I’ve always loved this in-between moment, the days between Christmas and the New Year, when time seems to loosen its grip. In France, most people are on holiday during this week. Offices are quiet. Professional inboxes are still. There are no meetings, no calls, and, perhaps most importantly, no expectation that one might suddenly arrive. That absence alone feels like rest. A true one.
When you take time off while knowing that everyone else is still working, there’s often a subtle tension that lingers in the background, the feeling that something might happen without you, that you should stay reachable, just in case. This week is different. Because the pause is collective, it feels lighter. Shared. Legitimate.
Everything slows down a little. Shops close or open irregularly. Streets grow quieter. Children and parents seem more cheerful, carried by the idea of spending time together, or by the simple magic of Christmas. I’ve always been particularly sensitive to the silence of cities on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. That rare calm in the streets, on the roads, in the air, a calm that often extends, gently, into the days that follow.
This is also a time that naturally invites introspection. Not the loud, structured kind. Not the kind that demands answers, plans, or conclusions. But a softer reflection, looking back at the year that’s coming to an end, noticing what felt right, what didn’t, and what no longer deserves a place in the year ahead. There’s something deeply cathartic about allowing certain things to stay behind. A quiet relief. A sense of lightness that comes from letting go without drama.
What I love most about this period is precisely that feeling of suspension, one year not quite finished, the next not quite begun. And for that reason, I wanted to imagine an editorial that goes against the current. You won’t find “self-care tips” here. You won’t find “New Year, New Me” either, at least, not yet :). Instead, this is a very French invitation to slow down. To embrace this in-between time. To allow yourself a pause between two years, without guilt.
During this week, self-care doesn’t need to be designed. It simply needs to be allowed. For me, it looks incredibly simple. It’s late breakfasts, sometimes in bed, sometimes not. It’s walking without a destination, flâner, simply for the pleasure of moving. It’s allowing myself to stay home all day, in pyjamas if I want to, without needing to justify it. It’s reading a few pages of different books I never have time to open during the year, without any obligation to finish them. Watching a series I’ve been meaning to start, simply because now I can. Letting time stretch, without trying to fill it.
It’s baking, too, trying new pastries, lingering in the kitchen. Wearing the same favourite sweater for days in a row. Listening to music that feels comforting rather than motivating. There’s also gentle movement. Stretching a little at home. Or finally going to that Pilates class I’ve been postponing, because movement has always done me good. Sometimes it’s booking a massage, a manicure, or a hair appointment, any place where you feel quietly taken care of. And sometimes, it’s something even smaller: buying yourself a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Or sitting on a café terrace on a crisp winter day, enjoying a café crème while watching people pass.
None of these things are extraordinary. And that’s precisely the point. This week isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about allowing yourself to be exactly where you are. About accepting that you may not be ready yet to articulate what you want for the year ahead, and trusting that this is enough for now.
For me, “not being ready yet” feels calm and tender. It feels like compassion toward myself. I know what I no longer want to carry with me, and I’m content to leave those things in the year that’s ending. Doing so brings a quiet sense of relief, as if I were gently setting something down, and walking into the next year a little lighter.
There will be time for clarity. Time for intentions. Time for plans and projects. For now, this pause is enough. And perhaps, it’s exactly what this moment is asking of us.
