Balloons de Feline | Fiction, Music, Chaos & Catharsis

The holidays don’t just arrive with lights and noise — they arrive with contrast.

For people who spend parts of their lives on the road, the season can feel less like celebration and more like whiplash. One month you’re living in motion: cases rolling, cities blurring, days measured in load-ins and soundchecks. The next, everything stops. You’re home — or at least stationary — and the silence feels louder than any PA.

That shift messes with your nervous system in ways people don’t always talk about.

When Your Body is Still, But Your Brain Isn’t

Touring trains your mind to stay alert. There’s always something to solve, someone to coordinate with, a timeline to chase. When that disappears, your body doesn’t immediately catch up. You might feel restless, irritable, or oddly numb. Sleep gets weird. Motivation drops. You’re not lazy — you’re recalibrating.

At the same time, being home doesn’t always equal being at ease. Family gatherings can highlight how much you’ve changed. Conversations feel out of sync. You’re present, but part of you is still listening for radios crackling or buses starting.

The Guilt of Being Safe

Here’s something rarely named: stability guilt.

If you’ve spent years hustling, surviving gig to gig, learning to function in chaos, peace can feel undeserved. You might catch yourself thinking:

I should be doing more. Why do I feel low when I’m finally home? Other people have it worse — I shouldn’t complain.

But mental health doesn’t run on comparison. Feeling off during the holidays doesn’t mean you’re ungrateful. It means you’re human — and transitioning.

For Those Still On The Road

If you’re working through the holidays, the ache is different. You miss traditions. You scroll photos instead of sitting at tables. Time zones replace time together. And even if you love the work, there’s a quiet grief that sneaks in when you realize how much you’re trading to be where you are.

Both experiences can be heavy.

Both are valid.

Neither cancels the other out.

A Different Kind Of Care

This season isn’t about forcing cheer or pretending you’re fine. It’s about gentle maintenance:

Let routines be loose.

Rest without justifying it.

Stay connected in small, honest ways.

Name the transition instead of fighting it.

You don’t have to romanticize the holidays.

You don’t have to hate them either.

You just have to survive them with honesty.

If you’re feeling untethered right now — between motion and stillness, belonging and distance — you’re not broken. You’re adjusting. And that takes time, patience, and a lot more compassion than most of us give ourselves.

Wherever this season finds you — home, on the road, or somewhere in between — you’re allowed to take up space exactly as you are.