What Nobody Tells You About Advocating for Your Neurodivergent Child During the Holidays
There’s a reason saying “We won’t be coming to Christmas lunch this year” makes your entire body tense…
Or why asking to leave early feels like you’ve done something wrong…
Or why protecting your child’s capacity feels like you’re breaking a sacred family rule.
You’re not being dramatic.
You’re not overreacting.
You’re not “making excuses.”
You are doing one of the hardest things a parent can do: protecting a child whose needs differ from the norm, in a season built entirely on norms.
Why It Feels So Hard
Human beings are wired to belong.
When you step away from what “every family does,” your nervous system can register it as a threat, not to your safety, but to your acceptance.
For parents of neurodivergent children, the stakes often feel even higher.
When everyone else is doing the big family lunch…
When “we all stay until 9 pm” is the unspoken rule…
When your child melts down after 90 minutes, but the schedule expects six hours…
It doesn’t feel like you’re simply making a parenting decision.
It feels like you’re breaking a generational contract.
And that can feel dangerous in your body.
When Your Child’s Needs Don’t Match the Holiday Script
Neurodivergent children often need:
- More recovery time between events
- Controlled sensory environments
- Predictability and choice
- Shorter visits or no visits at all
- Freedom to opt out without shame
But holiday culture, especially family culture, is built around endurance, performance, and tradition.
So when you advocate for your child, you’re not only challenging the schedule…
You’re challenging the invisible rules about what “good families” do.
No wonder it feels like so much.
The Shame Parents Carry (But Shouldn’t Have To)
Parents of neurodivergent children are often told, directly or indirectly:
“Just push them through.”
“They need more resilience.”
“You’re being overprotective.”
“They’ll miss out if you leave early.”
“Everyone else is coping.”
Over time, this messaging can seep in, leaving parents questioning themselves:
“Am I being unreasonable?”
“Am I ruining the holiday?”
“Is something wrong with me or my child?”
But here’s the truth:
Shame is what rises when our culture has no language for difference.
Your child’s needs are not the problem.
The environment is.
Your job isn’t to make your child small enough to fit the situation.
Your job is to shape the situation to fit your child.
Why Saying No Feels Like a Threat
Many of us grew up in families where saying “I’m overwhelmed,” “I need space,” or “This isn’t working for me” was met with criticism or dismissal.
So now, when you advocate for your child, your nervous system may flood with signals:
- Danger.
- Rejection incoming.
- You’re about to let people down.
- You’re going to lose connection.
Even when your logical mind knows you’re doing the right thing, your body is remembering every time your own needs were not welcomed.
This isn’t weakness.
This is conditioning.
And it’s healable.
What I Wish Every Parent Knew
Just because family members don’t understand your child’s needs doesn’t make those needs any less valid.
Just because someone is disappointed doesn’t mean you’ve done something wrong.
Just because a boundary disrupts tradition doesn’t mean the boundary is harmful.
Your job isn’t to make your child “easy” and more palatable for others, nor to be responsible for the emotional regulation of other adults.
Your job is to honour what helps them feel safe and supported.
Different isn’t wrong.
Different is simply different.
Three Things That Change Everything When Advocating for Your Child
1. Learn the difference between guilt and shame
Guilt says: “I feel bad they’re disappointed.” (Human. Manageable.)
Shame says: “I’m a bad parent for needing this.” (Not true. Not yours to hold.)
Name it.
Notice it.
Don’t let it drive the decision.
2. Build your nervous system’s tolerance for other people’s discomfort
Their frustration doesn’t mean the boundary is wrong.
Their confusion doesn’t mean you need to justify, explain, or teach.
Their sadness doesn’t mean your child must sacrifice themselves to make adults comfortable.
Your child’s safety comes first.
3. Use clear, simple language
You don’t owe anyone an essay.
You can say:
“We’re keeping things very low-demand this year.”
“We’ll stay for an hour and then head home.”
“That won’t work for our child, but here’s what will.”
“We won’t be attending, but we’d love a quiet visit another day.”
Short.
Kind.
Boundaried.
Sovereign.
You’re Not Doing This Wrong — You’re Doing the Brave Work
Advocating for your neurodivergent child goes against much of what we’ve been taught about being a “good parent” or a “good family member.”
But you’re not difficult.
You’re not overreacting.
You’re not ruining the holiday.
You are building a life where your child feels safe, seen, and supported, not just tolerated.
And that is sacred work.
You don’t have to learn how to do this alone.
So much of what makes setting boundaries feel terrifying is the fear of losing belonging.
Which is why doing this work inside a regulated, attuned, non-judgmental community changes everything.
When your nervous system experiences:
“I am still welcome.”
“I am not too much.”
“My child is understood here.”
The edges soften. The shame loosens. The courage grows.
From Burnout to Balance is a soft place to land for parents who are advocating for their neurodivergent children in a world that often doesn’t understand them. It’s where we practise nervous system safety, low-demand parenting, repair, grief, and brave boundary-setting together.
If your heart is tired of carrying this alone, you are warmly invited to come and be held in community.
Join From Burnout to Balance here
You and your child deserve support that feels like belonging, not pressure.
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The Person Who Wrote This Blog
Hi I’m Tanya, I am a neuro-affirming family coach with 25 years in education as a teacher and leadership coach, including teaching human development to trainee teachers. I completed formal parent coaching training through the University of Melbourne’s Tuning Into Kids program, and my work is deeply informed by lived experience raising autistic/PDA children through burnout.
As a parent of three autistic teens, I know firsthand how isolating and exhausting this journey can be. If this spoke to something inside you, you’re not alone. You can find more reflections and gentle community-based support inside From Burnout to Balance.
I blend evidence-based training, developmental science, and lived wisdom into practical, compassionate coaching for parents.
