Holidays and the Disruption of Routine
Reclaiming Peace, Identity, and Truth in the Face of Holidays and Political Turmoil
The holidays often serve as a double-edged sword. For many, they bring joy, connection, and warmth as families gather to celebrate cherished traditions. For others, they disrupt carefully constructed routines, overwhelm the senses, and amplify societal pressures to “fit in.” For autistic people, these disruptions can create a perfect storm of stress, anxiety, and exhaustion. The expectation to seamlessly adapt to such changes often leads to the well-meaning but dismissive advice from neurotypical family members to “just get over it.” This oversimplification fails to recognise the complexity of autistic experiences and the vital role routines play in our well-being.
As someone who has lived with an autistic brain for over half a century, I want to share what routines mean for neurodivergent individuals. They are not quirks or indulgences—they are essential survival tools. Routines provide a sense of stability, safety, and predictability in a world that often feels chaotic and overwhelming. By understanding this, we can foster greater compassion and create environments that are more inclusive and supportive, especially during the holiday season.
The concept of “routine” is often misunderstood, reduced to a stereotype in depictions of autism. Yet, everyone has routines: smokers with their cigarette breaks, coffee drinkers with their morning rituals, bartenders with their shift preparations, and even baseball players with the intricate rituals they follow at bat. But for autistic people, routines serve a far deeper purpose. They are not merely comforting habits; they are a way to navigate a world that frequently challenges our sensory and cognitive boundaries. To truly understand the role of routines, we must move beyond stereotypes and dig deeper into their significance.
The importance of routines can also be understood through psychological frameworks. Many people are familiar with Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, a theory proposed in 1943 by Abraham Maslow in his paper, A Theory of Human Motivation. Maslow’s work has become a cornerstone in psychology, often used as a template to interpret human behaviours. However, Maslow’s education was steeped in the experimental behaviourist school, influenced by figures like B.F. Skinner and Ivan Pavlov.
Behaviourists, including Thorndike and Skinner, believed psychology should focus on observable and measurable behaviours, discarding consideration of thoughts or emotions as scientifically irrelevant. Their main tool was operant conditioning—a learning process that relies on rewards and punishments to shape behaviour. Behaviourism continues to exert a significant influence in the modern world through practices like Applied Behavioural Analysis (ABA), a therapy widely used with autistic children.
This is where the understanding of routines often becomes problematic. Parents might perceive their autistic child’s routines as unusual or restrictive and seek the guidance of behaviourists to “correct” them. What they may not realise is that these routines are not signs of a “broken” or “disordered” brain but evidence of an autistic brain working exactly as designed. Unfortunately, behaviourist approaches like ABA often seek to alter these natural coping mechanisms to fit a neurotypical mould. Many autistic adults, myself included, equate this approach to “conversion therapy” due to its focus on forcing conformity at the expense of the autistic person’s well-being.
What does ABA have to do with routines?
Parents may see their autistic child’s routines as unusual or even problematic, often misunderstanding their purpose. This can lead them to seek guidance from behaviourists, hoping to “correct” these behaviours and make their child conform to neurotypical expectations. What many don’t realise is that the autistic brain is not a “defective” or “disordered” version of a neurotypical brain—it’s a fundamentally different operating system, working exactly as it was designed. Attempts to “normalise” these behaviours, particularly through behaviourist approaches like ABA, often come at a significant cost to the autistic individual.
For many adult autistic self-advocates, ABA is seen as a form of “conversion therapy,” aiming to condition autistic people to suppress their natural ways of being in favour of behaviours more palatable to neurotypical society. This comparison is not made lightly: both practices rely on external reinforcement to enforce conformity, often ignoring the emotional and psychological harm inflicted in the process. Whilst “gay conversion therapy” has been banned in several US states, ABA remains widely practiced, a fact that highlights systemic priorities around compliance rather than genuine well-being.
Some parents of autistic children with severe support needs argue that ABA offers them the best available option in a system that fails to provide adequate alternatives. This nuance is important, but it does not negate the harm caused by interventions that prioritise appearances of “normalcy” over respect for the individual’s intrinsic needs and identity. For autistic people, routines are not just habits—they are essential frameworks for navigating a world that is often overwhelming, unpredictable, and hostile to neurodivergent ways of thinking.
