Meghan Markle Started A New Christmas Tradition For Her Children

Let’s be honest: the holidays can feel like a high-stakes production. Between the gift lists, the travel chaos, and that one relative who always brings up politics, it’s easy to lose the magic. Meghan Markle, however, seems to have cracked the code, and her secret is refreshingly simple.

The Duchess of Sussex has reportedly kicked off a new Christmas tradition for her children, Prince Archie and Princess Lilibet. And no, it doesn’t involve a bespoke gingerbread castle or a royal decree. Instead, it’s a cozy, low-tech ritual that any of us can borrow.

According to sources close to the couple, Meghan and Harry have introduced a “Gratitude Jar” tradition. Throughout December, Archie, now five, and Lilibet, three, drop slips of paper into a glass jar, each one noting a moment, a person, or a silly thing they’re thankful for.

On Christmas morning, before the pile of presents gets torn open, the family gathers to read the slips aloud. Think of it as a heartwarming, unscripted highlight reel of the year—captured in toddler scrawls and crayon drawings.

This isn’t just a sweet idea; it’s backed by some light psychology. Studies show that practicing gratitude shifts our brain’s dopamine levels, making us actually feel happier. It’s the opposite of the consumerist frenzy—a tiny, quiet rebellion against the holiday noise.

The Royal Origins of a Modern Ritual

Meghan has always been a ritual-builder. Remember the Suits days? She was famous for her morning tea-and-yoga flow. This Christmas tradition feels like a natural extension of that intentional living, just with more glitter glue.

In her Archetypes podcast, Meghan once mentioned how her mother, Doria Ragland, taught her to “find the light in the dark.” The Gratitude Jar is a tangible version of that lesson, passed down to the next generation. It’s a power move of softness.

Harry, reportedly, is all in. He apparently loves the moment when Archie reads his entry—often something like “Daddy’s funny face” or “the red fire truck.” It’s a grounding counterpoint to the family’s often intense public narrative.

This tradition also subtly teaches kids that presence beats presents. In a world of unboxing videos and instant gratification, pausing to reflect is a quiet act of defiance. Bravo, Sussexes.

How to Steal This Tradition (Without the Royal Budget)

Ready to ditch the pre-Christmas panic? Here’s your practical toolkit. First, keep it ugly. Don’t buy a fancy jar. Use an old pickle jar, a shoebox, or a repurposed candle holder. Imperfection is the whole point.

Next, make it a team sport. Place the jar on the kitchen counter or dining table with a stack of sticky notes. Encourage everyone—yes, even the grumpy teenager—to drop in one note before dinner or after brushing teeth. No editing allowed.

For the little ones, let them draw or dictate to you. Lilibet’s scribble about “the puppy next door” counts just as much as a poetic paragraph. The goal is participation, not perfection.

If you forget for a few days? No guilt. This isn’t a chore. Just write a few backlog notes together. “Remember that snow day when school got canceled?” Boom. Instant gratitude fuel.

Consider a variation: a “Fails and Wins” jar, where you note a funny mistake and a small victory each day. It builds resilience and laughter, which is basically the holiday spirit in a nutshell.

Cultural Echoes: You’ve Seen This Before

This concept isn’t new—it’s a modern reboot of an old classic. Think of the One Thousand Gifts movement by Ann Voskamp, or even the Jewish tradition of Shehecheyanu, a blessing for new, joyful moments. Meghan just gave it a Hollywood-Meets-Windsor spin.

It also mirrors the Scandinavian concept of hygge—finding cozy, collective joy. Except here, instead of candles and wool socks, you get a jar of crumpled paper and a toddler’s proud grin. Honestly, that’s better.

And let’s not forget: this is the same woman who once said, “I’m not just a princess, I’m a feminist.” This tradition is subtly feminist, too. It prioritizes emotional literacy and shared storytelling over rigid, picture-perfect holiday performance.

Why This Works (Even for Skeptics)

If you’re rolling your eyes at “traditions” that feel forced, give it a one-week trial. The catch? You have to read the notes aloud. The awkwardness disappears after the first laugh over “the burnt cookies.”

Meghan’s version includes a twist: she apparently writes a note to herself each year, sealed and saved. On the next Christmas, she opens it. It’s a time capsule of her own growth—a quiet pep talk from her past self.

Imagine that. A note from last year’s frazzled you, read by this year’s slightly wiser you. It’s cheaper than therapy and more personal than any store-bought card.

The result? Christmas morning becomes less about the pile under the tree and more about the invisible pile of meaning inside the jar. That’s the real gift.

A Final, Practical Reflection

On the surface, this is just a jar and some paper. But look closer. It’s a pause button in a season that screams “more.” It’s a reminder that the best traditions don’t need a budget, a brand, or a royal title—just a willingness to notice the good.

So this year, when the turkey is dry or the lights won’t work, remember: you have the power to start a tiny ritual. Grab a jar, grab a pen, and catch a moment. Meghan did it in a castle. You can do it in your kitchen.

And if you forget a day? Don’t worry. The jar will still be there. Waiting for you to remember what matters most—not the perfect holiday, but the perfectly messy, grateful one you’re living right now.