in England, has a great fondness for the continent. I, because my family lived in Europe during some of my childhood, had always wanted to live there as an adult.

Not long after we sold our home in Palo Alto, Dutch friends whom we'd met on our sabbatical invited us to house-sit while they went on vacation during the month of May. We were elated — this would give us the opportunity to check out Amsterdam as an international base. And springtime is the perfect season, right? But that May turned out to be piercingly cold and wet — much less forgiving than January in California. The first several days we huddled together on our friends' sofa, wrapped in blankets and drinking tea.

A confident lifelong cyclist, I had pictured myself serenely biking along the city's storied canals. It didn't turn out how I had envisioned. I was intimidated by the way the Dutch rode alarmingly fast and stopped for no one. One day, I watched a woman in a business suit speeding down the bike lane, balancing two small kids and a grocery bag, while chatting away blithely on her cell.

It also wasn't easy to make connections. We found the Dutch not that different from Americans in some ways — busy, goal-oriented, direct, and focused. And they didn't seem very easy to get to know. I thought it might be because we were American until I met a Danish woman who'd had the same experience. Pieter, our Dutch friend, explained that most people in the Netherlands stay within the same circle of friends from childhood.

House-sitting in Guanajuato changed everything

Of course, we already knew about Guanajuato but had never considered it an international base because we were in thrall to the fantasy of a home in Europe. But in 2004, we were invited to house-sit, our first visit in three years, and we were newly entranced by the city's beauty and charm.

During our stay, we met several resident foreigners who greeted us with their stories of buying and remodeling homes.

Suddenly, it made sense. Guanajuato was not only nearer to California, it was also closer to many of our family members — and considerably less expensive than a home in much of Europe. We both spoke manageable Spanish. As for the weather, it was exactly what we wanted.

In 2005, we bought an old adobe house on a pedestrianized street, and we've lived there part of the year ever since.

We split our time between Mexico and California

While less vibrant than colorful Guanajuato, Eureka in California also has unique charms, and we appreciate the contrast between the two towns — Spanish vs. English; 7,000' high mesa vs. green, moist sea level; owning vs. renting.

In Eureka, we live 10 minutes from the ocean and a block from Humboldt Bay, where we each paddle, Barry in his kayak and I on my paddleboard. In our upgraded EuroVan — which Barry dubs our third home — we explore the natural beauty of Northern California and southern Oregon, where we still discover new areas to visit.

In Eureka, I ride my bike on various dedicated trails around town; in Guanajuato, we shut our front door and, within 10 minutes, are hiking in the hills above town.

We're glad now that Amsterdam was not a fit for us. Though we never dreamt we'd own a home in Mexico, it's been the best surprise of our retirement years.