Sydney does this funny thing in December. The days stretch out, the air feels a bit louder, and everyone looks like they’re holding a list in their head — gifts, flights, work, family, the “before the year ends” stuff.
This year, that list has felt… heavier. Not just busy. Like a stack of things we’ve had to carry without really having the words for it. I’ve heard it in messages from customers, in voice notes from friends, even in the way strangers pause before they answer “How’ve you been?” as if they’re deciding how honest to be.
A few days ago, I ducked out for a coffee in the arvo. Nothing glamorous — just a small local spot, the kind where the barista remembers your order after the second time and the tables always wobble a little. I was standing there half-zoned out, watching the milk swirl, when I saw it.
A necklace.
Not in a dramatic, spotlight kind of way. Just a small, quiet piece sitting at someone’s collarbone like it belonged there. Minimalist. Unfussy. The sort of dainty everyday necklace you don’t take off unless you have to.
And I recognised it, because I’ve held that exact chain in my hands more times than I can count.
I hesitated (because you don’t want to be a weirdo in a cafe), but I ended up saying, “Sorry — I hope this doesn’t sound strange. That necklace is from my little jewellery brand. I just recognised it.”
She looked surprised for half a second, then she smiled in this tired but kind way.
“You’re kidding,” she said. “You made this?”
I nodded. And without really meaning to, she reached up and touched the pendant.
Then she said, casually, like she was talking about the weather, “I bought it for myself when things were messy.”
There was a pause after that. Not awkward. Just honest. The kind where you can tell someone is choosing whether to keep it light, or let it be real.
She let it be real.
She told me she’d split from her partner earlier in the year. No dramatic story, no villain. Just the slow, grinding kind of ending where you keep trying until one day you don’t have anything left to try with. She talked about the small stuff that comes after — the admin, the quiet evenings, the weird feeling of having your life look the same on the outside while everything inside has shifted.
“I didn’t buy jewellery because I wanted to be ‘cheered up’,” she said, almost rolling her eyes at herself. “I bought it because I needed something small that felt steady. Like… proof I was still here.”
I didn’t jump in with anything clever. I just listened.
She said she found it online on one of those nights where sleep won’t stick and your brain starts doing that spiral-scroll thing. She wasn’t looking for sparkle or drama. She wanted something simple — a minimalist sterling silver necklace that didn’t ask her to be a different version of herself. Something she could put on in the morning without thinking too hard.
“And then,” she said, “it became this tiny marker. Like when I wore it to the bank appointment on my own, I remember touching it in my pocket and thinking, Alright. We’re doing this.”
She laughed, like she couldn’t quite believe her own sentimentality.
“I wore it to my first solo dinner out,” she added. “And to school pickup on the day I realised I’d gone a whole week without crying in the car.”
Something about that nearly undid me — not because it was dramatic, but because it was so human. The real work of rebuilding a life is usually quiet. It’s not a montage. It’s a Tuesday.
Before she left, she said, “I’ve bought gifts from you since then as well. Not the showy kind. The kind you give someone when you know they’re doing their best and you don’t want to make a big performance out of it.”
She didn’t say “healing” or “journey” or any of the tidy words people like to wrap around pain. She just said it the way it is.
Then she picked up her coffee and walked back out into the glare of the afternoon like nothing had happened, like she hadn’t just handed a stranger a whole year in five minutes.
I stood there holding my cup, feeling a bit shaken in a good way.
Because the end of the year always tempts us into measuring life by the big moments — the wins, the parties, the photos, the “best of” lists. But most people I know have been living in the small moments. The private ones. The ones where you keep showing up, even when you’re tired.
And that’s what I keep coming back to with jewellery, especially the quiet, minimalist kind. Not trend pieces. Not “look at me” pieces. Just something small you can wear close, like a reminder you don’t have to explain to anyone.
So if you’ve had a big year, messy, beautiful, brutal, all of it, I hope you find one small thing that steadies you as the calendar turns. A walk at dusk. A song that lets your shoulders drop. A message from someone who doesn’t need you to be “fine”. A gift for mum that isn’t about making a speech, just saying, “I see you.”
And if you’re the one who’s been holding everything together lately, I hope you let something gentle reach you as well. Not because it fixes anything. Just because you’re here. And that matters.
Wherever you are this holiday season, take care and keep your people close. We’ve been through a lot, but we’ll get through it, and I truly believe better days are on the way. Happy holidays, and I’ll see you in the new year.
— Christina