One particularly troubling example of how this mindset manifests was an advertising campaign by an ABA-promoting university program in New York City subways. The campaign featured messages like, “We have your son. We will make sure he will not be able to care for himself or interact socially as long as he lives. This is only the beginning.” Signed “Autism,” this campaign painted autism as a malevolent force to be battled rather than a natural neurological variation to be understood. Such messaging underscores the damaging narratives that continue to fuel ABA and similar approaches.
To understand why these narratives persist, we must examine the historical context of behaviourist psychology. Figures like Thorndike, Pavlov, and Skinner developed behaviourist theories during a time when the eugenics movement was gaining momentum. Eugenics sought the “perfection” of humanity through science, often framing deviation from perceived norms as something to be eliminated. Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World offers a satirical yet chilling vision of where this ideology could lead, whilst Edwin Black’s War Against the Weak provides a detailed critique of the eugenics movement’s legacy.
This legacy persists in subtle but significant ways. Behaviourist approaches like ABA focus on shaping observable behaviours without considering the thoughts, emotions, or needs driving those behaviours. For autistic individuals, this often results in harm: high rates of cPTSD have been documented among adult survivors of ABA. These individuals are left with the lasting effects of being forced to suppress their authentic selves in environments designed to enforce conformity rather than foster understanding.
But there is another way—a framework that respects the individuality of autistic people and their intrinsic needs: Glasser’s Choice Theory. Unlike behaviourist approaches, Choice Theory acknowledges the inherent value of human agency and the universal psychological needs that drive all behaviour. These needs—survival, belonging, power, freedom, and fun—are equally important and must be reasonably met for individuals to thrive.
In my own research on autistic college student retention, I found that these needs, particularly the need for power (achieving, accomplishing, and being respected), are crucial for autistic individuals. For instance, many autistic students enter college with a deep, nuanced understanding of their chosen field, often exceeding that of their professors. When these students are dismissed or disrespected by faculty, it undermines their sense of competence and value. Why stay in an environment where your contributions are unrecognised or invalidated?
At its core, Choice Theory emphasises the importance of the “Quality World”—a personal vision of an ideal life where needs are met in fulfilling ways. For autistic individuals, routines are a vital part of this Quality World. They provide structure, predictability, and a sense of safety in an often chaotic environment. Disruptions to these routines, particularly during events like the holidays, can feel like an assault on this carefully constructed equilibrium.
When the holiday season arrives, it brings with it large, noisy, and often overwhelming gatherings. For many autistic people, these environments are rife with potential triggers: unfamiliar smells, loud conversations, and emotional intensity. Even well-meaning family members may inadvertently engage in bullying behaviours, such as disrupting an autistic child’s routine for entertainment. Imagine a child carefully lining up their toys, only for a relative to ‘rearrange’ them “as a joke.” What may seem trivial to an outsider is, for the child, a significant disruption to their Quality World picture—a violation of the order that helps them make sense of their environment.
When this happens, the autistic brain kicks into high gear, calculating how to restore balance. This process, akin to a computer performing an intensive calculation, can quickly overwhelm the system, leading to what others may call a “meltdown.” But these meltdowns are not tantrums or chosen behaviours; they are the brain’s natural response to an impossible situation. Just as a computer’s fan speeds up to dissipate heat during heavy processing, an autistic person’s visible distress reflects the immense cognitive and emotional labour required to regain stability.
Understanding this connection between routines, psychological needs, and the autistic experience is crucial—not only during the holidays but in all aspects of life. Respecting routines means respecting the individual’s humanity, acknowledging their right to navigate the world in the ways that best support them. With this understanding, we can move away from outdated and harmful practices like ABA and toward approaches that honour the diversity of the human experience.
The holidays are the perfect trigger for melt downs
Meltdowns are often misunderstood as tantrums or manipulative behaviours, but this perception couldn’t be further from the truth. An autistic person doesn’t “melt down” as a result of choice or a desire to inconvenience others. A meltdown is a neurological response to an overwhelming situation—often the direct result of disruptions to their Quality World and the energy required to restore balance.
