Calm Before the Holidays: A 2-Step Evening Routine

If you’re anything like me, you’ve already started making lists. Lists for gifts, for groceries, for people you’ll see (and the ones you’d rather not). The holidays have a way of arriving early, like that friend who shows up before you’ve had time to vacuum. Somewhere between Halloween candy and the first whiff of cinnamon pinecones, your brain decides it’s showtime.

Here’s the thing: peace isn’t going to just happen because you light a candle and whisper “self-care.” You have to make room for it. Which, mercifully, doesn’t require a two-hour bath surrounded by artisanal crystals. You only need a couple of minutes and two simple steps.

Step 1: Transition from Doing to Being

We spend our days doing—emails, errands, dinner prep, damage control. But when evening comes, we forget to arrive in it. Try this: the moment you realize the day is officially over, pause. Don’t tidy one more thing. Don’t check one more notification. Instead, walk to your diffuser, or rub a drop of grounding oil between your palms. Breathe in. Frankincense, cedarwood, lavender—whatever feels like exhaling.

Let that scent be your cue: the world can wait. This is your internal sign-off. You’ve clocked out from chaos.

Step 2: Anchor in the Present

Once the house quiets and the dishwasher hums, take three slow breaths while focusing on something real. The weight of your blanket. The sound of rain, or traffic, or the neighbor’s dog still living his best life. Feel where you are instead of where your thoughts want to go (which is probably somewhere between Target and anxiety).

Then, if you like, add a touch of comfort—maybe diffuse a blend of orange and clove, or roll a little sweet marjoram over your pulse points. Let scent pull you out of the swirl and back into your own skin.

Why It Works

These tiny rituals tell your nervous system that you are safe, that the day’s noise can end. You’re not denying the to-do list—you’re just deciding it doesn’t get the last word tonight. And that decision, repeated every evening, quietly becomes peace.

You’ll find that when the holidays actually arrive—when your cousin forgets to bring the pie, when the wrapping paper refuses to cooperate—you have a little more calm tucked away. Like an invisible reserve of sanity, saved one deep breath at a time.

So tonight, before you dive back into plans and shopping carts, take two minutes. Breathe, scent, stillness. Because peace isn’t a place you go—it’s something you practice, one small, fragrant pause at a time.