Surviving And Even Thriving During Christmas

Christmas is sold to us as the season of joy, magic and togetherness. A cosy blur of fairy lights, familiar songs, matching pyjamas and perfectly crisp roast potatoes. The message is that, for a few days of the year, everyone should feel warm, grateful and full of uncomplicated happiness.

In my therapy room, that is not usually how people describe it. For many years it wasn't how I would have described it.

What I hear much more often in my therapy sessions is that for many people Christmas feels like an emotional pressure cooker. Old hurts that you thought you had filed away quietly come bubbling back up. People you find draining, critical or outright unsafe become hard to avoid. Spending can spiral as you try to keep up with expectations or soothe guilt with gifts you cannot really afford. On top of that, there is the sensory side of things. Constant noise, lights, visitors, changes in routine and social expectations can feel overwhelming, especially if you are autistic, ADHD, highly sensitive, or already running on an empty battery.

If you grew up with criticism, conflict, addiction, neglect or chaos, Christmas could add another layer of complexity. The season is wrapped in language about “family” and “home”, which can be deeply painful if those words have never felt safe for you. It can also activate very old roles. I often hear people say things like, “The minute I walk back into my parents’ house, I feel 12 again,” or “I know I am a competent adult, but around my family I freeze, appease or blow up.” That is a very human response to familiar dynamics, not a personal failure.

Christmas can be particularly tough if you live with anxiety, depression, C-PTSD, BPD/EUPD, or other mental health difficulties. You might already be working hard just to get through an average week. Then December arrives with extra social plans, financial demands, travel, expectations of cheerfulness and a sense that you are supposed to be “making memories”. It is very easy to slip into harsh self-judgement. Thoughts like, “Everyone else seems to be managing, what is wrong with me?” are common, but they are rarely fair or accurate. Most people are struggling with something, even if it is hidden behind carefully curated photographs.

In this blog I want to talk honestly about surviving Christmas from a psychological perspective. We will look at why this time of year can be so triggering if you have a history of trauma, grew up around emotional instability or criticism, are neurodivergent, or are already carrying the weight of financial strain and everyday life stress. I want to name the patterns I see clinically, so you can recognise your own nervous system responses without shame.

Then we will move into the practical side. Not a token list of “self care” ideas that sound nice but do not touch the real problem. Instead, we will explore grounded strategies around boundaries, saying no, spending less, managing sensory overload and gently reshaping traditions so that they fit you, rather than breaking yourself to fit them. My hope is that you come away with both understanding and options.

Why Christmas Can Feel So Emotionally Intense

Christmas is not “just a day” for the brain. By the time we hit December, most of us have been quietly absorbing Christmas messages for weeks. Shops, adverts, films, social media and even work conversations are all pointing in the same direction: this is the time of year when you are meant to feel joyful, grateful and surrounded by love.

Your nervous system takes all of that in. Christmas arrives not as a neutral date on the calendar, but wrapped in symbolism, memory and expectation. It makes perfect sense that it lands with a bit of a thud.

The season is packed with sensory and emotional reminders of childhood. Smells of certain foods, particular songs, decorations coming out, family jokes, the feel of cold air on an evening walk under Christmas lights. All of these can act like time machines. For some people, they bring warm nostalgia. For others, they pull up memories of tension, rows, drinking, walking on eggshells, feeling invisible, or having to perform “happy” while feeling anything but.

There is often more family time and less everyday structure.  For many people, the usual routines that keep things steady are stripped away at Christmas. Work or study patterns change, regular activities stop, support services may close, therapy sessions pause, and even small things like your usual gym class or coffee stop might not be available. Those everyday anchors do a lot of heavy lifting for our mental health.

At the same time, there can be more time with family members or partners, including people who have hurt you, dismissed you or trampled over your boundaries in the past. Being around them for extended periods, especially in a small space, can stretch your coping resources very thin.

Put all of this together and it makes complete sense that Christmas can feel emotionally louder than the rest of the year. You might find yourself crying more easily, feeling irritable or numb, struggling to sleep, overeating or undereating, or feeling like your reactions are “too much”.

You are not weak, broken or being dramatic if you feel “over the top” emotional at this time of year. Your nervous system is responding to a genuine increase in emotional load, sensory input and relational intensity. Once you understand that, you can start to respond with a bit more gentleness and plan ahead, rather than simply blaming yourself for not matching the Christmas advert version of you.

Christmas and Relationships

There is a very strong cultural script about what Christmas “should” look like. We are sold a particular story: big smiling families, matching pyjamas, warm parents, delighted children, a beautifully decorated home, financial ease, everyone getting along. Whether you consciously believe that story or not, your brain holds it as a kind of template. Then it quietly compares that template with your real life.

