First off, I’m a bit annoyed with myself. This was supposed to be going up earlier in the week. Regrettably, I then went to my Dad’s, who turned out to have no internet. Oh well, it’s forcing me out of room and into being social, which I guess is the point of having a family Christmas.
For a long time, Christmas has been a bit of a weird time for me. Up until the age of about 16, it was me, my Mum, and my Dad in a mildly stressful but ultimately happy dynamic. That fell to pieces at 17, and at 18 I outright refused to come home. Ever since, Christmas has been a mixture of the weird and the wonderful. More weird than wonderful, to be honest.
See, now my Dad has a whole new family (and cat). Josh is still in the picture, obviously, and my sort-of-stepmother has a mother, and three kids of her own, two of whom have long-term partners. Christmas Day rocketed from three people to about nine in the space of a very short time. New house, new town, new people, new baby this year…for an awkward dyspraxic-autistic kid it was like being thrown into the seventh circle of Hell. All my little Christmas traditions went completely out of the window, along with my comfort zone. Which incidentaly, I’ve never found since.
I’ll be honest, I spent the first year of it all drinking steadily. I think I drank about half a bottle of Amaretto, plus some bubbly with dinner. Worked for me, since Amaretto I can drink pretty well without being too ill. My boyfriend and I, however, agreed that it wasn’t a very healthy comping strategy and I abstained last year. Big mistake. Massive anxiety attack slap-bang in the middle of dinner.
If there’s one day you don;t want to be having an anxiety attack, it’s Christmas, made worse when Dad wanted some help and then got pissed when I couldn’t give it to him and accused me of throwing a tantrum just to be awkward. Anyone who knows me knows I grew out of that phase aged about 15. Would he or my stepmum listen to me? Absolutely not. And ever year since, something about Christmas has devolved into some kind of massive argument. Needless to say, I’m not looking forward to it this year.
Well, that’s a lie. I still love the spirit of Christmas; the pretty lights, the good food, and the crap telly. The one time of the year the family really comes together in the season of forgiveness n’ all that. Thing is, I feel more and more like a guest in my own family a lot of the time these days. Mum’s got her lot, Dad’s got his lot, and I’m left somewhere in the middle, drifting from one to the other as time and money allow. I’d stop; but Josh IS my Christmas tradition now. I’m not sure I could ever really stop seeing him, even if the rest of the visit is awkward as hell. My Dad’s partner’s family are lovely people, but occasionally I’m not convinced of how much they understand about a condition like mine – nothing obviously wrong, just a different view of the world that they’re not necessarily expecting.
It harks back to a point made by by our old friend in this post here – If you misunderstand something, it’s Your Fault. It’s not the nicest feeling in the world, misunderstanding something and then being told off because you misinterpreted it. This applies to all the times of year, not just Christmas. And I’m not throwing a tantrum – I’m being overwhelmed. Anxiety attached to autism is not restricted to small children in supermarkets – it occurs in adults to, even adults who are borderline. Dyspraxia itself comes with its own dose of social awkwardness, and I find, especially with me, it’s often this that creates the anxiety; they aren’t mutually exclusive. You screw up in public, you aren’t sure why or how, and nobody will explain it to you.
So think about your family neuroatypical this Christmas. If they’re scared, or triggered, or down, try talking to them. We exist, we’re valid, and it’s not just up to us to make Christmas amazing for the whole family.
Stay awesome, and have a Merry Christmas/Happy Holiday, one and all. I’ll finish on a word from Tiny Tim (A Christmas Carol)
“Bless us, every one.”