Finding Tranquility in the Festive Chaos:Navigating Christmas as An Adult and parent of Autistic Children

A soft twilight is gently settling over the world outside my window. The room within is adorned with twinkling fairy lights, casting hopeful hues of red, yellow, blue, green, and gold. A cat cozily presses against my thigh, emitting a soothing purr. In this fleeting moment, serenity envelops everything, and I find myself in a state of tranquility.

This, of course, is a brief interlude. The laundry beckons, a guest bed awaits preparation, bags yearn to be unpacked, and gifts patiently anticipate their wrapping. Yesterday marked a family Christmas with my parents and my brother's family. Tomorrow, we step into the role of hosts as the festivities resume. But for now, I take a pause, allowing my heartbeat to slow, letting the facial muscles relax, and allowing my breath to find a steady rhythm.

Experiencing Christmas as an adult is a multifaceted endeavor. The feast, the presents, the overlooked details – do we have crackers? Tape? Did I refill that prescription, message that friend, complete that work task? Have I baked enough, shopped enough, absorbed enough enchantment to carry us through to the first signs of spring? Have I done enough? Have I crafted magical memories, sung sufficient hymns, extracted all the richness this season offers? Have we all had enough?

Until saturation is reached.

Until it ceases.

Christmas for an autistic child is no less complex. I adore Christmas, a necessary balm at the darkest juncture of the year. This celebration, with its themes of warmth, peace, and illumination, holds a special place in my heart. While other festivals also spotlight light in this solstice gloom, I adhere to the Christmas ritual instilled in me from childhood. And I execute it with precision. Perhaps too well. My children, however, are weary. Christmas movies and meals are replaced with a desire for "normal television" and "regular food." Presents are welcomed, yet the allure of yesterday's gifts wanes as they retreat to the comfort of their familiar, "normal" possessions.

As for me? I still yearn for more. I invest immense effort into Christmas, always breathless, exhausted, frayed, and irritable. The gingerbread house remains unfinished, the ice skating and light trail adventures unfulfilled, and the absence of a Christmas market disappoints me perennially. Yes, I desire more – but upon introspection, I realize that what I truly yearn for is this. The opportunity to sit with darkness gathering at the window, a blanket draped over my lap, a cat nestled by my side, and fairy lights whispering promises of returning light, budding flowers, and the awakening earth. All the hustle and bustle, the frenetic shopping in London, the caroling by the brass band, the coordination, the decorating, and the socializing, have culminated in this. To return home. To feel secure and snug against the encroaching darkness. To relish the nest.

More activities await – additional baking, a cake to decorate, and the fervent hope for a festive movie. Yet, this moment serves as a reminder that in the pursuit of safety and peace, one might inadvertently foster disorientation and stress. I pledge to be more mindful of this tonight and tomorrow.

This "festive" period manifests differently for each of us, stirring emotions beneath the surface and inducing insomnia-inducing bumps. And that's okay. Loss coexists with love, disappointment with hope, and frustration with caring. Uncomfortable feelings accompany the ones we cherish, and it's inevitable that we'll experience them all in due time. My hope is that, amidst the hustle and emotions, each of us finds a moment this festive season to breathe, to set aside the desire for more, and to appreciate the merits of where we are. If merits seem elusive, reach out to me. Share your heart, and despite my limited means, I will offer you mine.