Maybe there is divorce, estrangement or loss. Maybe you are single and longing not to be. Maybe you are burnt out, worried about money, or trying to manage health problems. The gap between the ideal and the reality can feel like a punch in the chest. It is common to feel a mixture of sadness, shame, frustration or “what is wrong with me?” when actually nothing is wrong with you at all. The Christmas template is simply unrealistic for most humans.

When childhood was painful or unpredictable, these cues can trigger what we might call emotional flashbacks. You may not see a clear mental image, but your body suddenly feels small, unsafe or on high alert. You might notice a wave of dread, shame, anger or urge to escape and have no idea why it has arrived so strongly. That is your nervous system recognising an old pattern and trying to protect you.

Childhood memories: when Christmas echoes old wounds

A lot of people tell me that Christmas makes them feel strangely “young inside”. On paper they are adults with jobs, responsibilities and maybe children of their own. Yet the moment the tree goes up or they walk back into a childhood home, something in them shrinks. Their reactions do not quite match the age on their passport. You might notice yourself:

• Walking into your parents’ house and instantly feeling 10 years old again.

• Putting huge effort into cooking, decorating or choosing presents, then feeling disproportionately crushed if nobody notices.

• Feeling responsible for the emotional temperature of the whole day and guilty if anyone is upset.

• Sensing that familiar, queasy “walking on eggshells” feeling, even before anything has actually happened.

Christmas is often highly ritualised. The same decorations come out of the same boxes. The same films play in the background. The same foods are cooked in the same kitchen, sometimes by the same people, with the same comments. If you grew up in a safe, emotionally responsive home, these rituals can feel comforting and grounding.

If you grew up with criticism, emotional neglect, chaos, addiction or abuse, those very same rituals can act like a time machine. They quietly tell your nervous system, “We are back here again. This is where you had to be small, careful, invisible or extra helpful to stay safe.”

Your body remembers, even when your thinking brain is telling you to “just get on with it”. You might notice:

• A heavy, sinking feeling as you pack a bag or travel to see family.

• A tight chest, knot in your stomach or headache that starts when certain people are due to arrive.

• A rush of shame or anger that feels far bigger than whatever has just been said.

These reactions are not you being silly or dramatic. They are your nervous system responding to familiar threat cues. The child part of you, who once had very limited power or choice, is still trying to protect you. Viewed through that lens, your reactions start to make a lot more sense.

One gentle question that can help is:

“What age does this feeling remind me of? Which part of me is reacting right now – my adult self, or a younger part who remembers how unsafe this used to feel?”

You do not have to overanalyse it, but even noticing, “Ah, this feels like I am 13 again,” can create a little bit of space. Instead of thinking, “I am ridiculous, why am I like this?”, you can shift towards, “Of course I feel wobbly, a younger part of me is on high alert. How can I support myself in this moment?”

That small shift from self-criticism to compassion is powerful. It does not turn a difficult Christmas into an easy one, but it can reduce the shame and help you make calmer, more adult choices about what you need.

Spending Christmas with abusers, gaslighters or highly critical people

This is a really hard bit that never makes it into the Christmas adverts, or even gets spoken about in general circles but certainly makes it in to my therapy spaces.

Many people feel pressured to spend time with people who have hurt them because “it is family”, “it will upset them if I do not go”, or “it is only once a year”. On the surface it might look like a normal family gathering. Underneath, it can involve sitting at the table with:

• A parent who was emotionally, physically or sexually abusive.

• A relative who gaslights you and denies the impact of what happened.

• Someone who regularly comments on your body, weight, parenting, work or relationships.

• A partner’s family who make racist, sexist, homophobic or otherwise shaming remarks and expect you to laugh along.

Psychologically, this puts you in what can feel like an almost impossible bind. On one side is the social and internal pressure to be “nice”, to keep the peace, to not ruin Christmas for ‘everyone’ else. On the other side is your nervous system, which has accurately tagged these people as unsafe or unkind and would very much like you to get away from them.

When you are around abusers or highly critical people, survival strategies from childhood tend to reappear very quickly. You might notice yourself freezing, zoning out, appeasing, over-explaining, people-pleasing or apologising even when you have done nothing wrong. This is not weakness. It is your body doing what it learned to do as a child, in order to minimise harm.

Gaslighting adds another layer of harm. It is not simply a disagreement about what happened. Gaslighting is a pattern of systematically undermining your reality. It sounds like:

• “That never happened, you are imagining it.”