Meltdowns happen when the brain is overloaded, much like a computer processing too much data all at once. The intense sensory, emotional, or cognitive demands of a situation exceed the brain’s capacity to cope, leading to an unavoidable cascade of reactions. These responses are not signs of weakness or failure; they are a testament to the incredible effort autistic individuals exert daily to navigate a world not designed with their needs in mind.
The cruelty lies not in the autistic person’s reaction but in the systemic disregard for what precipitates it. This disregard is at the heart of classical behavioural conditioning, which often imposes external expectations without regard for the autistic person’s internal experience. Practices like ABA, which rely heavily on classical conditioning, aim to suppress behaviours that deviate from neurotypical norms, regardless of whether those behaviours serve a vital purpose for the autistic individual. The result? A person who may eventually comply outwardly but carries deep emotional scars, often culminating in post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
The critical takeaway is this: routines are not mere preferences or quirks; they are intrinsic to an autistic person’s Quality World. These routines are the scaffolding that supports us as we move through an unpredictable world. They allow us to navigate safely, to function effectively, and to create a sense of stability in a chaotic environment. Our routines are not frivolous, nor are they something we can simply take a “day off” from—they are our vacation from a world that constantly demands adaptation.
For many autistic people, the holiday season is fraught with potential triggers. Traditional celebrations—marked by large, noisy gatherings, unexpected changes, and sensory overload—disrupt the routines that help us feel safe and centred. And no, we can’t “just get over it.” To ask this of an autistic person is to ignore the immense labour it takes to cope with the world as it is, let alone with the heightened chaos of the holidays.
It is vital to recognise that neurodivergent brains are not “disordered” versions of neurotypical ones. Just as an iPhone isn’t a defective Android, neurodivergent people aren’t broken neurotypicals. Each brain operates uniquely, optimised for its own way of processing the world. I can strive to be the best autistic person I can be, but I will never be the best version of someone else—and that’s okay. Only Tiger Woods can play golf like Tiger Woods. I can only play like me, and I prefer my routines to help me do so.
To neurotypicals, my routines might not make sense. But to me, they are logical, efficient, and necessary. My brain does not operate in a linear fashion. The shortest distance between two points is not a straight line but a dynamic calculation that merges space, time, and probabilities to determine the best starting point and path. This is how my brain is wired, and it is not something to be “fixed.”
For decades, doctors and educators tried to “normalise” my brain through drugs, therapies, and interventions. The lasting trauma from these experiences—not the least of which is PTSD—has taught me that I don’t need to be “normal.” I need to be understood. My brain is all I have, and it deserves respect for the way it works, not for how closely it aligns with someone else’s idea of how it should work.
So, as we approach the holidays, I ask one thing: please be respectful of others’ routines, no matter how different they may seem from your own. These routines are the anchors that allow us to navigate the world, particularly in times of heightened stress. Your operating system may look different from mine, but that doesn’t make mine any less valid.
This holiday season, I won’t wish you “Happy Holidays.” Instead, I wish you something far more important: that you are as happy and supported as humanly possible.
— November 2024 Update —
Since writing this piece in 2022, my reflections on the holidays have deepened, especially as I’ve considered them through the intersecting lenses of being autistic, trans, and someone committed to unearthing historical truths. The holiday season can be a fraught time for many, particularly when faced with unsupportive family dynamics. For those of us who are autistic and trans, the challenges often multiply. I think about my autistic and trans siblings who have endured holiday gatherings with relatives who seem to relish in their refusal to respect identities or personal space space. Purposeful deadnaming and misgendering, pointed stares, hushed whispers that weren’t quite quiet enough to escape notice—all of these moments become ingrained in the scripts we carry long after the season ends.
As a Gestalt Language Processor (GLP), I’ve had to rewrite these painful scripts. For much of my life, the holidays revolved around survival: masking discomfort, enduring harm in silence, and navigating traditions that erased or invalidated who I was. But adulthood has granted me something transformative—the privilege of choice. Today, I have the freedom to say no to gatherings where my identity is disrespected or where I’m expected to endure harm for the sake of “family unity.” This shift has been profound. Saying no is not a rejection of connection; it’s a healthy boundary that honours my peace and well-being. It’s also a powerful rewriting of the narrative: I no longer have to mould myself into what others expect for the sake of tradition.
