Rediscovering Christmas: The AuDHD Way
Slowly rediscovering Christmas, in my own way
Christmas. One word which brings about an assortment of different thoughts, feelings and meanings for each of us. Perhaps shaped by cultural and religious beliefs, family traditions, life experiences, loss, or how we see Christmas portrayed. It can be a time of connection and joy, whilst also bringing chaos and pressure, exhaustion and sensory overload, isolation, and so much more.
For many years, this time of year has been a struggle for me. I’d reached a firm conclusion; I do not like Christmas. Full stop.
And that’s a perfectly valid feeling. We don’t have to love, or even like Christmas. It might be a time we simply need to get through. Yet, I’m starting to realise that it’s not that I dislike Christmas, I just haven’t found a way to navigate it, yet. I need to fully understand my own needs, alongside what Christmas truly means for me and those around me.
In this blog, I’m taking a step back and sharing an honest reflection of my AuDHD experiences of Christmas. As I wander down this path, I hope to discover a gentler and more compassionate way that works for me, whilst perhaps encouraging others to make sense of their own experiences or offering something helpful along the way.
Growing up
Thinking back to my early school years, Christmas was simultaneously magical and overwhelming. Without fail, we had the annual fancy dress day (think itchy, scratchy, nothing feels right), the trip to the pantomime, the end of year school production (including the year I inexplicably stumbled into the leading role along with enough anxiety to last a lifetime) and then finally, finally, we made it to The Day Of No Structure. So much, in such a short space of time.
The predictability of those traditions was comforting. The novelty of different costumes and school shows kept the excitement alive, and I’d count down the days until the 25th. Yet, it was exhausting. Without the usual framework of school routine and expectations, I was left unsure of what I ‘should’ be saying or doing or how I ‘should’ be. I was the observer, lingering on the edges, internalising an ever-growing collection of ‘shoulds.’
It was all of this, happiness and too much, jumbled together.
Skip to adulthood
Christmas keeps changing and evolving. Sometimes it feels like it doesn’t stop; it doesn’t take a pause to stand still. I find that constant changing disorientating. It’s shaped by all the curveballs life throws our way. It also feels louder, brighter and more chaotic as each year passes.
December began to feel like a whirlwind, a time to hold on tight and get through, sweeping me along until I crashed with exhaustion. Rather than feeling grounded and refreshed, I’d begin a new year already edging towards burnout. No wonder I’d reached the conclusion that I didn’t like Christmas.
As the ground continues to shift beneath my feet, at Christmas and beyond, there’s a constant I can choose to keep returning to; understanding and learning more about my AuDHD mind. How does the way I communicate with, process, sense and experience the world around me influence my experience of Christmas? Immensely. And if I know that, I can start to ask myself what do I need, and what can I do differently?
Finding balance amongst contradictions
We often hear and talk about the push and pull of contradictory experiences as AuDHDers. I'd bought a gift before the summer was over, and I'll still be scrambling to get ready a few days (okay, potentially hours) before. I’ve crocheted until midnight on Christmas Eve finishing gifts, despite having planned months before.
My Autistic mind seeks order and, of course, I have numerous lists; my ADHD mind brings bursts of hyperfocus, getting distracted by side quests and difficulties pacing tasks. So, I swing between being incredibly prepared and unintentionally last minute.
Three other contradictions stand out:
Togetherness vs. overstimulation: I am grateful for the connection and togetherness Christmas brings, but I also need space. Too much scheduled time with other people feels pressurising and draining, and too little predictability makes it feel impossible. I need plans, yet I can’t have too many. It’s a balancing act to avoid overstimulation.
Small moments of joy vs. sensory cost: I look forward to the comforting tradition of watching the Christmas tractor run. Imagine a rumbling convoy of tractors, all shapes and sizes. A night of community and raising money for charities, they joyfully trundle their way round the local towns decorated with colourful lights, a dazzle of festive magic. It’s sensory joy and sensory overload. I love the lights, but they burn my eyes, whilst still sparking the stimulation my ADHD mind craves. So, I watch it from inside, a calmer way to experience small moments of joy, whilst preserving energy.
Restorative time vs restlessness: finally, I value Christmas as a restorative time. Yet as I try to rest, I’m often battling against restlessness. What’s recharging from an Autistic perspective, can feel less so for my ADHD self. One day rest might be bursts of creative energy, another day it might be a trip to a familiar place offering peace and solitude. Rest is about noticing what I need each day.
Shifting towards a different kind of Christmas
As I’ve sat to capture what’s most important to me, I keep returning to togetherness, those small moments of joy and having time to restore. But importantly, those contradictions remind me, it’s my version of those things. For some, that could look like 2 weeks off work, lots of time together with different people and a few pauses in between to breathe. I know that wouldn’t work for me.
Three things helping me shift towards a different kind of Christmas:
Starting with validation. Noticing and appreciating my own individual experiences and needs. They are real, they are valid.
Learning about and setting boundaries. Taking time to think before saying yes, balancing my tendency to think a lot about things, with my impulse to immediately say yes.
And finally, validation and boundaries support energy management and how I pace throughout the season. Setting realistic timeframes for how long I stay somewhere, making sure plans aren’t back-to-back and that I have time to transition and recharge in-between.
Three ways others support me:
Understanding and respecting my need for breaks and time alone, letting me opt in and out without guilt.
Giving me information ahead of time to help me to understand what to expect, and so I can consider how to manage those boundaries in advance.
Encouraging flexible plans rather than fixed expectations.
Adjusting and reframing Christmas
We all experience Christmas differently, Neurodivergent or not. And there’s no prescriptive list of what helps or hinders when supporting our own needs.
The festive season amplifies some of the contradictions I experience, but my biggest realisation through writing this? Christmas isn’t joy or struggle, it can be both.
My home might not be sparkling with decorations, and my calendar isn’t filled with festivities. But whatever shape my Christmas takes, it isn’t the wrong way. It doesn’t have to match tradition or expectation. It can be adapted, reshaped, softened, slowed down or rebuilt entirely.
Each year is an opportunity for trial and error, as I rediscover Christmas, in my own way.