• “You are too sensitive, we were only joking.”

• “You always cause drama, you ruin every Christmas.”

Over time, this erodes your trust in your own memory, feelings and perceptions. You start to wonder if you are the problem. Christmas, with its alcohol, noise, stress and old roles, can be the perfect stage for this to play out yet again.

If you notice yourself leaving a gathering thinking, “Maybe I am exaggerating,” “I must be the difficult one,” or “Everyone else seems fine, so it must be me,” it can help to pause and ask a different kind of question:

“How do I feel in myself when I spend less time with these people? Do I feel clearer, calmer, more like me?”

Your body’s answer to that question is often more reliable than any family narrative. If you consistently feel safer, more stable and more authentic when you have less contact, that information matters.

None of this means you have to make huge declarations or cut ties overnight, especially if that would put you at risk. Sometimes people make very small, strategic changes: shortening the visit, staying in a hotel rather than the family home, arranging their own transport so they can leave when they want to, or choosing to spend some of the holiday elsewhere. In other cases, people decide that the cost to their mental health is too high and begin to step back more firmly.

Wherever you are on that journey, your discomfort is not evidence that you are oversensitive. It is often evidence that something genuinely harmful is, or was, happening. Naming that is not about being negative. It is about being honest, so that any boundaries or changes you put in place are grounded in reality rather than guilt.

When you are far away from the people you love

On the other hand, one of the quieter pains of Christmas can be being physically far away when your heart really wants to be close. That might be because you live in another country, you are working over the holidays, travel is too expensive, or health and caring responsibilities make long journeys impossible. Sometimes it is linked to separation, divorce, shared care of children or complicated family dynamics.

On the outside, distance can look quite “tidy”. You might have a plan for calls, video chats, gift deliveries and messages. People might say, “At least you can FaceTime,” as if that somehow solves the ache. Emotionally, it can feel very different. There can be a sense of hovering at the edges of other people’s Christmases, included but not physically present, watching hugs and shared jokes through a screen. For some, this brings a grief that is hard to put into words. You are not exactly bereaved, yet you are mourning moments that you are not part of.

Being far away can also stir up old attachment wounds. If you grew up feeling unseen or unimportant, not being there in person can hook into those same beliefs. Thoughts like “They will forget about me” or “I am always the one left out” can show up very quickly. Even if the reality is that your loved ones care deeply, your nervous system may react as if you are in danger of losing connection.

It is very common to feel a mix of emotions in this situation. You might feel genuinely pleased that people you care about are having a good time together, and at the same time feel a painful stab of longing or jealousy. You might be grateful for the life you have built where you are, and still feel pulled towards “home”. None of that means you are ungrateful or dramatic. It means you are human, and that closeness matters to you.

When Christmas makes you feel excluded, left out or alienated

Another theme that comes up a lot in therapy is feeling like the odd one out at Christmas. Sometimes this is very concrete. You might not get invited to gatherings that other family members, friends, or work colleagues attend. Plans get made in group chats that you are not in. You only find out about events after they have happened. Other times, it is more subtle. You are technically present, but you feel emotionally on the outside looking in.

This can show up for many reasons. You might be the person who has chosen a different lifestyle, set of values, culture or faith. You might be the divorced one, the single one, the child-free one, the queer one, the neurodivergent one, the “too sensitive” one, the one who does not drink, or the one who will not laugh along with cruel jokes. You may have drawn boundaries around contact because of past abuse, neglect or gaslighting, and now find yourself half in and half out of the system.

When everyone around you is talking about “family time”, “togetherness” and “coming home for Christmas”, feeling excluded can cut very deeply. It can bring up shame, as if being left out proves that there is something wrong with you. It can also bring anger and sadness. Many people describe feeling like a teenager again, sitting on the stairs listening to everyone else laughing, or being the child who was never quite picked for the team.

There is also a quieter form of alienation that can happen even when you are technically included. You may be at the table, handing round the roast potatoes, and still feel completely unseen. People may not ask about your life, or they may dismiss what you share with jokes or criticism. You might feel you have to mask, shrink or play a role in order to keep the peace. That sense of “I do not really belong here” is painful, particularly in a season that advertises belonging as the main prize.

If any of this resonates, it is not a sign that you are broken or “too much”. Often it is a sign that your values, boundaries or identity have grown, and that you are more aware of dynamics that once passed under the radar. In the rest of the blog we will look at ways to care for yourself if you are feeling excluded or alienated, including choosing where you spend your time, finding “your people” in other spaces, and creating small traditions that remind you that you matter, even if others are slow to see it.

