The Grief No One Talks About: Parenting a Neurodivergent Child During the Holidays

You’re sitting at a holiday gathering, and you notice it.

Your sister’s kids are laughing, participating, smiling for the camera. Yours just stormed off. Or is hiding in the other room. Or is hanging by a thread.

Maybe it was a meltdown on the way there. Perhaps it’s the tension in your body because you’re bracing for the next moment someone comments on your parenting. Or maybe it’s the deep sadness that no one else seems to notice how hard your child is trying.

I’ve been in that moment — scanning the room, bracing my body, hoping no one says the thing. Knowing my child is doing their best, even when it doesn’t look that way to others.

That feeling in your chest? That ache in your throat?

That’s not just holiday stress. That’s grief.

This time of year can quietly break your heart

The grief of parenting a differently wired child — whether that’s ADHD, anxiety, sensory sensitivities, or emotional regulation challenges — often shows up quietly. And it rarely gets named.

It shows up:

• When you skip an event because you know your child won’t make it through

• When you’re navigating judgment instead of joy

• When you see how much harder things are for your child compared to their peers

• When the holiday traditions you imagined just don’t work for your family

  
  

It’s grief for the version of parenthood you thought you’d have. And it’s grief for your child, too — for the invisible ways they’re misunderstood, overlooked, or expected to cope with more than they should have to.

“But I should be grateful…”

This is where it gets complicated.

Because of course you’re grateful. Of course, you love your child fiercely. Of course, you see their strengths, their humor, their heart.

But you can love your child with your whole heart and grieve the way things are.

You can feel joy and sadness at the same time. You're not ungrateful. You’re human.

Let’s stop pretending gratitude cancels out grief. It doesn't!

hold space for your feelings

This isn’t about staying stuck in sadness. It's not about feeling sorry for yourself. It's about making space for what’s real — so you can move through this season with more clarity, less resentment, and more compassion for yourself.

Here’s what helps:

🌿 Name it so it doesn’t fester. Say it out loud or write it down: “This part is hard.”“This isn’t the season I imagined.”Validation is the first step to healing.

🌿 Protect your peace. It’s okay to skip traditions that bring more stress than joy. It's okay to say no or ask for a minute. It's okay to do less. Your worth is not tied to how well you perform during the holidays. And neither is your child's.

🌿 Find the good — but don’t force it. Notice the tiny wins. The quiet moments of connection. The ways your child tries again. Let them be real, not performative.

🌿 Connect with people who get it. Surround yourself with other parents who won’t judge you for telling the truth. The kind of support where you don’t have to explain or minimize your experience.

You’re allowed to feel it all

You’re allowed to cry on the way home from the party. You’re allowed to feel proud and heartbroken in the same breath. You’re allowed to want something different sometimes and still love the child in front of you with everything you’ve got.

Grief doesn’t mean you’ve given up. Or that it's your usual feeling.

It means you’re letting go of what you can’t control — and making room for what really matters: connection, honesty, and the kind of love that meets your child exactly where they are.

You’re not doing it wrong. You’re just doing something really hard — and doing it with courage and love and your whole heart.

If you need a space to say the hard things and be met with understanding instead of judgment, join my free Facebook group. It’s filled with parents navigating the same grief, joy, and everything in between — together.