Yule Be OK, Friends: 76 Ways to Get Through December

A queer survival guide for navigating family gatherings, building new traditions and finding joy during the winter holidays

Kelli Dunham

Published: November 26, 2025 | Last Updated: November 26, 2025

OK, queers, it's the winter holidays — that magical time when straight people wear matching pajamas unironically, and every commercial assumes your biggest wish is a fiancé. Whether you're braving the family table, building your chosen family's charcuterie board or hiding in the bathroom pretending to "take a call," here's your official queer survival guide. And yes, there are literally so many tips here, but choose your own adventure, friends! Pick a few and start there — and you have my express permission to make some of your very own.

Build an emergency exit script: "So good to see you. Gotta hop, long story." Anything can be a long story if you don't want to tell it!
Or leave social occasions by simply saying, "Oh, thanks so much. I'm going now."
Or sneak out without saying goodbye at all. You can always write a heartfelt thank-you note later. Psst: they probably won't even notice.
Decide your role this year — host, guest, volunteer, hermit and then act accordingly.
Prep deflections for Aunt Cheryl: "It's a long story." See how handy this whole long story thing is?
Practice boundary lines in the mirror until they feel boring.
Perfect the neutral conversational parachutes: "How about that?" and "Huh." You can say "how about that" in response to nearly anything shy of a death threat.

Pre-arrange a check-in buddy who will call with a fake "emergency."
Carry a 3-by-5 card with safe conversation topics: sunrise times, curd size in cottage cheese, optimal grilled cheese technique.
Don't ask questions you can't tolerate the answers to.
You do NOT need a partner to have accompaniment for family visits. Bring an Emotional Support Human. Establish hand signals beforehand.
Pre-eat with your vegan partner before family meals; no need to explain tofu again.
Always have an escape plan: Uber, Greyhound, or Grindr in a pinch.
Play Dysfunctional Family Bingo via group text.
Keep your phone charged; it's a valuable boundary-enforcing device.
Declare a social media ceasefire; mute liberally.
If you must scroll, browse queer artists and leave kind comments.
Start a "Holiday Complaint Choir" with your friends. Everyone sings their seasonal grievances to the tune of "Jingle Bells."
Make a bingo card of microaggressions you won't dignify with a response. Reward yourself with pie when you hit five in a row.
End every awkward interaction with, "Wow, we've really shared something here," and walk away before they can ask what it was. Shrug. Maybe a lot.
Replace your family's Elf on the Shelf with Dyke on a Bike.
Rebrand the season: "I'm curating peace," not "I'm surviving chaos."

Redo your nativity set so everyone is gender-glorious and Joseph is a trained midwife.
Replace mistletoe with a glitter ball — safer for pets and more consent-forward.
Create new holiday traditions with your friends. Anything you do more than once can be a tradition.
Create a "25 Days of Self-Preservation" advent calendar for yourself.
Learn to cook your favorite comfort food. You'll always have someone to make it for you, and you'll always have someone to make it for.
Host "Silent Night, My Ass" karaoke with gay anthems only. If you're not up for buying your own home system (often available on free local giveaway sites, clearly an impulse buy), visit Uplift's Wednesday night event.
Host "Rewrite the Carols": God Rest Ye Nonbinary Them.
Start a queer book exchange. Bonus if the books are banned.
Make your own queer cookie swap. All items MUST have a pun name.
Create a snowperson army that defends trans rights.
Make a holiday shrine to queer icons: Audre Lorde, Divine, Chita Rivera, Jay "Superbutch" Toole.
Bake middle-finger cookies; share selectively (do NOT accidentally send them with a child to school)
Repaint a chipped angel into a glittery butch fairy with a power-drill halo.
Craft a wreath from campaign mailers; call it Broken Promises.
Wrap presents in last year's protest signs. You know you've got extras.

Build a paper-chain countdown to Pride. Or to spring.
Replace the office Secret Santa with "Secret Mutual Aid." Everyone draws a need from a hat instead of a name.
Google "gift of any amount" and your favorite anti-gay faith-based organization. It's like shopping on their dime; you can donate 50 cents for a boxed DVD set about Why God Chose America To Be Great that costs them hundreds to produce. What you do with your absurd Christian nationalist tchotchkes, we'll leave that to your imagination.
Start or join a queer sober meetup. Community doesn't require eggnog.
Offer to drive a friend to their meeting, vigil, or service; voila, you've tricked yourself into going.
Join a mutual-aid spreadsheet; send grocery money to a stranger.
Donate in friends' names to a queer mutual-aid fund — or in your homophobic uncle's name for maximum satisfaction.
Send a care package to a queer college kid stuck on campus.
Attend a queer chorus concert and sing loudly from row Z.
Make everything a sing-along. Queer joy is community service.
Check Affirmations' calendar for support groups and volunteer shifts.
Host a Zoom dinner for queer friends in other states. Dress code is pajamas and eyeliner and board games are a must.
Create a Queer Solstice playlist that starts mellow and ends in a voguing anthem.
Light candles for every queer elder who got through a cold, dark December night so you could too.
Celebrate however the hell you want. Joy is your birthright, not a reward.
Schedule a No Humans Day: pets, snacks, naps.

Use harm-reduction principles for anything you might struggle with this season. Like booze, food or maybe contact with exes.
Make proactive playlists that don't weaponize nostalgia or remind you of your ex.
Write a love letter to your future self that starts, "You made it. You didn't even throw the gravy boat."
Write a breakup letter to capitalism on red and green stationery.
Send holiday cards to your ex's cat. Not necessarily your ex — just the cat.
If the early sunsets wreck your mood, replace bulbs with full-spectrum lights.
Watch The Muppet Christmas Carol and cry like the emotional-support Muppet you are.
Remember: Nothing says "holiday spirit" like surviving capitalism and heteronormativity with flair.
Build a gingerbread house with ramps and gender-neutral bathrooms.
Hang a Pride flag over your door like mistletoe — for consensual solidarity kisses only.
Wear sequins to the grocery store; joy counts as PPE.
Start a queer ornament swap: Every year, more sparkle, fewer Santas.
Turn leftover wrapping paper into zines about surviving the holidays.
Take a cold-weather micro-adventure to Mackinac; ice bridges are metaphors waiting to happen.
Spend an evening rating neighborhood light displays on the Kinsey scale.

Do a day trip to a queer-owned coffee shop in another town just to tip big and flirt.
Revisit an old haunt from your youth, but bring your queer self this time.
Make your New Year's resolution "More naps, fewer explanations."
Write out everything you're leaving behind this year and burn it safely (glitter optional).
Host a Queer Vision Board Night — add power tools, affirmations and snack trays.
Tip anyone working New Year's Eve like you're their fairy godqueer.
Adopt the motto: "Less resolution, more revelation."
And when in doubt, raise a glass (or mocktail) to yourself: the reason the season got a little gayer, funnier and brighter.