“I didn’t keep all their traditions—but I carry their love in the ones I created. Letting go wasn’t losing; it was making space for who I’m meant to be.”

What Traditions Have I Not Kept That My Parents Had? (And That’s Okay!)

Let me start by saying this: I love my parents. I truly do. They raised me with love, laughter, and a whole lot of traditions—some sweet, some quirky, and some… well, let’s just say they didn’t quite survive the generational handoff.

One of the biggest traditions I’ve let go? Sunday family dinners—the sacred ritual of my childhood. Every Sunday without fail, my mom would spend hours in the kitchen cooking a feast: roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans with butter, and a pie cooling on the counter. The whole family would gather around the dining table, dressed in our “Sunday best,” and talk about everything—school, work, the neighbor’s new dog, you name it.

Fast forward to today? My Sundays look… different. I’m more likely to be in yoga pants, sipping coffee on the couch, catching up on laundry or binge-watching a show. The idea of cooking a three-course meal for no one in particular? Honestly, it feels overwhelming. Not because I don’t value family time—because I do—but my version of connection looks more like a casual brunch, a phone call during a walk, or a group text that keeps us laughing all day.

Another tradition I quietly retired? The annual Christmas letter. You know the one—three pages front and back, detailing every milestone, vacation, and pet update, printed on glossy paper and sent to 80 relatives we maybe see once a decade. My parents lived for these letters. I remember helping my mom proofread them, choosing the perfect family photo (coordinated sweaters, everyone smiling just right), and mailing them with little stickers.

Now? I send a group holiday card with a cute photo, sure. But the epic letter? It’s gone. Instead, I share snippets of life on Instagram or in a quick email. Maybe it’s less formal, less comprehensive—but it feels more me. And honestly, I think my people appreciate the realness more than the perfection.

Letting go of these traditions used to make me feel a little guilty. Like I was failing some unspoken family duty. But over time, I’ve realized something beautiful: traditions aren’t meant to be preserved like museum artifacts. They’re meant to evolve. Just like we do.

My parents’ traditions were born from their time, their values, their love language. Mine are shaped by my pace of life, my priorities, and how I connect in this fast-moving world. I may not host Sunday feasts or write novel-length holiday letters, but I do call my mom every Thursday. I do show up for birthdays with silly gifts and big hugs. I do make new rituals—like a summer picnic tradition with my nieces or a “gratitude toast” at every small gathering.

So, yes—I’ve let some traditions go. But in their place, I’ve built something just as meaningful: a version of family that feels authentic, warm, and alive. And that, I think, is the best tradition of all.