Are we allowed to celebrate while the world Is burning?

“Am I really supposed to indulge myself while the world is burning?”

A question that could rightfully become the refrain of therapy sessions this season.

There were many days when we simply sat together with everything this question carries: exhaustion, guilt, anger, helplessness, the need to stand up for something that matters to us, the need for rebellion – or even a quiet search for permission to take a break from the fight.

I wonder whether the most widespread conflict of 2025 might not be geopolitical or economic, but the one that unfolds daily in our inner worlds. Between the warm cup we hold in our hands during moments of pause and the disturbing news scrolling across our phone screens. Between the desire to pause for a moment and the fear that any form of joy, peace, or pleasure is somehow inappropriate given the situation.

In that space, a very personal battle seems to be taking place: is rest a betrayal of our commitment to a better world, or the only way to remain sustainably present in it – without burning out?

Holidays, a time when we are expected to have something to celebrate and someone to celebrate with, often intensify these psychological processes, especially in times of crisis. Guilt about small pleasures, when it arises, does not necessarily speak to our ethics, but to how long we have been living in a state of emergency. When a crisis drags on – whether individually or collectively – the nervous system begins to interpret “survival mode” as safety, and experiences any moment of relaxation as inappropriate, or even dangerous. While considering relaxing for a second, an inner voice appears saying: “This is not the moment.” The problem is that if we don’t address this, that moment often never comes.

From a psychotherapeutic perspective, small pleasures are not a denial of others’ suffering, nor a closing of our eyes to reality. They are a way of reconnecting with life energy, joy, and meaning. Seeking small joys is not hedonism. It is an exercise in keeping the neural pathways to our own humanity open. Just as lungs are exercised through breathing, our capacity for well-being is exercised through small pleasures. Without this space, solidarity easily turns into exhaustion, and care into cynicism.

Our intimate, often simple rituals – moments when we do something kind for ourselves – are acts of reclaiming sovereignty over our own being. In a time when algorithms, social crises, and constant demands overwhelm us from all sides, the ability to say to ourselves, “For the next five minutes, I will just do this, because it is good for me,” becomes a foundation of psychological survival.

Psychotherapy teaches us that we cannot relate to others in a healthy way from a place of emptiness, depletion, or complete overwhelm. We need a calm place within ourselves – inner warmth, safety, attention – in order to share it with others. This return to sovereignty is what makes us more capable of receiving and offering what may be most important in times of crisis: genuine, supportive contact.

Every time we allow ourselves a small pleasure, we are not only refilling our own reserves. We are practicing openness to goodness, connection, and even love.

When we experience prolonged threat, our instinct is often to shut down, to harden, to protect ourselves from further injury. On the level of the nervous system, threat first activates the sympathetic response: fight or flight. If the threat persists or becomes overwhelming, a third response emerges: withdrawal, numbness, and freeze.

This is precisely when supportive contact becomes essential – both for individual and collective well-being. Safe human contact activates the part of the autonomic nervous system responsible for feelings of safety, social engagement, and co-regulation. A hug, an understanding look, shared silence, a small shared joy, a simple gift for someone dear, volunteering together – these are not merely symbolic gestures. They are neurobiological signals of safety that help the nervous system move out of panic or freeze.

Of course, a hug or a conversation with someone who understands will not resolve global crises. But they resolve something equally important: they sustain our sense of connection. They remind us that on an existential level, we are not entirely alone – not only emotionally, but biologically, in our bodies.

Through small rituals and supportive contact, as we practice openness to goodness, we also build a bridge toward a crucial step that precedes every “new beginning”: the psychological processing of what has already been lived.

The approach of a new year – especially one following such a heavy old one – almost automatically awakens a desire for a fresh start. “Turning a new page” sounds tempting, almost therapeutic, like a deep breath after holding it for too long.

But this is where the trap lies.

In societies that have lived for years in political instability, uncertainty, and prolonged tension, the idea of a new beginning often carries a hidden pressure: to reset without having truly paused. Research shows that younger generations feel increasing pressure to enter the new year with clear goals and plans. Statistics, however, remain the same: we are more likely not to fulfill New Year’s resolutions than to keep them. In the United States, there is even a humorous informal “Quitter’s Day” toward the end of the second week of January.

In our context, this pressure does not come only from a culture of radical change, but also from the need to keep one’s personal life functional despite systems that often fail to provide basic feelings of safety, justice, or continuity.

When collective experiences that affect us all remain unresolved, individuals are often expected to make their own cuts, turn their own pages, endure on their own.

It seems to me that one reason New Year’s resolutions so often fail lies precisely here: we cannot begin a new life cycle on foundations of a previous one that has not been psychologically integrated.

So instead of ending the year “strong,” perhaps we can close it gently toward ourselves and wisely toward our experience. In a year marked by political tensions, protests, loss of trust, and collective exhaustion, gentleness is not weakness – it is an act of resistance.

And instead of entering the new year with quick-fix resolutions, perhaps it makes more sense to ask: what intentions are meaningful from the phase we are truly in, rather than from the one we think we “should” be in?

If it feels right, you can treat this as a quiet closing exercise rather than a task. Set aside half an hour. Without performance, without the need to extract lessons or “takeaways.” Honestly, from a place of inner attention that you may have already been practicing throughout the year, perhaps unnoticed, through small rituals and moments of rest.

Right now, I feel that this year was full of…

Right now, I feel that I lacked…

My three (or more) important “small” personal victories this year were…

The most important resources that carried me through this year were…

What was painful this year?

What, despite everything, restored my sense of aliveness and joy?

Finally, it is worth asking ourselves: are we planning a festive mood during the holidays because society expects it, or are we aiming for holidays that align with our real capacities? Often, avoiding collapse is a greater triumph than organizing a celebration. Taking care of oneself is a form of celebration that does not seek applause.

Perhaps it is enough for this year’s holidays to be tolerable, or even pleasant. To leave room for ambivalence – for grief and disappointment, but also gratitude and love. For exhaustion and what restores us, for the need to be with others and the need to be alone.

In that context, small rituals – a cup of tea enjoyed slowly, a walk without a destination, a conversation that does not need to lead anywhere – return the holidays to a human scale. Because staying in contact with ourselves, in a time that constantly invites us to disconnect from ourselves, may be one of the quietest yet most important forms of resistance today.

Published in Plezir Magazin, December 2025