The other night I was singing with a choir, swaying along to “What Christmas Means to Me”. On the surface it was joyful: fairy lights, familiar faces, the warm buzz of shared music. But as I sang the words, I noticed a knot in my chest. Because what Christmas “means to me” is… complicated.
It’s memories of people I’ve lost and can’t share this time with anymore. It’s the ache of past Christmases that looked picture-perfect from the outside but felt tense, lonely or overwhelming inside.
And now, as a neurodivergent family, it’s also the pressure of trying to fit into an idea of Christmas that was never really designed with us in mind.
As I stood there singing, I could feel all of this sitting just under the surface. And I know I’m not the only one.
The “perfect” Christmas picture
We are surrounded by images of what Christmas should look like:
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a smiling family gathered peacefully around the table
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matching pyjamas on Christmas Eve
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endless social events, perfectly wrapped gifts, happy children
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everyone getting along, no one melting down, no one needing space
When you add neurodivergence into the mix – ADHD, autism, sensory differences, anxiety – that picture can feel not just unrealistic, but punishing. Because behind the staged photos there might be:
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a child overwhelmed by noise, lights, smells or changes in routine
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a teenager masking exhaustion to get through yet another social event
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a parent running on fumes, trying to hold everything together
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arguments, tears, misunderstandings, shutdowns or meltdowns
And yet, when we scroll through social media, it’s easy to think:
“Everyone else is managing this. Why can’t we?”
When Christmas is overwhelming (especially for neurodivergent people)
Christmas can be a sensory storm and a routine earthquake all rolled into one:
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Noisy, crowded spaces – family gatherings, shops, school events
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Bright lights and strong smells – decorations, candles, food, perfume
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Changes to routine – different bedtimes, visitors, travel, time off school or work
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Social rules and expectations – hugging relatives, making small talk, acting “grateful” or “festive” even when overwhelmed
For neurodivergent children and adults, this can lead to:
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shutdowns or meltdowns
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irritability or withdrawal
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feeling “too much” or “not enough”
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shame afterwards: “Why can’t I just enjoy it like everyone else?”
And for parents or partners, it can bring:
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guilt (“I’m ruining Christmas for everyone”)
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resentment (“I’m doing everything and it’s still not enough”)
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loneliness (“No one sees how hard this is behind the scenes”)
The hidden grief of Christmas
Alongside the pressure to be happy, Christmas can quietly press on old bruises:
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bereavement and the people who are no longer here
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relationships that have changed, separated or ended
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childhood memories of Christmas that were chaotic, disappointing or painful
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traditions that no longer fit, or that we never really had
You can be surrounded by people and still feel deeply alone in your experience of Christmas.
You might find yourself smiling through it while inside you’re thinking:
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“I miss them.”
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“This isn’t how I thought life would look by now.”
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“Everyone thinks this is a lovely family moment and I feel like I’m barely holding it together.”
If that’s you, nothing is wrong with you. You’re human. You’re responding to something real.
Giving yourself permission to do Christmas differently
One of the kindest things we can do – especially in neurodivergent families – is to gently loosen our grip on the “perfect Christmas” and create a version that is kinder and more realistic.
That might look like:
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Simplifying
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fewer events, shorter visits, or saying no altogether
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choosing one or two things that really matter instead of trying to do everything
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Building in regulation and recovery
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planned quiet time after busy activities
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noise-cancelling headphones, a calm space, familiar foods
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time outside, a short walk, or simply stepping away from the crowd
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Adjusting traditions
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opening presents slowly over a few days instead of all at once
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having a “pyjama Christmas” at home with no pressure to dress up
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agreeing that anyone can opt out of a game or activity without judgement
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Naming the grief
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lighting a candle or setting aside a moment for those who are no longer here
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acknowledging that your feelings are mixed: joy, sadness, nostalgia, irritation – all welcome
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And maybe most importantly:
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Letting go of the idea that a meltdown, a shutdown or a change of plan means you’ve “ruined” Christmas.
Often it just means you were all doing your best with nervous systems that were already full.
You’re not failing – you’re adapting
If your Christmas doesn’t look like the ones in the adverts, it doesn’t mean you’re failing.
It might mean:
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you’re listening to your needs and your child’s needs
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you’re prioritising emotional safety over appearances
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you’re slowly unlearning old messages about what you “should” do
That is not failure. That is growth.
When it all feels too much
If this time of year brings up sadness, exhaustion, resentment, or a sense of being “not enough”, you’re not alone – even if it feels like you are.
Talking things through with a counsellor can help you:
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make sense of the mixed feelings that Christmas stirs up
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explore the impact of neurodivergence on you and your family
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gently process grief, loss and memories that resurface at this time
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find ways to set boundaries and create a version of Christmas that feels more manageable and authentic
If you’d like support around this, I offer counselling and therapeutic coaching online and in person in Bedfordshire. Together we can explore what Christmas really means to you now – and how you can move towards a way of doing it that feels kinder, calmer and more connected, however that looks for you