Follow-Up: ‘Twas the Night Before an Autism Christmas

I want to thank you all for the lovely comments after last week’s post. I appreciate everyone who reached out.

The story I tell in this poem is based in part on my own family’s experience, and in part on so many other experiences that get shared this time of year. My heart breaks with every story of hurtful reactions and willful ignorance from the people who should be the most loving and supporting.

Holidays and gatherings can be hard for autism and special needs families. When life changes dramatically, extended family often have a hard time adapting. They aren’t there in the day-to-day to truly understand the extent of the challenges and changes, until a holiday or a reunion comes along, and they are met with the differences all at once. In that moment, they have a choice between being receptive, curious, and willing to be taught, or to remain rigid in their own viewpoints and traditions, demanding that everything stay the same for their own comfort. It’s a blessing when they chose the former, and a heartache when they choose the latter.

Holiday pressure doesn’t just come from family. It comes from every direction every minute of the day this time of year for disability families. Storefronts fill with toys that their sensory-sensitive child wouldn’t enjoy. Coworkers and acquaintances speak of family traditions with fondness and anticipation, while their own family seems broken by comparison. Christmas movies present a picturesque version of a holiday season filled with spontaneous magic, while their own holidays are filled with medical interventions and schedules that cannot be deviated from. Social media fills up with perfectly planned and posed family portraits and they grieve the fact that their child hasn’t sat long enough for a family photo ever. Even the twinkle lights lining every street can be a reminder of the decorations they can’t have in their own homes because of safety concerns.

If you are hurting this holiday because your celebration has changed, I see you. I see you. And I love you.

I know the special kind of grief that comes in stages, as parts of your life die to make way for the new. I know the longing for the familiar comfortable traditions, and the passion behind burning it all to the ground for the sake of a little person who you would do anything for. And I know the beauty of beginning anew, and creating non-typical traditions that, in time, become even more precious than the ones you gave up. Because those traditions… the ones forged in a fire of love and tenacity… are the ones that reflect who you really are.

The traditions you grow up with shape you. The traditions around you can influence you. But the traditions you create out of your own convictions reflect your true values and strength. The traditions you create for your family are an act of true love.

You can do this, Mama. You’ve got this, Dad. If your world makes no sense right now, that’s ok. Breathe. Grieve. Try again tomorrow. I have 100% faith that you will find your way.   

Much Love, Ashley

View and/or print my poem: ‘Twas the Night Before an Autism Christmas HERE.

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