As an autistic woman, freelance writer Alice Linn often found that Christmas can be overwhelming with social changes, sensory overload, routines out the window and last-minute plans. But over time, she realised that embracing the routine and predictability doesn’t take away from the magic of Christmas – it actually makes it more meaningful.
In this piece, Alice reflects on how sticking to certain rituals and structures – like watching the same film each year, eating at the same time, or preparing the space in a calm way – reframes how people view routine, showing that structure can bring peace and celebration to the holidays, not limitation.
When I was younger, I thought my local neighbourhood was like a giant advent calendar. Every house was a number, and with that, a different festive story to tell once you peeked behind the door. Christmas means different memories, traditions, and expectations for everyone. Yet, when we talk about it, we assume everyone follows the same script. Routines are thrown out the window. For an autistic person, this alone can cause overwhelming dread.
Recently, I sat and reflected on my past holiday experiences. I realised it was my own sense of expectations and predictability that helped me feel joy on a day that doesn’t quite fit the everyday mould.
Comfort removes sensory stress
Let’s kick it off with what, for me, is one of the most important factors for a successful day: your clothing. The sensory queens and kings will unite with me here. What you wear is key. Comfort removes sensory stress. I’m part of the gang that heads straight for the pyjamas drawer the moment I get home. Sometimes, it’s the floor, depending on how many executive functioning spoons I have left for the day. (Spoons meaning: energy for daily tasks, which can be very inconsistent.)
As I sit here writing this, I am indeed wearing a Christmas set, enjoying the new soft feel, not worrying about what I look like or feeling any unnecessary irritation from a rogue waistband that has twisted itself in half. On Christmas day, people tend to fall into two camps: Team PJ’s, for the whole day, no questions asked, or Team Dress Up, the enjoyment out of getting ready for the occasion. I’d like to prefix No way is the right way, different horses for different courses.
What I wear has always come with added pressure to look a certain way, a younger version of myself would have put myself in situations that I felt very uncomfortable in what I wore, masking to within an inch of my existence, just to‘Fit in’, but with pyjamas I feel good, the expectations go out the door and my mind doesn’t have to give away any spoons to managing discomfort. Leaving more brain space to enjoy being present with loved ones.
So in the lead up, I search for a Christmas Day set, and once it passes my rigorous sensory tests, e.g. fabric feel, waistband feel (very important for me, especially on a day of indulgence), and sizing preferences, I buy and tick it off my preparations list. The stress it saves is enormous.
I could talk about pyjamas and the joy they bring me all day, but let’s move on.
Having time windows
This is something I’ve reflected on a lot recently, and it has genuinely helped with my expectations around things unexpectedly changing. Being younger at Christmas, I would find myself getting furious if dinner wasn’t presented at the exact time I was told. The rage would bubble up inside me, and little Alice would mask her feelings as it felt very unnecessary to feel that angry about something that to others felt minor.
If only I knew then that it wasn’t me being dramatic but just that my wonderfully unique neurodiverse brain couldn’t quite comprehend someone saying one thing and doing another.
I also come from a family that, for some reason or another, believes if you eat anything before Christmas dinner, then you’ll ruin your appetite for the big meal ahead. I have never understood this logic. Your hunger patterns don’t just change for this day only, but now, as an adult, I’ve chosen not to deep dive into this family debate and accept everyone moves differently in this world… especially at Christmas, so it seems.
So, as the day gets closer, I ask for Time Windows (an allocated clock range, e.g between 3 and 4pm) – for when dinner will be plated up, ready to be tucked into. This helps reduce any uncertainty and hunger anxiety on the day, so I’m not clock watching and tuning into every tick-tock as the specific time creeps up.
The predictability allows me to relax, be present and most importantly, not spiral from any unexpected time pivots.
Christmas repetitive viewing
With the pressure of dinner time eased, I lean into the best predictable anchor of the day, the Christmas specials that are religiously etched into the schedule every year, no exceptions.
I’ve heard the term be called Rewatch Culture (When a person rewatches the same familiar shows as a form of comfort, stability and emotional grounding), and this, for me, is a must on a day when overstimulation is a given.
The classics in my family, to name a few, are Home Alone, The Grinch, The Holiday and the staple of every British household: sitcom specials, with Gavin and Stacey being absolutely non-negotiable. There is nothing quite as comforting as Christmas repetitive viewing; the shows never change, and that kind of predictability is priceless for a neurodiverse brain.
Watching TV also allows something subtle but important: a moment to unmask from a day full of small talk, eye contact and social energy. Everyone is together but also quietly recharging one’s social batteries, a genuine win-win.
A softer, gentler Christmas built on routine
If there’s one thing I’ve learned as an autistic woman, it’s that routine isn’t a barrier to enjoying Christmas; it’s the foundation. The clothes that feel good, the time windows instead of strict expectations, the familiar TV specials… All these small structures give me the peace I need to be present with the people who mean the most.
So when I think back to the “giant advent calendar” of my childhood street, each door holding a different festive story, I realise this is mine. A Christmas built on predictability, softness and familiar rhythms. A Christmas where I am allowed to be myself. And in that quiet, steady space, I find the real Christmas joy.
Follow Alice Linn on LinkedIn.
Do Alice’s experiences resonate with you? We’d love to hear how other autistic people navigate Christmas, find comfort in routine, or shape the season to truly feel like their own. Let us know in the comments box, on social media or contact us to share your personal story.