Confessions of a Christmas Ruiner
This week has sucked, and (super unpopular opinion) I hate this time of year. Or maybe it’s more like dread than hate. I honestly don’t want to dread it, but I do. A fact I have endless guilt, a whole lot of grief, and a pile of rage about – for reasons I could write a book on, if I ever had the energy, uninterrupted time, and the executive functioning, available.
I’d like to take all the accumulated baggage I have about of this time of year and dump it in an incinerator. Burn the lot of it, until it’s nothing but a pile of dust, and weighs as little to carry.
But that’s not possible, so instead, I’m sitting in bed at 10:42 a.m. on this gloomy Wednesday in late November, after a false start to the day. I tried. I really did. I got up, had the coffee, tidied the kitchen, did a bit of reading and scrolling, washed up, and then wandered around the house aimlessly for a half hour or so, looking at, and thinking about, all the things that need to be done, before crawling back into bed with my laptop, to see if I could at least write some words.
As I’ve said before, writing helps me process and make sense of my emotions and experiences. It’s especially helpful when I share. ‘Putting it out there’ always feels cathartic. A way of unburdening, of alleviating the constant weight of unspoken truth. If even just for awhile. A way of feeling less alone in my experience and struggles. It is literally the best therapy I have ever engaged in, and it’s a lot less expensive, too!
In trying to navigate this time of year and avoid all the land mines buried by the ghosts of Christmases past, I find myself in a state of Autistic inertia. Frozen, overwhelmed, stuck.
Autistic inertia is the very real and common experience of being stuck in a state of doing or non-doing. We can have difficulty starting tasks, stopping tasks, or switching tasks.
For non-autistics who don’t have this experience, at least to the degree Autistic people do, I would describe the state of being stuck in non-doing, as akin to the “freeze” trauma response (if you’re familiar with that). And to be honest, I suspect there is some overlap. At least, in those (like me) who also have C-PTSD layered on top of (and often related to) their Autism/AuDHD.
According to an article titled: “Autistic Inertia: Stranded in the Moment,” on Reframing Autism’s site, “Autistic inertia can definitely be heightened by stress, in common with many Autistic behaviours which may only appear when we are under pressure and can no longer compensate.”
Yep. Exactly. In fact, most Autistics get identified/diagnosed when they are under stress, because that’s when we lose our capacity to cope/mask/survive in the world not designed for us, and our neurodivergence comes bursting out of the closet.
This time of year, is inevitably stress and pressure filled, so it makes sense that many of us struggle more during the ‘festive’ season. Personally, my ability to cope with it all, isn’t getting any better as time goes on.
I see so many posts, articles, videos, and other resources aimed at Autistic and Neurodivergent people, giving helpful tips and strategies for how to survive the holidays. They talk about setting boundaries, taking breaks, asking for support, etc. etc., blah, blah, blah.
I don’t mean to sound cynical. I know this kind of advice is helpful for many folks. But personally, whenever I see this kind of thing, I find myself scoffing and whispering under my breath, “Ha! Sure. Ok. Riiiiiight. Easy for you to say.”
Look, if doing those things is possible for you, and it won’t result in blowing up in your face and making things more difficult than they already are, then go for it. I’m jealous. But that’s just not realistic advice for many of us, who are damned if we do and damned if we don’t. Some of us pay the price whether we take our own needs/capacity, etc. into consideration, or not.
For me, the holidays feel like a no-win situation, and I absolutely hate that. I hate it for me, and I hate it for the people around me, too. People who I know also have their own baggage to carry around.
Last year, was a particularly rough one. In chronic burnout, fibromyalgia flaring (stress exacerbates this condition, too), having just come out the other side of financial hell by the skin of our teeth, feeling completely depleted, disoriented, frazzled, spent. With no gas left in the tank, we opted to do things a bit differently. We chose to participate in Christmas Day, but to spend Christmas Eve at home.
We gave our kids the choice, and they opted to participate in both, which was totally ok by us. I just couldn’t do both. I literally couldn’t do the chaos, the people-ing, and the emotional roller coaster of it all. I had to make a choice between one or the other (even that was pushing it, given the state I was in).
And, well, let’s just say, that did NOT go over well. Not at all. People took that decision very personally, even though it wasn’t about them. No matter how it was explained, it wasn’t acceptable. It did not matter that I was hanging on by a thread. What mattered most was tradition, and other people’s comfort and expectations.
By taking care of my own, very real needs, it was made abundantly clear to me, that I was The Big Christmas Ruiner (Hmmm, maybe I’ll get a t-shirt made).
All jokes aside, it felt like being punched in the gut. Kicked when I was already down. When I showed up on Christmas Day, turkey in tow, as had been planned, you could have cut the tension with a knife. It was traumatic. No exaggeration. And I’ve been especially dreading this year, ever since.
I can’t help but think that if I had been unwell in another, more acceptable way, like maybe with an acute injury or illness, my inability to participate as expected, would have been met with much less judgement and resentment, and more understanding.
So, here I am. It’s now 1:32 on a gloomy Wednesday in late November, and I’m currently writing to you from my desk. I managed to move from the bed to across the hall. In some woo-woo way, the writing helps move the energy. I’m convinced of it. I’m feeling slightly less stuck and am trying to find the light.
A glimmer enters, when I think about our kids (who were playing Minecraft with each other from a distance, last night), being under the same roof again. Another glimmer comes when I think about how excited they still get when we watch our favourite Christmas special, Olive the Other Reindeer, together. We’ll all laugh hysterically during the scene when Fido the flea says, “shook a trout fondue,” (you really must see it for yourself). One more glimmer arrives when I flash to the feeling of sitting quietly by the twinkling lights of the tree. And another, when I think about the kind of moving meditation that is making Christmas dinner. I’ve come to recognize it as a routine that helps ground me when all other routines are out the window until the New Year.
I welcome these glimmers and hope for more. I’m also hoping to muster the capacity and the will to push through another holiday season, and not be anyone’s, Big Christmas Ruiner, this year.
Above all, what I’m really wishing for, is that there will come a day when I look forward to this time of year, instead of dreading it.
Article from Reframing Autism: