Festive Freakouts
Understanding nervous systems, sensory overload, and inclusion during the holidays
The Dinner Table Moment
The holidays always bring out something special in everyone. People are joyful, generous and full of good cheer. Until, at a dinner table filled with relatives of all ages, someone sets their spoon down on the porcelain a little too hard. What follows is a full blown meltdown from 8 year old Sam who has been squashed between Aunt Martha and her overwhelming floral scent and Uncle Jim, who’s scratchy pullover has been touching Sam all dinner due to Uncle Jim's broad stature.
What Do We Expect to Happen?
What scene would we expect to play out at this point? Discipline and punishment? Embarrassed excuses? Diffusion and accommodation?
Most of the time, the response is to control and shut down the "behaviour". Sometimes a sharp whisper to “stop it”, a promise of a consequence once guests have left if the behaviour continues or a reward if Sam stops himself mid meltdown. An apology offered on Sam’s behalf, carefully worded to ease the discomfort of the older generations at the table. Gentle Aunt Martha may kindly mention that Sam must be tired. Hardened Uncle Jim may comment that Sam needs firmer boundaries or should stop being a big baby. The moment becomes about restoring order. The focus is on the adults, who have years of experience in learning how to cope in these situations, and keeping them comfortable.
Rarely do we pause to ask what Sam’s nervous system has been trying to communicate all along. The signs that the adults have already missed.
What the Nervous System Was Saying
Long before the spoon met the porcelain, Sam’s body had been working overtime. The room was loud. The smells were suffocating. The seat was tight. The scratch of Uncle Jim’s pullover had been a constant, inescapable irritation. Each sensation, barely tolerable on its own, accumulated quietly until there was no more room to cope. Sams window of tolerance had closed. The meltdown was not the beginning of the problem, it was the grand finale, the message that Sams system had reached capacity.
For any child, and especially neurodivergent children and many adults moments like these are not a behavioural failure. They are a predictable response to environments that demand far more than their nervous systems can deal with.
Why the Holidays Make This Worse
So why don't our expectations of the holidays make space for this understanding… Christmas is meant to be joyful. Togetherness is non-negotiable. Discomfort is something to be pushed through for the sake of tradition. Most of us loathe it to some degree. The setting up, the cleaning up, the dreadful anticipation of the family drama that is bound to unfold, the toxic aunt that invalidates and gaslights even the grown adults around the table.
For many of us, we dont enjoy the holidays, we tolerate them. When someone struggles, the instinct is to correct the behaviour rather than adjust the environment.There is no deviation from the norm, no one is willing to compromise and at the end of the day, many walk away disappointed, overwhelmed and as each subsequent year draws to a close, anxiety will grow as will a hatred for the holidays.
Reaction vs Compassionate Response
What if instead of REACTING in these hard moments, we chose compassionate RESPONSE?
What if we CHOSE to understand WHO Sam was, and offered accomodation instead of offering discipline or dismissal. What if we asked Sam what change was needed to achieve nervous system regulation and to reopen that window of tolerance so that Sam could also have a good time? What if reducing distress became more important than preserving appearances or preventing the oldies from taking offense?
When we choose to diffuse and accommodate, we don’t just prevent a meltdown, we model and embrace safe communication. We teach that our needs are valid, that our bodies can be trusted, and that connection with others does not require suffering first.
This Isn’t Just About Children
This isn’t just about children like Sam. The same dynamics play out around countless Christmas tables and New years gatherings, often in subtler ways. The teenager who withdraws, the adult who snaps, relatives who disappear into other rooms, or guests who leave early and carry guilt home with them. The nervous system doesn’t stop needing support just because we’ve learned how to mask.
The festive season magnifies everything. Which means it also offers us an opportunity to notice, to rethink, and to create gatherings that are truly inclusive.Not only considering who is invited, but also who is able to stay regulated once they arrive. I have sat at far too many gatherings where my children were invited but we had to leave early due to sensory overwhelm, social burnout and even a lack of appropriate food choice for children in general.
When Predictability Disappears
The holidays are often described as magical, but for some reason this magic relies on a certain kind of flexibility and for many people regardless of neurotype, this season just demands more than they have the capacity to offer.
The holidays are an assault on predictability. Routines disappear. Sleep needs are suddenly ignored. Meals happen later or not at all. Houses are filled with people, noise, smells, decorations, expectations. The very things that help regulate a nervous system; consistency, clarity, autonomy are stripped away in the name of good cheer.
For nervous systems, this matters.
It’s Not Resilience — It’s Visibility
Children like Sam may experience this dysregulation loudly and visibly. Their distress is harder to ignore, their meltdowns harder to explain away. But the same sensory, social and emotional pressures affect everyone, especially neurodivergent people, at every stage of life they simply look different as we grow older.
Teenagers may retreat behind bedroom doors, adults chit chat through clenched teeth, enduring hours of discomfort before snapping, shutting down, or leaving abruptly. Some internalise the strain entirely, taking home anxiety, exhaustion or shame after the festivities end.
The difference is not resilience. It is visibility.
From Reaction to Consideration
Responding with accommodation after distress erupts is kinda reactive and insufficient, don't you think? Reaction, even the accommodating kind, does not prevent distress. It does not protect our loved ones.
The real foundation of inclusion does not begin at the moment of crisis, but before the table is set, before the guests arrive, and before the meal is decided on.
Could we shift our focus from managing meltdowns and shutdowns to planning gatherings with nervous systems in mind, across all ages and neurotypes?
True inclusion is not just about accommodation, it's about consideration.
What Consideration Looks Like
Consideration asks, “What would make this feel easier from the start?”
It invites us to think ahead, to anticipate stressful demands, and to adjust expectations before anyone even walks into the room..
For a child, consideration is planning appropriate seating, allowing movement, or removing the expectation to sit through a long meal.
For a teenager, it may mean offering clear start and end times, a swift exit without consequence, or freedom from forced social interaction.
For an adult, there could be no expectation to stay until the end, eating separately, or declining the invitation without embarrassment or shame.
Creating Space to Belong
Consideration is quieter than accommodation. It often goes unseen. When done well, there may be no meltdown to manage, no behaviour to explain and no chaos to calm. That invisibility can make it easy to underestimate its value.
But consideration is where inclusion truly begins.
To support this shift from reaction to consideration, we’ve created a “Reducing Festive Freak-Outs for All Ages” resource pack: a practical, compassionate guide designed to help families, educators and neurodivergent adults plan ahead, reduce overload, and navigate the holidays.
Because when we consider nervous systems before they are overwhelmed, we don’t just reduce distress, we create space for everyone to truly belong.
—J