Amanda Goh

Anne Hathaway, 43, says she stopped being a ‘stressed person’ for her kids — and everyone around her

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Anne Hathaway, 43, says she decided not to go through life feeling stressed all the time.

The actor said she’s been rethinking the way she handles pressure, particularly while leading “The Devil Wears Prada” sequel.

“You can’t have a good time at a party if the hostess is stressed or she’s letting her stress show,” Hathaway told Harper’s Bazaar.

“I just decided that it wasn’t fair for me to move through my life as a stressed person. I don’t want my kids to be around it, I don’t want my friends to be around it, I don’t want strangers to be around it, I don’t want people I work with to be around it,” she said.

Hathaway said she’s “done a lot of work” to process everything coming her way differently, so it feels exciting rather than overwhelming.

She added that she sees her career in two phases: an earlier chapter that left little room for anything outside work, and a second chapter shaped by parenthood, sobriety, and being more present.

“Before, there was this focus that was really uncompromising and uninterrupted,” she said. “And I just can’t tell you anymore what life is like without kids, but kids interrupt you all the time.”

That’s why she no longer tries to keep everything perfectly in sync, she said.

“My friends and I talk about it a lot, and we actually feel very defeated by the concept of balance,” Hathaway said. “If the weight shifts in one direction, you then have to bounce it up on the other side, and we find that it winds us up as opposed to making us steady.”

Instead, she said, “We’re like, ‘We seek to harmonize our life.'”

Hathaway isn’t the only high-profile parent rethinking how to deal with stress.

Reese Witherspoon has said raising her older children taught her what’s not worth stressing over as she parents her youngest.

“I’ve been parenting for 25 years. I also feel very comfortable that I know the little things that aren’t as important. Like I had a friend say, ‘I’m not there for pickup. And is that OK?’ Absolutely. You know, you can’t be at every soccer game, every morning meeting, pick up, drop off, make the lunch, do the volunteer stuff,” Witherspoon said.

“Grey’s Anatomy” star Camilla Luddington has said that juggling work and kids doesn’t come with a sense of balance.

“To take the pressure off, I’ll be like, ‘You know what? Today I’m probably going to be better at my job than I am at parenting because I’m on set all day. But tomorrow I’m off and I can be a better parent,'” Luddington said. “Letting go of that need to be perfectly balanced all the time has been very freeing for me.”




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Lauren Crosby

I stopped being the first to reach out to friends. It made me realize I don’t need to be liked by everyone.

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Ever since I was a little girl, I remember that friendships were a priority for me; I would constantly ask my mom to let me have friends over for playdates and sleepovers.

As a teenager, I had a Nokia brick phone and a driver’s license, and I could always be found planning to see friends or inviting them over to mine.

The craving for friendship has continued ever since, with my incessant desire for it fuelled by an innate need to feel accepted. I moved a number of times when I was a kid, and I fought against the outsider mentality by developing relationships that would help me become part of social circles.

I moved from the US to Wales

As an adult, I moved from the US to Wales, and once again, had to find a way to fit in — through friendship.

I invited myself to people’s houses for coffee and asked them to go for walks with me. I texted and rang to check in on friends I had made through church, work, my kids’ school, and my husband’s previous social circles.

These friends were incredibly important to me, and I had to hold on to them. I felt the only way to do this was to maintain frequent contact, more often than not initiated by me.

In recent years, I found myself thinking: What would happen if I didn’t text, call, or plan to meet up with friends? Would they get in touch with me?

It’s led to little monthlong experiments — going quiet to see who I’d hear from, if anyone.

The results have been both disappointing and frustrating, yet reaffirming. There were some friends who didn’t make any contact (and I felt rejected as a result), others who got in touch with me.

All of my childhood fears about exclusion and rejection were acutely felt once again.

I’m a loyal friend

I had lots to think through. Did I mind being the one who initiated the friendship — the one who kept it going? Was my concept of friendship too intense for other people? Were there some friendships I was willing to put in the work, even if I felt it wasn’t always reciprocated? Was I a needy friend?

This soul-searching led me to understand a few things about myself and the nature of friendship.

I’m a loyal friend who values deep, meaningful relationships that require time and effort. I make space for close friends, even though I work full-time, am married, and have three children, and I crave friendships with people who share the same values. A twice-a-year check-in just doesn’t do it for me. I want sisterhood.

However, this is not necessarily a value that everyone else has, and that’s OK. I suppose some people don’t need such intense friendships. Or perhaps they already have them with family or other friends. I can’t get frustrated with or feel rejected by friends who don’t have the same idea of friendship as I do.

To avoid frustration and feelings of rejection, over the last year, I’ve decided to mentally note which friends want the depth of friendship I offer and those who are happy with a surface-level relationship.

