08/12/2025
This article fromThe Autistic SENCO sums things up for my two youngest. Although they love Christmas the changes in routine are always such a struggle. At our coffee morning at West Derby Children's centre on Wednesday will be sharing practical advice and strategies to help you to support your family to have a very merry Christmas xx
The overwhelm of December
December in schools is… a lot.
And while it all looks magical from the outside — the sparkle, the music, the glitter that seems to work its way into your shoes and stay there until March — for so many children it feels anything but magical. It feels unfamiliar. Wobbly. Like the ground shifts a little every day.
Since September, children have slowly built themselves a rhythm. A sense of safety. The familiar seat, the predictable adult, the hum of the classroom as it usually is. Those tiny anchors matter more than most people realise — especially for the children who rely on consistency to feel safe enough to learn, connect, or simply get through the day.
And then December arrives and knocks half of those anchors sideways.
Timetables get rewritten. Teachers are off. There’s a rehearsal here, an assembly there, someone’s sorted the tinsel out and suddenly the classroom looks like Santa sneezed in it. The noise goes up. The routine goes down. One day it’s normal lessons, the next it’s “Christmas jumper day” and nobody is exactly sure what’s happening after lunch.
For some children, all of that is exciting.
For others — especially our neurodivergent children, our anxious ones, our deeply sensitive ones, our children carrying trauma or juggling too many demands already — it’s overwhelming. It’s too much, too soon, too bright, too loud, too unpredictable.
And when they wobble — which they inevitably do — the response is often:
“But it’s Christmas!”
“This is fun!”
“Everyone else loves this!”
Except… not everyone does. And that’s okay.
The truth is that many children spend December quietly white-knuckling their way through each day. Holding it together. Masking even harder. Pushing down the overwhelm because they don’t want to get it “wrong.” Counting down to the holidays not with excitement, but with dread — because another huge transition is coming.
So when a child becomes clingier, louder, quieter, more exhausted or more explosive at this time of year, it isn’t a lack of festive spirit. It isn’t naughtiness. It isn’t ingratitude.
It’s their nervous system saying, “This is too much.”
This is the side of Christmas in schools we don’t talk about enough — the Christmas that doesn’t sparkle. The one happening inside children’s bodies, not on the stage or the display board.
What these children need isn’t more glitter or more performances.
They need grounding.
Predictability.
Calm.
Choice.
Gentleness.
A chance to breathe.
They need permission to experience December in a way that feels safe for them — not the way the calendar, or tradition, or a curriculum plan says they should.
Sometimes the most inclusive thing we can do at Christmas is to soften everything. To hold onto the routines that help. To offer opt-outs without shame. To create quiet corners instead of louder activities. To understand that festive doesn’t look the same for everyone.
And that the most magical thing we can gift a child — any child — is not sparkle or spectacle.
It’s empathy.
Emma
The Autistic SENCo
♾️
Photo: A Christmas tree from Christmas past
