Holiday Survival for the Neurodivergent

Everyone loves Christmas, right?

The lights. The food. The gifts. The family time. Everything’s beautiful, everyone’s happy, and nobody argues or cries in the bathroom.

Sure. In a Hallmark movie.

In real life, the holidays are a sensory obstacle course. For neurodivergent people, they’re less magical and more like being dropped into the world’s loudest, brightest escape room with no instructions.

You can get through it the same way you did last year, exhausted and overstimulated, or you can prepare and make it a little less miserable.

Here’s what actually makes the holidays hard, and what helps.

Noise

Holidays get loud fast. Kitchens clatter, kids scream, TVs blare sports, and someone always insists on music at a volume your nervous system did not consent to.

Plan your exits ahead of time. Bring earplugs. Normalize stepping away for ten minutes and coming back like nothing happened.

Lights

Christmas lighting is aggressive. Stores glow like interrogation rooms. Homes stack tree lights on top of overhead lights on top of candles.

Sunglasses, hats, and soft focus are coping tools. You do not owe anyone full eye contact under fluorescent bulbs in a parking lot.

Relatives

Everyone has opinions. Everyone wants updates. Everyone expects you to be “on.”

Script your answers. Keep conversations light. Move often. “I need to check on something in the kitchen” is a valid exit, even if the thing you’re checking on is yourself.

Food

Your sensory system has rules. Your stomach has rules. Someone else’s casserole does not care.

Bring your own safe food or eat beforehand. If someone comments, “My stomach’s being weird today” is enough. You don’t owe an explanation.

Smells

Candles, perfume, cooking grease, pine spray, dog smell, kid smell, and something burning just enough to be concerning.

A little Vicks under the nose, a small essential-oil inhaler, or stepping outside for real air can help reset things fast.

Crowded stores

This one’s simple. Avoid them if you can.

Online shopping, curbside pickup, and delivery are not laziness. They’re accommodations.

Kids everywhere

High energy, loud voices, sticky hands, chaos in motion.

They’re not doing anything wrong, but you’re allowed to protect your capacity. Sit where you can see the room without being in the center of it. Distance is not rejection.

Routines falling apart

Sleep changes. Meals change. Dopamine disappears. Everything that keeps you regulated gets shaken.

Anchor one or two daily rituals and defend them. A morning drink. A night routine. Ten minutes alone. These are stabilizers, not luxuries.

Expectations

People expect cheer, participation, and help. Meanwhile your brain is buffering like bad WiFi.

Set micro-boundaries. “I can help for ten minutes.” “I’m taking a short break.” Small limits prevent big crashes.

The emotional hangover

After the gathering ends, the crash hits.

Plan recovery time in advance. The day after an event is for pajamas, leftovers, and quiet. No exceptions.

The holidays are a lot. They’re always a lot. The goal isn’t being festive, it’s getting through without abandoning yourself.

And for the record, you don’t owe anyone handmade gifts, handwritten cards, or constant availability unless you genuinely want to give them.

If this helped even a little, follow me here on Vocal. I write about navigating life with a neurodivergent brain, honestly and without pretending December is easy for everyone.