I stopped chasing friends

I leaned into those deep friendships (three of them) — people who valued relationships as much as I did. They feel like my village, those who depend on me, and those who I can depend on. They’re the ones who check in with me, just as I check in on them. It’s not me who initiates everything — they’re texting and calling too. They’re fiercely loyal.

But I stopped chasing friends who didn’t seem to place the same value on friendship as I do. I didn’t cut them out (and would happily still see them for a coffee), but I didn’t prioritize contact as I had before. I didn’t feel any resentment, but rather an understanding that we had different ideas of what friendship entailed. And that’s totally OK — I can accept this without feeling rejected or unwanted. When we do see each other, at school gates, on the streets, or for an infrequent meet-up, I enjoy their company, expecting no more than they are able to give.

And then, there were a couple of friends whom I knew I would have to initiate contact with if I wanted to maintain our friendship — I’d have to accept that for it to continue. I appreciated their friendships too much to only see or hear from them occasionally.

Over the past year, with these changes in place, I feel completely content in my friendships, as I have never before. I know where I stand with friends, and as a result, don’t feel rejected — no longer that child with an insatiable desire to be accepted by everyone. I know I’m wanted and loved, not by everyone, but by a few, and that’s enough now.




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I used to obsess over perfect holiday cards. When I finally stopped sending them, I found more joy in the season.

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I grew up in a house where coordinated family photos were the norm. My mom would line up the four of us kids in matching outfits — one year, freshly pressed sailor suits; the next, velvet dresses, with my brother in a matching tie. Every stray hair would be tucked in or sprayed down.

We were bribed (or more like lightly threatened) to smile with our eyes open, something that’s more difficult than it should be when you’re a kid who just wants to be DONE.

Then came the card — glossy, cheerful, and perfectly posed — the proof that our family had it all together, at least for one photo.

I kept the tradition going with my own kids

So when I had my own kids, I continued this tradition without question. Every year, I’d book a family photo session well in advance of Thanksgiving, hoping that temperamental Chicago weather wouldn’t put a damper on our outdoor photos.

I’d scour Pinterest for outfit inspiration, aiming for a coordinated but not totally matching vibe. The goal was to capture one frame of perfection — a photo worthy of the hundreds of envelopes I’d soon address by hand.


Holiday card

The author continued the tradition of holiday cards with her family.

Courtesy of the author



But the reality behind those photos was far from picture-perfect. There were bribes of hot chocolate and complaints about itchy sweaters. I’d smile through gritted teeth while the photographer tried to get everyone looking in the same direction. By the end, the kids were shivering, my husband was done, and I was wondering why we put ourselves through this every year.

And that was just phase one.

Once we had a “good enough” photo, I’d spend hours designing the cards online, tweaking fonts, choosing layouts, and agonizing over whether to include a photo of the whole family or the cuter one of just the kids.

Then came the addressing, stamping, and mailing — usually squeezed in between wrapping gifts, decorating the house, and trying to keep the ambiance somewhat festive. What was meant to be a joyful holiday tradition had turned into yet another item on my never-ending to-do list.

Quitting holiday cards lifted a huge weight

Two years ago, I finally asked myself, “Why am I doing this?”

When I couldn’t come up with a satisfying answer beyond “because we’ve always done it,” I decided to stop. No family photo shoot. No card design. No envelopes or stamps.


Family at ski resort

The author feels her family photos feel more authentic now.

Courtesy of the author



That first year without holiday cards felt strange at first, like I’d forgotten to do something important. December rolled around, and my mailbox filled with cheerful greetings from family and friends, each one featuring those perfectly posed families and braggy year-end recaps. For a fleeting moment, I felt a pang of guilt, like I’d dropped out of a club I’d been part of my entire adult life.

But then the feeling passed. What replaced it was a deep sense of relief.

Without the looming card deadline, December suddenly opened up. I had more time to actually enjoy the holidays — to bake sugar cookies in the shape of stars and drive through neighborhoods adorned in holiday lights. The pressure to present our family in a certain way — smiling, coordinated, festive — simply disappeared.

Now our photos (and holidays) feel more authentic

Instead of orchestrating a posed photo, we started taking more spontaneous pictures: messy, candid, real. A selfie at a local holiday market. A blurry shot of everyone laughing in front of our silver faux Christmas tree. A snowy mountain scene after a day of skiing. These pictures weren’t perfect, but they were us. And when I looked at them later, they didn’t remind me of how stressed I felt trying to get everyone to cooperate — they reminded me of how much fun we actually had.


Family posing by tree

The author and her family.

Courtesy of the author



Something else unexpected also happened: no one seemed to miss the cards. The people who truly wanted to connect reached out in other ways. It made me realize that keeping in touch didn’t have to involve postage and cardstock.

Letting go of the holiday card tradition didn’t make the end of the year any less special — it made them more so. It gave me permission to simplify and remember that the memories that matter most aren’t ones you send in the mail. They’re the ones you make together, no matching outfits required.




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