The Financial Pressure of Christmas

One of the loudest stressors I hear people talk about now is money. Christmas has become so deeply commercial that, before you have even thought about fairy lights, you are being nudged to spend on gifts, food, outfits, decorations, travel and “little extras” that somehow add up to hundreds of pounds. When this lands in the middle of a cost-of-living crisis, or on top of existing debt, it can feel less like a celebration and more like a looming bill you cannot pay.

You might notice a knot in your stomach when you see adverts or hear colleagues chatting about what they have bought. There can be a quiet sense of shame, a feeling of being “behind” or “failing” because you cannot or do not want to spend at that level. Guilt often shows up, especially for parents and caregivers. Thoughts like, “If I cannot give them the same as their friends get, I am letting them down,” or, “A good partner would be able to afford something bigger,” can become very loud.

Psychologically, money at Christmas rarely stays just about money. It tends to plug straight into deeper beliefs: about whether you are a good parent, a generous friend, a successful adult, or someone who is always on the outside looking in. The social comparison is constant. You see people posting mountains of presents or lavish meals, and even if you know that social media is a highlight reel, a part of you may still feel smaller. Marketers are very skilled at exploiting this. The underlying message is often that love is measured in cost, and that if you really cared, you would spend more.

It is not surprising that in that context you might find yourself pulled into last minute spending, telling yourself, “It is only once a year,” while a quieter part of you panics about the January bank statement. You might avoid looking at your accounts, or keep tapping your card while feeling slightly detached. This is a very human response to anxiety. Your brain is trying to reduce immediate discomfort, even if it creates a longer-term headache.

So what can help, in real terms, rather than just being told to “spend less”?

One gentle starting point is to name your actual numbers. Not the ideal numbers or what you think everyone else is spending, but your reality. Sitting down and looking at your income, bills and what is left can feel uncomfortable at first. Many people want to skip this bit. However, once you have a clear picture, you can decide on a realistic Christmas budget rather than drifting into avoidance and hope. That budget might be much smaller than you would like. It might feel humbling. It is still an act of care towards your future self.

It can also be helpful to notice the beliefs that are driving the panic. For example, if you catch yourself thinking, “If I cannot give big gifts, I am a bad parent,” gently challenge that. Think back to your own childhood. What stands out in your memory? For most people, it is not the exact toy or gadget from a particular year. It is the feeling in the house. Did you feel wanted, safe, included, allowed to relax? Children remember being played with, listened to, taken seriously in their excitement. They remember little rituals and in-jokes. Those are the things that land in their nervous system as “I matter here.”

You can begin to consciously create these things, even on a tight budget. That might look like a home cinema night with blankets and popcorn, a walk to look at Christmas lights, a silly family game that costs nothing, or letting your child choose the music while you cook together. These are not consolation prizes. They are the building blocks of a secure emotional memory.

With other adults in your life, you might experiment with more honest conversations. Many people are relieved when someone finally says, “Can we do a £10 limit this year?” or, “What about Secret Santa instead of buying for everyone?” Yet everyone waits for someone else to bring it up. If it feels scary, you can frame it as caring: “I am trying to be sensible with money this year and do not want any of us under pressure. Would you be open to…?” The people who really value you will usually understand. If someone reacts badly, that also gives you useful information about the role money plays in that relationship. When my family was really struggling this is what I did, I told those I usually bought for that I would prefer to spend time with them, and I think they understood that.

If shame about debt is weighing heavily, it can be kind to yourself to plan at least one small protective step for January before you get there. That might be setting a reminder to contact a debt advice charity, speaking to your bank, or even just telling a trusted friend, “I am worried about money and I need to face it.” Knowing you have a next step lined up can take some of the helplessness out of decision making in December.

It is also worth remembering that children and adults alike can feel very loved by things that cost very little. A handwritten note naming what you appreciate about someone. Printing a favourite photo and putting it in a simple frame. Baking something. Offering your time to help with a task. Planning a “voucher” for a future coffee together or a home-cooked meal. These may sound small, yet emotionally they often land far more deeply than another expensive item that ends up in a drawer.  One of the most cherished gifts I ever gave and received was when a friend and I swapped jars and small pieces of card, so that we wrote down the wonderful times we had with each other throughout the year, then the following Christmas we sat over coffee and relived those moments.

The quiet truth is that most people are far more worried about money than they let on, and many are feeling exactly the same pressure you are. If more of us named that honestly and chose to step back from over-spending, we would not only protect our own wellbeing, but we would also make it easier for everyone else to do the same.  Personally, I now have the rule with my family and friends that I want ‘presence not presents’ because quite frankly at my age there is nothing anyone could buy me that would bring greater joy than spending time with my family and knowing they aren’t overspending on me.

