Part 1 of the Christmas Survival Series for Trauma Survivors
Honest question:
Are you dreading Christmas—not because of the shopping or the cooking or the crowded airports—
But because of WHO will be there?
Christmas being on the calendar doesn’t make it automatically safe or sacred for you.
A date doesn’t override your healing. Family tradition doesn’t trump your trauma recovery. Nostalgia—no matter how hard people try to weaponize it—doesn’t erase what happened to you.
If going home means going backward, you’re allowed to stay exactly where you are.
Why Christmas Is Harder Than Thanksgiving
If you barely survived Thanksgiving, I want you to know something: Christmas is often harder. And it’s not just in your head.
Thanksgiving is typically one meal. A few hours. You get in, you get out.
But Christmas? Christmas is a marathon.
It’s Christmas Eve AND Christmas Day. It’s the work party, the neighborhood gathering, the extended family you only see once a year. It’s multiple events across multiple days—sometimes weeks. Church services, gift exchanges, traditions that stretch on and on.
That’s not one battle. That’s a whole campaign.
And then there’s everything else that comes with Christmas:
The religious pressure. Church services where you’re expected to show up and perform faith, even if that building holds trauma for you. The pressure to attend midnight mass or Christmas morning service, even when your nervous system is screaming at you to stay home.
The gift manipulation. When your abuser uses presents to buy access to you, to look good in front of family, or to create a debt you never agreed to. “But they got you something so nice!”—as if a wrapped box erases what they did.
The overnight expectations. Because it’s Christmas, so of course you have to stay. Of course you have to sleep under that roof. Of course you can’t just come for dinner and leave.
The “most wonderful time of the year” pressure. Everyone is supposed to be joyful. Happy. Grateful. Which makes it infinitely harder to admit you’re drowning. You can’t just be struggling—you’re struggling when you’re supposed to be celebrating, which adds a whole layer of shame.
If you’re dreading December more than you dreaded November, you’re not being dramatic. This IS harder. And it makes sense that you’re feeling it.
You Have Permission to Skip
I want to be very clear about something: You have permission to skip Christmas.
Not permission from your family. Not permission from tradition. Permission from yourself—which is the only permission that actually matters.
And here’s what makes this different from what you’ve probably been told: It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.
You don’t have to choose between “go to everything” and “disappear completely.” You get to choose what you attend and what you skip. Every single event is a separate decision.
You can skip the whole thing. All of it. Stay home. Create your own day. That’s valid.
Or you can pick and choose:
- Skip Christmas Eve, but show up for Christmas Day
- Skip Christmas Day but attend the Eve gathering
- Skip just the church service—your healing doesn’t require you in that building
- Skip just the overnight stay—go for dinner, and then sleep in your own bed
- Skip the extended family gathering, but visit with immediate family only
- Skip immediate family, but show up for extended family (where there might be more buffer)
You can mix and match. You can change your mind. You can decide the morning of.
Every event is optional. Every. Single. One.
What You Don’t Owe Anyone This Christmas
Somewhere along the way, you were taught that the holidays mean you owe people things. Access. Affection. Performance. Forgiveness.
Let me be very clear about what you don’t owe anyone—including family, including your abuser, including anyone who makes you feel guilty for protecting yourself.
You don’t owe them hugs.
Your body is yours. If you don’t want to be touched, you don’t get touched. You don’t need an excuse. “I’m not a hugger” is a complete sentence. You don’t have to submit to unwanted physical contact just because it’s a holiday and Aunt Martha expects it.
You don’t owe them gifts.
Especially not to the person who hurt you. You don’t have to buy their forgiveness, their silence, or their approval. And you don’t have to accept gifts from them either. A present wrapped in paper is not an apology. It’s not reconciliation. And accepting it doesn’t mean you’ve agreed to pretend everything is fine.
You don’t owe them church attendance.
God doesn’t need you in that building to love you. If church is triggering—if it holds trauma, if it’s where your abuser will be, if the pressure to perform worship makes your skin crawl—stay home. Your healing is sacred too. Your living room is holy ground when you’re doing the work of recovery.
You don’t owe them smiles for photos.
You don’t have to perform “happy family” for the camera so everyone can post their perfect Christmas on social media. You don’t have to stand next to your abuser and grin. You can say “I’m not up for photos right now” and walk away. Let them think what they want.
You don’t owe them “peace on earth” with someone who stole yours.
This one matters. Because you’re going to hear it. “It’s Christmas—can’t you just keep the peace?” “Let’s just have one nice day.” “Can’t you forgive for the holiday?”
Let me be very direct: keeping the peace with your abuser isn’t peace. It’s performance. It’s you bearing the weight of their choices so everyone else can be comfortable. That’s not peace. That’s captivity wearing a Christmas sweater.
You don’t owe them forgiveness on their timeline.
Forgiveness is yours to give if and when YOU’RE ready—not when it’s convenient for them, not when it makes Christmas dinner less awkward, not when they’ve decided enough time has passed. Your healing has its own schedule. It doesn’t run on holiday time.
You don’t owe them pretending the past didn’t happen.
