Stuffing Feelings, Not Turkeys: An Expats Guide to Thriving the Holidays
It’s that time of year again, with twinkling lights and those heartwarming Norman Rockwell paintings of perfect families gathered around a quintessential turkey and table. Everyone’s dressed in their Sunday best, laughing politely, and apparently no one’s muttering under their breath about the stuffing being dry.
OK… how realistic is that?
Let’s be honest. In today’s world, most families are flung across different time zones, countries, or even hemispheres. Some are working through the holidays, others are chasing sunshine or have been slapped across the face by life, and the rest are just trying to make it through the season without biting anyone’s head off. For many of us — especially expats — the holidays can be a confusing cocktail of nostalgia, homesickness, and liberation. A little sadness, a pinch of gratitude, and maybe a generous pour of something that pairs well with denial.
So how do you actually thrive when you’re miles away from your “home for the holidays”?
Let’s unpack the emotional stuffing, shall we?
1. Release Expectations (and the Pie Dreams)
You know that Hallmark-movie fantasy where everyone gets along, no one brings up politics, and Uncle Bruno doesn’t hit the eggnog too hard? Yeah. That’s cute. Expecting the holidays to go perfectly is like expecting airport Wi-Fi to work — admirable optimism, but prepare for disappointment.
When I initally left the USA in 2019, I had to let go of the sacred rituals that made the holidays feel like holidays. Back in the states, my Thanksgiving season began around Halloween with a pilgrimage to Whole Foods Market. There, I’d hunt down the perfect Sugar Pie Pumpkins — not too big, not too small — and guard them like ancient relics. I’d roast, purée, and whisper sweet nothings to them before creating silky pies, tarts, and biscotti that could make angels weep.
And don’t even get me started on cranberries. I was the person who bought them by the truckload every November, freezing enough to last through summer. I used to say — without irony — that “pumpkin and cranberries were the only reason I tolerated winter.”
Now? I live in Portugal, where cranberries are as rare as a week without a public holiday, and canned pumpkin is treated like contraband. So, I had to let go. My love for “traditional” holiday food has been replaced by a desire to discover local flavors, like chestnuts roasting on street stalls or pastries filled with egg yolks and mystery. It’s different. But I’ve learned that clinging to pumpkin dreams is just emotional self-harm.
The first step to holiday happiness abroad? Lower the bar. In fact, bury it.
2. Lean In (Preferably Over a Glass of Goodness)
Here’s the thing: holidays don’t have to be familiar to have meaning.
I’ve spent Thanksgivings in Fiji, alone at a pet sit in the English countryside, and one memorable Christmas in Greece, where the only thing roasting were goats on a spit. And while I was physically alone, I never truly felt lonely.
In fact, sometimes it was… nice.
There’s a strange kind of peace in celebrating solo. No family drama, no competing side dishes, no trying to remember which cousin is vegan this year. Just me and whatever meal struck my fancy. I’ve eaten sushi on Thanksgiving, made a full English breakfast for Christmas, and once celebrated with a frozen turkey TV dinner and a split of champagne — and honestly, it was kind of fabulous.
Lean into your emotions — the melancholy, the relief, the quiet gratitude. Allow the day to feel different. Holidays, stripped of all the noise, are simply about connection — and that connection can come from a call, a memory, new friendships, or even a moment of stillness where you realize you’re doing just fine on your own.
What have been some of your favorite Thanksgiving celebrations?
3. Look Forward, Not Back (Unless You’re Checking the Oven)
“But we always go to Aunt Hazel’s for Thanksgiving!” someone in your family inevitably whines.
Sure, traditions are lovely. Until they aren’t. Until they start feeling more like obligations than joy — the emotional equivalent of dry turkey breast that tastes like sheet rock dust.
It’s easy to cling to old habits and the way things used to be. But here’s the uncomfortable truth: sometimes, the best gift you can give yourself is permission to stop forcing it. Savor the good memories, toast the weird ones, and then look forward.
Maybe it’s time to pass the baton. You’ve earned the right to hang up the apron, pour yourself a generous glass of something bold, and actually sit down during dinner. Let someone else make lumpy gravy for once.
For expats or those far from homespun connections — or, let’s be real, those who’ve chosen distance for their own sanity — the holidays are a chance to redefine everything. Create new traditions. Find new people to share them with. Reinvention is practically the expat motto, right after “where can I find real vanilla extract?”
As the philosopher Heraclitus once said, “The only constant in life is change.” (He clearly never tried to cook for relatives.)
4. Add a Touch of Portugal to Your Table
On Friday, I return home from pet sitting deep in Portugal’s interior — the kind of hamlet where your GPS gives up and the neighbors all share one rooster. On a day trip to a nearby village (Coja, founded pre-1260) with a new English friend, we dined on something called Migas, a new taste on my fork.
Migas, as it turns out, is a rustic Portuguese side dish made from chopped greens, stale bread (white and corn), pine nuts, and black-eyed peas. It’s humble. It’s hearty. And with a little drizzle of pan drippings (okay fine, gravy), it somehow tasted like home. Like my grandmother’s kitchen, minus the passive-aggressive comments about portion sizes. Thanks to our friends over at Plant-Based Portuguese, I´m including a recipe so, this year, you can throw a culinary curveball at the table. Plus, this recipe makes a good base for you to add your own delicious tidbits. Migas recipe.
There are countless versions of Migas, but I´m sticking to a vegan-friendly recipe. Add a squeeze of lemon, toss in some herbs, and for love of all things sacred, don’t overmix. You want texture — not stuffing. And because I refuse to let go quietly, I´ll toss in some cranberries… if the boat arrives in Portugal before spring.
It’s my new favorite Thanksgiving side dish. It bridges two worlds: the old and the new, the familiar and the foreign. And honestly, it’s kind of the perfect metaphor for expat holidays.
5. Redefine, Don’t Retreat
This Thanksgiving, whether you’re in a crowded city, a quiet village, or somewhere between time zones — give yourself permission to make it your own. If life is handing you soggy pickles, make some relish.
Release expectations. Lean in. Look forward.
Traditions are lovely, but flexibility is freedom. There’s joy in the unexpected and comfort in the simple act of sitting down to a meal. Holidays aren’t about perfect meals or perfect people. They’re about deepening your gratitude, even during unexpected changes or the absence of tradition and fresh cranberries.
So if you’re spending the season alone, abroad, or just over the whole ordeal — raise a glass (of whatever’s handy), toast the chaos, and be proud of the life you’re building, one holiday at a time.
After all, the turkey might be optional — but resilience? That’s the real main course.
Enjoy making Migas!