At the heart of all this is a simple truth that is easy to lose sight of in December: your worth as a person is not indexed to your bank balance, your credit limit or the size of your gift pile. You are allowed to set a budget and keep to it. You are allowed to say, “That is not affordable for me,” even if other people roll their eyes. You are allowed to choose your long-term stability over a few hours of looking as if you have it all together.

If you notice the old scripts creeping in, take a breath and gently remind yourself: “My love is not measured in pounds. I can show up with presence, kindness and thoughtfulness, and that is valuable.” That mindset will not magically erase financial stress, but it can soften the shame and give you permission to design a Christmas that protects your wellbeing instead of sacrificing it.

Sensory Overload: Lights, Noise, Crowds and Constant “Festivity”

If you are autistic, have ADHD, are a sensitive person, or are already running on low reserves, Christmas can feel less like a cosy celebration and more like an assault on your senses. What looks “festive” from the outside can, on the inside, feel loud, bright and relentless. There is usually a lot going on at once:

• Constant background music in shops, restaurants and even at work

• Flashing lights, strong smells, crowded spaces and queues

• Social events with overlapping conversations and multiple people talking at the same time

• Sudden changes in routine, mealtimes, sleep patterns and environment

If your nervous system is already juggling more inputs than average, this extra layer can tip things from “a bit much” into complete overload. It is no surprise that meltdowns, shutdowns, panic attacks, irritability or bone-deep exhaustion often increase at this time of year. Your system is not being awkward. It is waving a red flag.

Sensory overload is not about being “fussy” or unwilling to join in. It is about the brain struggling to filter out stimuli and decide what to pay attention to. When everything is loud, bright, smelly and busy at the same time, your internal volume control gets stuck on maximum. The more overwhelmed your system becomes, the harder it is to regulate emotions, think clearly, make decisions, or communicate in the way you would like to.

If you or someone you love tends to get overwhelmed at Christmas, it is usually not because they do not care or are trying to “spoil things”. It is often because their system is genuinely overloaded and doing its best to cope. Building in quiet pockets and sensory breaks, a short walk outside, time alone in a bedroom, headphones on, a simple meal instead of a huge one, is an act of kindness, not selfishness. Sometimes the most loving thing you can do at Christmas is to turn the volume down.  Literally!

Managing grief at Christmas

Grief has a way of bending time. You can feel like you are living in two realities at once: the one where life carries on, and the one where everything stopped on the day you lost them. Christmas often throws that contrast into sharp relief.

For many people I work with, Christmas is not just “a bit difficult.” It can feel like walking through a shop window display of “perfect families” while carrying a weight in your chest that nobody else can see. The music, the adverts, the twinkly lights, the smell of certain foods – all of it can act like a high-definition reminder of whoever is missing. If you are grieving, you might notice some of these themes:

• Feeling angry at how “normal” everyone else seems, or how much money and energy is being thrown at things that suddenly feel meaningless.

• Feeling guilty for not being “festive enough”, or for laughing and enjoying small moments when you thought you should be sad all the time.

• Feeling numb, detached or like you are watching Christmas happen from behind glass.

• Feeling overwhelmed by memories: last Christmas together, the present they chose, where they used to sit at the table.

None of this means you are “not coping”. It is your nervous system trying to find its way through something enormous, while the world insists on carrying on with tinsel and playlists.

I often describe grief as love with nowhere obvious to go. At Christmas, all the rituals that used to be shared with that person suddenly have sharp edges. You might feel pulled in two directions: part of you wants to honour them and preserve tradition; another part wants to cancel the entire thing and hide under a blanket until January.

Both instincts are understandable. Grief does not respond well to “shoulds”. It needs gentleness, choice and room to move.

One of the most painful experiences people describe is feeling “out of sync” with friends or family. Others might be keen to keep everything “as normal as possible”, when your reality is anything but normal. Or perhaps people avoid mentioning the person who died, worried that they will upset you, when actually the silence feels more painful than the sadness. It can help to remember that:

• Different people grieve differently. Someone laughing or making jokes might be protecting themselves from feeling completely flooded. Someone wanting everything the same might be clinging to a sense of continuity. Someone wanting to cancel Christmas might be trying to reduce pressure on a very fragile system. None of these mean they loved any less.

• Grief is not linear. You might feel relatively steady one moment and suddenly hit by a wave of sadness or anger because of a song, a taste or a throwaway comment. That does not mean you are “back at square one” in your grief, just that something poked at a tender part of you.

