“We should start scheduling Christmas things,” my husband said to me one Saturday afternoon in early November. The following week, I had an invitation to a shared phone note listing out weekend to-dos: Christmas markets, holiday lights, gigantic gingerbread displays.

If you can’t tell, holiday traditions are a big deal in my family. Our kids, ages 7 and nearly 3, are in that sweet spot where everything still feels magical—including Santa. We decorate our tree the day after Thanksgiving. We keep a running list of must-watch holiday movies. And every year on Christmas Eve, the kids dutifully set out milk and cookies for the big guy (and apples for the reindeer).

This is all to say that when a friend recently asked me if I had started the Elf on the Shelf tradition—in which grown-ups hide an elf doll around their home in a real-life demonstration of Saint Nick surveillance—my answer was an immediate and emphatic no.

Sure, if I wasn’t creeped out by the thought of a Kris Kringle spy network, I could come up with 30ish zany situations in which to pose an elf doll: Hidden in a pile of stuffed animals. Reading a copy of How the Grinch Stole Christmas!. Popping a squat over a Hershey’s chocolate kiss. I just don’t want to.

My personality trends toward anxious Type A, to the point that the holiday season can easily morph into a highlight reel of personal failing. The addition of Elf on the Shelf in my home would mean one more thing for me to get stressed out about before I’ve even finished my morning coffee.

I’m not alone in this. Dr. Anne Browning, assistant dean for well-being at UW School of Medicine, says that all the pressure and external messaging of “what a holiday is supposed to look like” often winds up sabotaging the fun. “There’s a bunch of parental expectation to kind of perform parenthood for your kiddos,” she notes.

Instead, Browning suggests we pause and evaluate our traditions, deciding for ourselves which ones are truly important and which ones we want to ditch. “We can give ourselves permission to let go.”

That freedom to decide what gives you joy is the entire point of the holidays. It’s a season to show our love and appreciation for each other, whether that’s through shared mugs of hot chocolate or the act of deciphering a first-grader’s handwriting to figure out what the heck “pizza ice cream cart” means.

It’s seeing the joy on my kids’ faces when we light up the tree for the first time. The sweet care they take when selecting toys to donate. It’s giving myself permission to let go and not worry about doing enough. For a chronic overthinker like me, that’s some real holiday magic.