Gravy Doesn’t Fix Grief
What the Holidays Feel Like Behind the Bar
There’s a lie that gets whispered around the industry this time of year, tucked between reheated mashed potatoes and that extra bottle of whiskey hidden under the service bar:
“Just get through the holidays.”
Like it’s some kind of finish line. Like New Year’s Eve will magically dissolve what we’re dragging with us from Thanksgiving Eve. But here’s the thing no one tells you when you’re elbow-deep in a 300-cover dinner service two days after losing someone you love:
Gravy doesn’t fix grief.
It doesn’t fill the chair at the table that’ll stay empty this year.
It doesn’t answer the phone call you’ll never get again.
It doesn’t patch the rip in your chest that no apron can cover.
The Hustle Hides the Hurt
In hospitality, we’re taught to stay busy. “If you’re moving, you’re not thinking.”
There’s always ice to scoop. Always silverware to roll. Always something to clean, refill, wipe down, push through.
But grief is a sneaky bastard.
It doesn’t care about the pace of the rush or the weight of the tickets.
It lives in the moment your coworker mentions their family, and you pretend you didn’t hear it.
It shows up in the walk-in, where you go to “grab more herbs” but really just need 30 seconds to breathe.
This industry has always asked us to compartmentalize; pain, heartbreak, bills, sickness, loss.
The holiday season just dials that up to eleven.
And if you’ve ever held back tears while plating food for a table full of people laughing like their world is intact, you know:
The only thing harder than working through grief… is pretending you’re not.
When Home Isn’t an Option
Not everyone has somewhere to go when the shift ends.
For some of us, the restaurant is the family.
For others, it’s the buffer between us and the family we lost, or the one we can’t return to.
The truth?
Some folks volunteer to work on Thanksgiving not for the overtime, but because it hurts less than being alone in a quiet apartment while the rest of the world toasts with wine and cranberry sauce.
The turkey gravy might come out perfect. The guests might tip well. The playlist might even slap.
But underneath it all, there’s a grief no one ordered, and we carry it anyway.
We Don’t Need a Pep Talk
This isn’t one of those “keep your chin up” posts. You don’t need a motivational quote to hang next to your side towels.
You need permission.
To grieve.
To be tired.
To not pretend.
You need to know that you’re not weak if the holidays hit you harder than you expected.
You’re not broken if that grief shows up mid-shift like it clocked in, too.
You’re not alone if your smile feels heavier in December than it did in June.
I don’t even really care (much) if the gravy came out lumpy.
Hospitality is hard enough when you’re whole.
Most of us aren’t.
Grace Over Gratitude
This season, if you’re lucky enough to feel whole, extend some grace to those who aren’t.
Grace over speed.
Grace over performance.
Grace over forced gratitude.
Not everyone is celebrating this season.
Some of us are just surviving it.
So, if your coworker zones out mid-shift…
If someone shows up a little quieter than usual…
If the usual jokes don’t land like they used to…
Try this:
Don’t fix. Don’t prod. Don’t coach.
Just show up.
Just be near.
Just be real.
That’s what makes this industry beautiful when it’s at its best. The silent agreements, the shared looks, the understanding that sometimes, just being there is enough.
If You’re Reading This…
You made it this far, so I’ll say what too few do:
I see you.
If this season feels heavier than your body can hold, know this:
You are not lazy.
You are not too sensitive.
You are not a liability.
You are human.
And no, gravy doesn’t fix grief.
But being understood? That might just help.
A quieter reflection by the same name lives here, if you want to follow the feeling further:
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