At a body level, Christmas with grief can be exhausting. You are already carrying a constant background process of remembering, adjusting and missing. Adding busy supermarkets, travel, social expectations and financial stress puts your nervous system into survival mode very quickly. You might find yourself more tearful, irritable or shut down. You might sleep badly, overeat or forget to eat at all. Your body is doing its best to manage a workload it was never designed to handle in such a concentrated period.

You are allowed to shape Christmas around your grief, rather than forcing your grief into a “normal” Christmas. That might mean:

• Letting this year be smaller, quieter or simpler.

• Changing a tradition that feels too raw, or keeping one small ritual that feels comforting and letting the rest go.

• Asking people who love you to say the person’s name, share memories or light a candle with you, instead of pretending everything is fine.

• Giving yourself permission to step out of a room, take a breather or cry in the bathroom without apologising to anyone for having feelings.

The aim is not to “do grief perfectly” or to prove anything to yourself or others. The aim is to come through the season with your nervous system as intact as possible, having allowed your love and sadness some safe space.

The Big Build-Up and the Emotional Anti-Climax

Another theme I hear a lot is the strange hollow feeling that sneaks in on Christmas night or in the days after. People often say things like, "I was so busy and wired for weeks, and then suddenly I just felt flat and a bit empty. I do not even know why."

The month before Christmas is usually packed with build-up. Even if you are not someone who loves Christmas, it is hard to avoid:

• Adverts, music and social media posts everywhere you look

• Work dos, school events, parties and family planning conversations

• The mental load of shopping, wrapping, organising travel, planning food, hosting or working out who goes where and when

• The constant story that everything is building towards "the big day"

Your brain quietly absorbs all of that. There is a sense, often unspoken, that if you can just get everything right, Christmas will reward you with a very particular kind of happiness and connection. Many people are exhausted long before they even reach Christmas Eve, but still keep pushing because the deadline is fixed.

Then the day itself arrives. And, because life is life, it is usually imperfect.

Someone wakes up ill. The potatoes burn. A toy breaks straight out of the box. A relative makes a snide comment. Kids are tired and overstimulated. The conversation you were dreading still happens. The moment you imagined in your head does not land in quite the way you hoped. Even if there are genuinely lovely bits, it probably does not feel like the sparkling, effortless version you have been sold.

And then, very quickly, it is over. The wrapping paper is in the bin, half the food is congealing in dishes, there is a mountain of washing up, people are scrolling on their phones or drifting off to sleep, and you are left with tiredness, maybe a headache, and a quiet sense of "Is that it?"

From a psychological point of view, this is a classic recipe for a crash. For weeks, your body has been running on higher levels of stress hormones and adrenaline, fuelled by lists, deadlines, social events and the general December rush. There is also a steady drip of dopamine from planning, anticipating and imagining how things will be.

Once the main event has passed, those levels drop. Your nervous system goes from high alert and high activity to "now what?" very quickly. That sudden drop can feel like a kind of emotional hangover. You might feel:

• Flat or numb

• Tearful or oddly fragile

• Low in mood, even if nothing is obviously "wrong"

• Restless, irritable or empty, as if you are supposed to be doing something but cannot quite work out what

This experience can be especially strong if you were pinning a lot of hope on Christmas as the thing that would "make up for" a hard year, fix relationship tensions, or create the sense of belonging you have been missing. When reality falls short of that hope, even in small ways, your brain feels the gap very sharply.

None of this means you have failed at Christmas or that you are ungrateful. It means your nervous system is coming down from a high-pressure, highly stimulating period, and that your expectations have just collided with real life. In many ways, feeling a bit wobbly afterwards is a normal, healthy response to an intense few weeks.

Strategies To Protect Your Mental Health This Christmas

You cannot control other people, and you might not be able to control every detail of the day. You can, however, make choices that protect your energy and align more closely with your values.

Here are some ideas to consider. You absolutely do not need to do them all. Treat this like a menu you can pick from, not a checklist you have to complete.

1. Deciding what matters most to you this year

Before everyone else’s expectations rush in, it can be powerful to pause and ask yourself, quietly and honestly, what you actually want from this Christmas. You might sit with a cup of tea and gently ask yourself:

• What do I genuinely want more of this Christmas?

• What do I genuinely want less of?

When you sit with those questions, you might realise that what you really want is a calmer day with fewer people, or more time to rest rather than host. You might notice that one or two simple traditions feel meaningful, while others feel heavy or performative. You might find you want less focus on gifts and more on warmth, connection and having everyone feel safe.

