It’s Thanksgiving today. The sidewalks outside are sugar-dusted with an early frost, the kind that makes the world feel shiny but also a little loud if you stare too long. I like the hush of a day when the world is slow and no one expects me to perform cheer at 400°F oven intensity for 12 people.
This year I’m having Thanksgiving alone. I picked it. Not because I had no invites, but because I finally learned the world doesn’t get to schedule my peace.
I have so much to be grateful for. My transition. My health. My friendships. The weird, wonderful fact that I found tools and spaces that let me reinvent my world even when life used to feel impossibly heavy.
But I also know this day lands very differently for many trans folks. Some are alone by choice, like me. Some are alone by circumstance. And some are inside tense conversations where the air feels thick with dread instead of turkey steam.
So this article is personal. Less “state of the union,” more “state of the human.”
3 AM: Coffee First, Words Second, Nobody Else’s Opinions Invited
I woke up at 3 AM, before the sun stretched out over Illinois. Poured a cup from my trusty coffee maker. Nothing fancy. No pressure. Just the day’s first breath and a cup that tastes like “OK, let’s do this.”
I write for TransVitae early because I can. Because I have a voice. And because somewhere out there, someone reading this at their own kitchen table might feel less alone knowing I’m right here pecking at keys, also in socks, also tempted to nap, also choosing what fits.
I’d normally roast a turkey. But today’s menu is simpler. I’m not feeding a tradition; I’m feeding myself.
The Drive I Didn’t Make
I could’ve driven back to Detroit. My family lives there. Five-hour drive, maybe six if winter decides to flirt with lake-effect snow drama.
I would have braved the cold, walked in, hugged people, eaten turkey, dodged politics and religion like a rhetorical game of Frogger, then made the five-hour drive back, crawled into bed, and started tomorrow when my alarm went off.
Been there. Done that. Got the t-shirt.
But instead, I chose no drive, no weather stress, and no strained small talk. Just a smaller map with fewer voices and more space for my own thoughts to unfold.
Solitude isn’t absence. Solitude is editing the noise down to something your nervous system can carry without clipping your soul.
RELATED: Finding Peace In The Holiday Decision To Go Home Or Not
The Meal: Simple, Non-Traditional, No Recipe Performing Pilgrim Cosplay
No turkey today. I’m making a small meal. Maybe chicken breast. Maybe a roast. Probably mashed potatoes because they’re reliable like an old sweatshirt.
I chop veggies without ceremony. I season without apology. I cook because feeding myself is not a debate. And yeah, I’ll probably nap after. Thanksgiving naps are practically constitutional.
The Lions Game Tradition
When I get home (because writing and taking my best friend to work is literally the sum of my travel radius today), I’ll flip the TV on and wait for the Detroit Lions to play their traditional Thanksgiving game.
Not because I need the distraction, but because tradition doesn’t have to be loud to be meaningful. Some traditions are just grounding, like muscle memory. Home team. Warm couch. No drama. My body is the site I’ve finally learned to love instead of analyze into existential crisis.
Friends, DMs, And Community That Doesn’t Burn You Out Like Donated Emotional Labor
I worry about trans folks who spend too much time indoors this time of year. Temps drop. Days shrink. We turn inward because it’s cold outside and the world gets physically smaller.
And that inward spiral can become dangerously insular if the only communities you’re tapped into preach fear, catastrophe, or impossibility 24/7. It’s easy to doomscroll. It’s even easier when people online talk endlessly about genocide, politics, impossibility narratives, or unpassable emotional terrain you never asked to join.
But here’s the truth: negativity is addictive because it feels urgent. It feels like activism. It feels like “we must share this or we don’t exist.” But urgency isn’t nourishment. It’s adrenaline. And adrenaline is great for short bursts, but terrible nutrition for a long winter.
So if you didn’t choose solitude across the next few minutes, choose uplifting signals. People who check in because they care, not because a holiday forced their hand into donation calls.
Video calls. Chats. Short hellos. Dumb memes. These are all more sustaining than existential monologues. Tools like Zoom allow chosen family to exist in a room where the silence means peace, not boredom.
What My Thanksgiving Looks Like
So this is the vibe: Morning writing. Drive best friend to work. TV on for the Detroit Lions. Simple meal for one. Nap shortly after meals. Unplanned evening that might include chats or launching World of Warcraft just to find out in 5 minutes why I haven’t logged in for months.
Maybe I’ll chat with friends afterward. Maybe I’ll game. Maybe I’ll just exist without a headline. But that unplanned openness is part of the thankfulness too.
Gratitude Doesn’t Require a Full Table of Witnesses
Gratitude is not scarce just because a crowd didn’t witness it.
You don’t need a thousand role models to bloom. You don’t need a huge family table to belong. You need consistent human touch points that don’t shout down your nervous system.
Nature doesn’t need to be a sprawling theater set. A small room with the TV on, your meal steaming, and your peace intact is plenty habitat.
The Things I’m Thankful For
I’m grateful for a roof, for tools that changed my brain chemistry, for estrogen that changed my life, for the gym that made me feel embodied instead of erased, and for friendships that showed me love without editing my existence into a political debate.
I’m grateful for Spotify playlists that score both moods without telling me I did it “wrong.”
And yeah, I’m grateful for the Detroit Lions, whose Thanksgiving tradition is literally an emotional warm blanket for millions.
The Real Lesson Here
You don’t need to endure the holidays. You elect yourself into the ones that feed you. You don’t force bloom. You create conditions. Solitude is not failure. Solitude is pacing. Uplift yourself IRL. Uplift others IRL. Select communities that regenerate your HP, not drain it.
The Bottom Line
Thanksgiving isn’t a test you pass or fail based on headcount. It’s a day that can hold both connection and quiet in the same year without one canceling the other. This year, I chose the quiet. I chose the couch. I chose a small meal made my way and a nap that shows up right on time.
Driving my best friend to work this morning will feel more grounding than a long road trip ever could today, and turning on the TV later to catch the Detroit Lions play their annual Thanksgiving game will feel comfortable, familiar, and steady in the best way.
To anyone alone today who didn’t choose it, you still get to pick what comes next. You get to turn down the noise, tune into people who lift you, and protect your heart like it is valuable, because it is.
However your Thanksgiving looks, it’s valid because you lived to see it, shaped it, and honored yourself in it. Peace is a plan too. Quiet can be full. One chair can carry a whole story.
Happy Thanksgiving.
