by Erika Matic, currently ruining at least three traditions at once
There is a very specific tone your mother uses when she believes you have failed not only as a parent, but as a human being and possibly as a citizen.
It’s not yelling.
It’s not crying.
It’s not even passive-aggressive sighing (that comes later).
It’s the tone of someone who has accepted that you are beyond help.
This is the tone my mother used on “Christmas Eve Eve”, when she decided to review my parenting choices like a disappointed Vatican committee.
The charges were many:
- My daughter is not baptised.
- We do not allow priests into our home to bless it.
- We are atheists.
- We have a Christmas tree.
- We put presents under it.
- My child apparently “doesn’t know what Christmas is.”
- Other children will mock her. (Presumably in a playground tribunal titled Children of God vs. The Pagan Girl With LEGO.)
And the crown jewel:
“Why do you even have a Christmas tree?”
This was asked with genuine confusion, as if I had installed a stripper pole in the living room and called it “festive.”
Because in my mother’s world, Christmas is a tightly regulated system. You must believe correctly, decorate correctly, raise your child correctly, and ideally produce proof of baptism upon request.
Otherwise, what are you doing?
Just… existing?
Unacceptable.
Let Me Explain Our Crimes
My husband and I are atheists. Calm ones. The boring kind. We don’t wake up angry at God. We just… don’t believe. We drink coffee. We love our child. We pay taxes. We try not to emotionally scar anyone before breakfast.
We are raising our daughter with honesty. Which, it turns out, is extremely suspicious. She is 3.5 years old and recently informed us, very casually, that she knows we put the presents under the tree.
Not with devastation. Not with betrayal.
With curiosity.
Like a tiny philosopher going, “Ah. So it’s you. Interesting.”
I had planned for Christmas magic to last longer. I had imagined another year or two of soft lies wrapped in glitter. But when faced with my child’s bright, observant eyes, I chose honesty.
Because we don’t teach her that magic disappears when you learn the truth.
We teach her that magic changes shape.
Apparently, this is controversial.
According to my mother, I am raising a child who will:
- be confused,
- be mocked,
- be spiritually empty,
- and possibly wander through life wondering why she ever owned a Christmas tree at all.
What Do We Tell Her About Christmas?
This was the big question. The one asked with genuine concern and mild horror.
“What do you tell her Christmas is about?”
And the answer, disappointingly, is not revolutionary.
We tell her that Christmas is a time when families gather. That some people believe in God and celebrate the birth of Jesus. That others celebrate differently.
That holidays mean connection, kindness, food, warmth, and being together.
We tell her the truth.
Which again – shocking.
We do not tell her God will punish her if she behaves incorrectly. We do not tell her love is conditional. We do not tell her that belonging requires a ritual she didn’t consent to as a baby.
Instead, we tell her that people believe different things, and that’s okay. Which, historically, has not gone great for humanity, but we’re optimistic.
The Tree Incident
The Christmas tree seems to be the most offensive element of all. Because it exists in a grey area.
A liminal space. A festive loophole.
Why have a Christmas tree if you don’t believe?
Because it’s beautiful.
Because it smells like winter.
Because my daughter’s face lights up when the lights turn on.
Because traditions can be cultural without being religious.
Because joy is allowed to exist without supervision.
But to my mother, the tree is evidence.
Proof that I am cherry-picking joy without paying the spiritual subscription fee.
It’s like enjoying wine without joining a monastery.
Suspicious.
Raising a Child in the Real World
Here’s the thing no one wants to admit:
Children are not born religious.
They are born curious.
They ask questions.
They observe patterns.
They notice inconsistencies.
They understand far more than we think – and far earlier than we expect.
My daughter will meet religious children. She will meet atheists. She will meet people who celebrate Christmas, Ramadan, Hanukkah, Diwali, nothing at all.
She will meet people who mock her – for this, or for something else, or for absolutely no reason.
Because children don’t need religion to be cruel.
They manage just fine on their own.
What she will also have is this:
- Parents who tell her the truth.
- Parents who don’t panic when she asks questions.
- Parents who don’t outsource morality.
- Parents who teach kindness without fear.
- Parents who believe love is enough.
Apparently, this is radical.
The Real Fear Beneath the Lectures
My mother isn’t actually afraid my daughter won’t know what Christmas is. She’s afraid of losing continuity.
Of traditions breaking. Of faith ending with her generation. Of a world changing faster than she can emotionally process.
And I get that.
But fear is not a parenting strategy. Guilt is not guidance.
And shaming someone into belief has historically been… ineffective.
Christmas, Incorrectly Done
So yes.
We celebrate Christmas incorrectly.
With honesty.
With boundaries.
Without priests.
With a tree.
With presents.
With laughter.
With a child who knows magic doesn’t disappear – it evolves.
We celebrate Christmas as a time to be together.
To slow down.
To love loudly.
To sit in the warmth of our small family and say: this is enough.
And if that’s wrong?
Then I’ll happily keep doing it wrong.
Because one day, my daughter won’t remember theological debates. She won’t remember who was offended by our decorations. She won’t remember the criticism.
But she will remember how safe she felt.
How loved she was.
How truth was never something to be afraid of.
And that – regardless of belief – feels like a miracle to me.
Erika Matic writes about motherhood, boundaries, belief, and the quiet rebellion of raising a child with honesty in a world that prefers obedience. She celebrates Christmas incorrectly, joyfully, and with excellent lighting.
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