Once you know your own priorities, it becomes easier to say no to things that do not fit, and to let go of the pressure to deliver everybody else’s version of “the perfect Christmas”.

2. Planning for contact with difficult or abusive people

If you are spending time with someone who has been abusive, controlling, gaslighting or relentlessly critical, it is important to take your safety very seriously. Christmas has a way of dragging old dynamics back to the surface and telling us we “have to” put up with things that are actually harmful.

You are allowed to put some structure and safety nets around that contact. For example, you might decide to shorten the time you spend with them and limit it to lunch or a couple of hours rather than the whole day. You might plan an exit strategy in advance so you have a simple, believable reason to leave early if you need to: “We have to get the kids home for bedtime,” or “I am not feeling well, I am going to head off.”

It can help to position yourself near people who feel more supportive, rather than next to the most difficult person at the table. Some people agree a quiet signal with a trusted partner or friend that means “I need help” or “I need to leave the room,” so you are not trying to manage everything alone.

You can also decide ahead of time which topics you will not engage with. If they are brought up, you might use phrases such as:

• “I am not discussing that today.”

• “Let’s change the subject.”

• “I am not comfortable going into that.”

You are not responsible for managing other adults’ moods or reactions. You are responsible for looking after your own wellbeing, and sometimes that means limiting contact, leaving early or choosing not to go at all.

3. Boundaries and saying no without writing a full essay

You are allowed to say no at Christmas. In many ways, that is when boundaries are most needed, because there are so many demands, traditions and expectations flying around.

Boundaries can be clear and kind at the same time. You do not have to justify every decision in detail or write a long explanation. A simple, calm statement is often enough. For example, you might say:

• “Thank you for inviting us. This year we are keeping Christmas very quiet at home, but we would love to see you another day.”

• “I cannot contribute to that this year, money is tight, but I can help in other ways.”

• “I am not comfortable with that conversation. Let’s change the subject.”

• “I am going to head upstairs for a bit of quiet time. I will be back down later.”

People who are used to you having no boundaries may react badly at first. That discomfort does not mean you are wrong, it just means they are adjusting to a new pattern. You are allowed to protect your energy, your finances, your time and your nervous system, even if other people do not like it.

4. Protecting your finances

Money worries can sit quietly in the background all season, and then shout very loudly in January. If finances are tight, it does not mean you are failing. It means you are human and living in a real economy.

Even a small amount of planning can reduce the emotional load. You might set a total budget and divide it into rough categories, so you have a sense of “enough” and are not making every decision on the spot. You might agree spending limits with family or friends. Many people secretly feel relieved when someone suggests this.

It can also be helpful to get creative about gifts. Homemade biscuits or fudge in simple packaging, a heartfelt letter, a shared experience in the new year, or “time vouchers” such as babysitting, dog walking, help with DIY or a home cooked meal can feel far more meaningful than another impulse purchase.

Notice which social media accounts ramp up comparison and pressure to buy. You are allowed to mute or unfollow them for the season.

You are not letting your loved ones down by spending less. You are protecting your future self from debt, shame and panic, and that is an act of care.

5. Planning for sensory breaks and downtime

Christmas can be a sensory storm. Flashing lights, loud TV, cooking smells, multiple conversations at once, unfamiliar houses, itchy clothes. If your nervous system is sensitive, or if you are autistic, ADHD, anxious, burnt out or simply overwhelmed, it can all feel like too much.

Instead of waiting until you are at breaking point, you can build in pockets of regulation on purpose. That might look like a quiet walk outside between courses, headphones and a favourite podcast in another room, a calmer corner of the house where lights are softer and noise is reduced, or some time alone with a book, game or craft while others are watching loud TV.

If you are caring for children who struggle with sensory overload, it can help to let them know in advance what the day will roughly look like, show them where they can go for a quiet break, bring familiar snacks, sensory toys or comfort items if you are going somewhere else, and lower your expectations of “perfect behaviour”. Focus on safety and regulation rather than performance.

A regulated nervous system is far more important than a photo perfect day.

6. Managing grief

If you are grieving this year, it can help to go in with a simple, kind plan rather than expecting yourself to power through. You might decide your own “emotional exits” in advance, for example telling yourself it is fine to step outside for air, to sit in a quiet room for ten minutes or to leave an event early if your body feels overwhelmed. You could let one or two trusted people know that you might need a check-in message or a hug, so you are not carrying it all silently.

Some people find comfort in a small ritual to honour the person who has died, such as lighting a candle, hanging a specific decoration, making their favourite dessert or sharing one memory of them at some point in the day. Others need to shrink Christmas right down, choosing one simple meal, one film, one visit, and letting the rest go. There is no right way. You can keep asking, “What would make this slightly gentler on my nervous system?” and let that guide you.

