Last Christmas: The Overwhelm No One Saw

Last Christmas: The Overwhelm No One Saw

Every year, people talk about Christmas with the same warm phrases, magical, cosy, family time, festive fun.
And every year, I smile politely… because our Christmas doesn’t really look like that.
Not really.

Last Christmas was a perfect example.
On the surface, it looked “fine”.
If you saw the photos, you’d think it was a normal, happy day.
But underneath?
It was a day of managing overwhelm from the moment she opened her eyes.

This is the side of Christmas that no one sees.
And if you’re a mum supporting a young adult with emotional dysregulation, anxiety, trauma, or a nervous system that overloads at the speed of light… you’ll recognise every word.

Christmas Morning: Pressure Wrapped in Paper

It starts before a single present is opened.
The pressure to be excited.
The pressure to react “right”.
The pressure to look happy, even if she’s already flooded with anxiety.

Wrapping paper everywhere, smells in the air, lights twinkling, it’s sensory chaos.
Before she’s even touched a gift, she’s tense.
Not because she’s ungrateful, far from it, but because Christmas morning demands performing.
And performing is exhausting for a nervous system already stretched thin.

Then comes the moment every parent of a sensitive young adult knows too well:
the fear of opening a gift she might not like.
Not because she’s picky, but because the shame if her face doesn’t match the “right” reaction is unbearable for her.

And if something’s faulty?
If something breaks or doesn’t fit?
Her anxiety shoots straight through the roof.
A tiny disappointment that someone else could brush off becomes a full-body overwhelm for her.

So yes… Christmas morning is hard.
Hard in ways most families will never understand.

The Nervousness Around Giving Gifts

And it isn’t just receiving gifts that’s hard, giving them is another layer entirely.

Last Christmas, she was so nervous about the gifts she was giving to us.
Not because she didn’t try.
Not because she wasn’t thoughtful.
But because the pressure of “What if it’s wrong?” is enormous when you live with a sensitive, anxious, trauma-affected nervous system.

She worried about everything:

• What if it’s not their style?

• What if they pretend to like it?

• What if it doesn’t fit?

• What if it breaks?

• What if it’s the wrong colour?

• What if it’s not enough?

Most people don’t realise how intense that fear is.
For her, giving a gift is not a light, joyful exchange, it’s an emotional tightrope.
She wants to get it “right” so desperately because she cares so deeply.
But that same caring turns into overwhelming anxiety.

I remember her sitting there, twisting her fingers, watching our faces with such quiet desperation.
And the second we smiled, she exhaled.
A massive, shaky breath

Getting Ready to Leave the House… Sounds Simple, Isn’t

By lunchtime, most families are buzzing around getting their outfits on, taking photos, grabbing the presents for whoever they’re visiting.

For us, it was… different.

The anxiety to even get in the car was simmering before we’d left the doorway.

• What if the car feels too small today?

• What if the journey feels too long?

• What if her body plays up halfway there?

• What if she panics?

• What if it’s all just too much?

And of course, I’m watching her closely.
Her breathing.
Her eyes.
Her tone.
Every micro-change the world wouldn’t notice, but I do.

Because that’s what mums like us do.
We become finely tuned emotional barometers, reading the storm before it hits.

Lunch Out: The Invisible Survival Kit

People assume eating out at Christmas is easy.
A roast dinner, a bit of music, a nice atmosphere.

For us, it takes a whole strategy.

The earpods go in first, a lifeline between her and the noise.

Then the exit plan:

“If you need a break, just nip to the car for five minutes. I’ll come with you.”

The quiet corner of the restaurant is noted.
The fidget toys go in the bag.
The phone is charged because scrolling is grounding.
And the agreement is clear:

“If it’s too much, we leave. No guilt. No fuss.”

Some people might look at that list and think,
“Isn’t that what you pack for a toddler?”

But let me be clear!
it’s not childish.
It’s essential.

When someone’s nervous system is flooded, overwhelmed, or traumatised, the world becomes too big, too loud, too fast.

These aren’t childlike coping tools.
They’re adult survival tools.

Tools that make the difference between coping and crisis.

And she did cope.
She got through it.
And I held my breath through every minute.

Holding It Together… And the Day After

And here’s the part we rarely talk about:

The next-day exhaustion.

For her.
And for me.

Christmas Day is one long performance: holding it together, masking, managing, breathing through the overwhelm.

For her, it’s a constant battle to stay grounded.

For me, it’s being “on duty” from wake-up to bedtime, scanning, supporting, soothing, adjusting, watching for warning signs, quietly averting meltdowns.

By Boxing Day, I was absolutely knackered.
Not “tired”, not “a bit worn out”…
utterly drained.

Emotionally.
Physically.
Mentally.

Because holding it all together takes more strength than anyone sees.

Other families are out doing the Boxing Day sales, or leftovers Round Two, or walks in the countryside.

We’re recovering.
She’s recharging her nervous system.
I’m reassembling myself after holding everything all day.

And again, no one sees that bit.

The Anxiety You Can’t Photograph

There’s no photo of:

• the panic when she thought a gift wasn’t right

• the overwhelm of too many boxes, too much noise

• the silent tears in the car

• the five-minute break outside the restaurant

• the deep breath she took before walking back in

• the moment she looked at me, scared, and I smiled as if everything was fine

Those moments don’t go on Instagram.
But they’re the truth.

And if you’ve lived a Christmas like this, you know exactly what I mean.

This Year, We’re Doing It Differently

Last year taught us a lot.

This year we’re:

• simplifying presents

• slowing the pace

• planning quiet moments

• lowering expectations

• building in breaks

• prioritising sensory comfort

• allowing opt-outs

• choosing calm over tradition

• protecting her peace and my own

Because a “perfect Christmas” doesn’t exist.
But a gentle one does.

And gentle feels like the goal.
For her.
For me.
For you.

To the mums doing a different kind of Christmas… I see you.

If last year felt overwhelming or if this year feels uncertain, please know you’re not alone.

Your Christmas might not be loud, busy, or traditionally festive.
It might look slower, quieter, more structured, more cautious.

But that doesn’t make it less meaningful.

Getting through the day safely, calmly, and with even one tiny moment of peace…
that’s a Christmas worth celebrating.

And we’ll walk this December together, gently, steadily, and without apology.

Your calm in the chaos,
Sami ⚓️