This reframing has also given me space to consider the larger narratives surrounding the holiday season. Many of the traditions celebrated in the United States, especially Thanksgiving, are rooted in colonial myths that whitewash the genocide of Indigenous peoples. The idyllic image of a shared feast between “Pilgrims” and “Native Americans” is a deliberate erasure of the violence that marked the founding of the U.S. as a nation. Our family has made a concerted effort to counter this erasure, telling the true history of the holiday and acknowledging the harm caused by perpetuating these myths. This practice, though painful, is essential. By challenging these stories, we honour the resilience of Indigenous communities and ensure that our celebrations are grounded in truth rather than whitewashed fiction.
It’s impossible to reflect on these holidays without also acknowledging the capitalist systems that shape them. The United States offers the fewest paid holidays of any country in the world after Micronesia, a reality that forces millions to work through what should be a time for rest and connection. Capitalism has commodified the holiday season, transforming it into one of the largest annual wealth transfers from those with the least to powerful multinational corporations. The constant push to buy gifts, travel, and celebrate lavishly is not just a cultural norm—it’s a carefully engineered system of economic exploitation. This spending spree is often financed by credit cards, with banks charging confiscatory interest rates that disproportionately impact those who can least afford it. In this way, the holidays, which claim to promote gratitude and connection, instead serve as a tool of economic control, enriching corporations and financial institutions at the expense of individuals and families already struggling to make ends meet. This contradiction is a stark reminder of how deeply capitalist systems have entrenched themselves in what should be a time of rest, reflection, and genuine connection.
For my family, reclaiming the holiday season has become less about grand traditions and more about savouring the fleeting moments we have together. This year, it means welcoming two of my sons back home from college, if only briefly, as they juggle the demands of studies and work. Our celebrations are simple—filled with laughter, silliness, and the joy of just being in each other’s company. In these moments, we focus on what truly matters: connection, warmth, and creating a space where we can all relax and be ourselves, even for a little while. These small, cherished gatherings have replaced the fraught expectations of the past, and in their simplicity, they remind us of the value of prioritising each other over the chaos of the season.
So, for anyone navigating similar challenges—whether with unsupportive family members or the overwhelming weight of tradition—know this: you have the right to create your own narrative. You can say no to harm, tell the truth about the past, and celebrate in ways that honour your peace, your values, and your identity. That, in itself, is an act of liberation.
But let’s also confront the reality of the times we’re living in. The oncoming administration of “Orange Man” brings with it the shadow of terrifying policies: mass deportations, trade wars, and a full-scale attack on trans people like me. What they’ve announced so far is chilling, and we know from history that this is only the beginning. For people like me—and so many others whose very existence is deemed “unacceptable”—the next few years will be marked by resistance, vigilance, and survival.
Even as we navigate these challenges, it’s impossible to ignore the deep hypocrisy of this holiday. Thanksgiving, a name that glosses over centuries of genocide, is itself a deadname for what this day truly represents: the violent colonisation of Indigenous peoples. It’s a day born out of conquest and erasure, now rebranded as a time of gratitude and family while the original sin of this country remains unacknowledged. For my family, we don’t call it “Thanksgiving.” We call it what it is: a day of genocide remembrance.
But, this year feels different. With the impending rise of hateful policies, this might be the last peaceful Genocide Remembrance Day we have for a long time. The weight of that realisation is heavy, but it also makes these fleeting moments of togetherness all the more precious. As we sit around the fire, laughing, reflecting, and holding space for one another, I’m reminded of the power in choosing how we live, even in the face of adversity.
To anyone reading this: take care of yourselves and your loved ones. Be unflinching in your truth. Protect your peace and your joy, because they are acts of defiance in a world that seeks to strip them away. And as we move forward into uncertain times, let us carry the knowledge that even in the darkest moments, our collective resistance and reclamation of our stories remain a light no administration can extinguish.