When emotions surge, very simple grounding can help you ride the wave: slowing your breathing, putting your feet firmly on the floor, feeling the chair beneath you and naming a few things you can see or hear right now. If certain topics feel too raw, it is also fine to say, “I cannot get into that today, but thank you for understanding.” Grief at Christmas is already hard work. The kindest “strategy” is anything that gives you a bit more oxygen, a bit more softness and permission to feel what you feel rather than pretending you are okay.

7.Managing the build up and the come down

Christmas does not exist in isolation. It comes with a long build up and then a sudden drop, and your body and mind feel that arc.

During the build up, you might notice invitations, school events, work parties and social traditions piling up. It is completely valid to pace yourself. You do not need to attend every event or say yes to every invitation. Keeping some parts of your usual routine in place, particularly around sleep and regular meals, can give your system some stability. It can also help to schedule small moments of rest on purpose, rather than only stopping when you are exhausted.

Afterwards, it is very common to feel tired, flat or strangely low. This is not you failing. It is your nervous system recalibrating after weeks of anticipation, extra stimulation and social effort. You can plan some gentle, pleasant activities for the days after, such as quiet walks, films, reading, simple hobbies or time with one or two safe people. It can be useful if these do not revolve solely around alcohol, food or big socialising.

If self criticism shows up, saying things like “I should have done it differently,” or “I ruined it,” see if you can answer back kindly: I did the best I could with the resources and energy I had at the time.

Making gifts and simplifying traditions

There can be something very soothing about stepping out of the buy wrap repeat cycle and choosing simplicity or creativity instead. Slowing down to make or write something small can feel grounding, as long as it does not turn into another perfectionist project.

You might bake biscuits or fudge and package them simply, write a short, heartfelt note to one or two people who truly matter, or create a small “favourite memory of this year” card for each family member. You might offer time as a gift, such as babysitting, dog walking, a home cooked meal in January or help with a project that has been hanging over someone.

If making gifts starts to feel like another high pressure performance, it is absolutely fine to scale right back. The aim is meaning, not impressing anyone.

The same is true of traditions. You do not have to keep every single one alive. You are allowed to quietly retire the ones that drain you, even if you have “always” done them, and to keep or create the ones that genuinely add warmth and connection. Traditions are there to serve people, not the other way round.

How To Have Fun While Still Prioritising Yourself

It is possible to enjoy parts of Christmas without sacrificing your wellbeing. It often comes down to permission. You are allowed to:

• Choose the bits you genuinely like and lean into those (for example, one film, one meal, one small ritual)

• Leave or avoid the parts that always end badly

• Laugh, play silly games or wear the paper crown, even if the rest of the year has been heavy

• Limit your social media use if it leaves you feeling worse

• Create small moments that feel good in your body: a hot bath, cosy socks, five minutes of deep breathing, star-gazing after dark

Fun does not have to look like a party with twenty people. It might look like a quiet jigsaw, a walk by the sea, a board game with someone who makes you feel safe, or pausing to properly taste your favourite festive food.

Prioritising yourself does not mean you do not care about others. It means you recognise that when your own nervous system is completely depleted, you cannot show up for anyone in a way that feels good.

A Final Reflection

If Christmas feels complicated for you, you are in very good company. Behind many neat family photos are people who are exhausted, triggered, grieving, overwhelmed or simply wishing it was January. I am always very honest that Christmas hasn't always been a good time for me. Now using strategies I am able to enjoy it in my own way and the people I love make it special knowing my boundaries,

You are not difficult for finding this time of year hard. Your reactions make sense in the context of your history, your nervous system and your current life.

This year, you might not be able to change everything. You might still find yourself at a table with people who do not see you clearly, or juggling money in ways that make your stomach knot.

Even so, you can offer yourself small acts of protection and kindness. One firmer boundary. One shorter visit. One honest conversation. One moment alone to breathe. One choice that is based on what you need rather than what the advert or the relative or the internal critic demands.

Christmas is not an exam you can fail. It is a cluster of days that you are allowed to move through in whatever way keeps you safest and most grounded.

If this time of year brings up things that feel too big or painful to handle alone, reaching out for psychological support can be a powerful, brave step. You do not have to untangle all of this by yourself.

Most importantly, you are allowed to have a Christmas that feels safe and manageable. Your version of “good enough” might look very different from what your family, friends or social media expect. That does not make it wrong. It makes it yours.

As always until next time

Carla