Not to make dinner less awkward. Not to protect their reputation. Not to keep from “ruining Christmas.” What happened, happened. You’re not the one who ruined anything—they did. Pretending otherwise doesn’t heal anyone. It just protects the wrong person.
What You DO Owe Yourself
Here’s the much shorter list—the one that actually matters:
Safety. Physical, emotional, and psychological safety. The right to be in spaces that don’t harm you.
Truth. The right to live in reality, not in a carefully constructed family fiction.
Healing. The right to prioritize your recovery over everyone else’s comfort.
That’s the list. That’s what matters.
Their comfort is not your responsibility. Your well-being is.
How to Communicate Your Decision
If you’ve decided not to attend Christmas (or specific Christmas events), you might be wondering how to actually tell people.
Here’s the thing: You don’t owe anyone a detailed explanation. But if you want to communicate your decision, here are some approaches:
The Simple Decline: “I won’t be there this year. Hope you have a good holiday.”
That’s it. No explanation required.
The Boundary Statement: “I’ve decided to do Christmas differently this year. I won’t be attending [specific event/all events].”
The Health Framing (if you need one): “I need to take care of my mental health this year. I won’t be coming.”
The Partial Attendance: “I’ll come for [specific event], but I won’t be able to make [other events].”
The Firm Boundary: “I won’t be attending any events where [person] will be present.”
If someone pushes back: “This isn’t up for discussion. I’ve made my decision.” “I understand you’re disappointed. My answer is still no.” “Asked and answered.”
And then—this is important—you don’t have to keep explaining. If they push, you can repeat yourself exactly once, and then you stop engaging. “I’ve already explained. I’m not discussing this further.”
Dealing With the Guilt
Let’s talk about the elephant in the room: the guilt.
Because even if you know, logically, that you have every right to skip Christmas, you might still feel crushing guilt about it.
You might hear these messages (from others or from that voice in your head):
“But it’s Christmas!”
“You’re ruining the holiday for everyone.”
“They’re family—you can’t just not show up.”
“What will everyone think?”
“You’re being selfish.”
“It’s been so long—why can’t you just move on?”
Here’s what I need you to understand: The guilt you feel about skipping? That’s not your conscience. That’s your conditioning.
You were taught that family comes first—even an abusive family. You were taught that forgiveness means pretending nothing happened. You were taught that your feelings matter less than everyone else’s comfort. You were taught that keeping the peace is your job.
None of that is true.
The guilt is a trauma response. It’s the part of you that learned to survive by prioritizing everyone else’s needs. It kept you safe once. But it doesn’t get to run your life now.
So when the guilt shows up—and it will—try this:
- Name it. “That’s guilt. That’s my conditioning talking.”
- Question it. “Is this actually true, or is this what I was taught to believe?”
- Counter it. “My safety matters. My healing matters. Choosing myself isn’t selfish—it’s necessary.”
- Remind yourself. “The person who should feel guilty is the one who created this situation—not the one protecting themselves from it.”
Guilt is a feeling, not a fact. You can feel guilty and still make the right decision.
Alternative Ways to Spend Christmas
If you’re not going to family gatherings, you might be wondering: what do I do instead?
Here are some ideas:
Create Your Own Celebration
This is YOUR Christmas now. What would make it actually feel good? Maybe it’s your favorite meal, your favorite movie, your favorite music. Maybe it’s staying in pajamas all day. Maybe it’s one really good gift to yourself. You get to decide what the day means.
Friendsgiving—Christmas Edition
Connect with friends who are also skipping family, or who understand why you are. Potluck dinner, movie marathon, game night. Chosen family is a real family.
Volunteer
Serve at a shelter, deliver meals, or help at a community dinner. Sometimes the best way to survive a hard day is to focus on being useful to someone else. Plus, you’ll be around people who understand that the holidays aren’t perfect for everyone.
Travel or Adventure
Get out of town entirely. A road trip. A hotel in a new city. A cabin in the woods. Sometimes the best Christmas is the one you spend somewhere completely different, making new memories that have nothing to do with the old ones.
Rest and Restore
You have permission to do absolutely nothing. Sleep in. Take a bath. Read a book. Watch an entire season of something. The rest you need is not lazy—it’s healing.
Start New Traditions
This is your chance to redefine what Christmas means. It doesn’t have to look like what you grew up with. It can be whatever you want it to be. Chinese food and a movie. A hike. A spa day. An annual trip. Something that’s just yours.
For Those Spending Christmas Alone
If you’re spending Christmas alone this year, I want to say something directly to you:
Alone doesn’t mean broken.
Choosing not to go isn’t failure—it’s freedom. Being alone isn’t rejection—it’s protection.
An empty room is better than a room full of danger. A quiet Christmas is still a real Christmas.
You might feel lonely. That’s valid. But lonely and safe is still better than surrounded and traumatized.
Some things that might help:
- Plan the day in advance so it doesn’t feel shapeless and overwhelming
- Have something to look forward to—a special meal, a movie you’ve been waiting to watch, a call with a safe friend
- Get outside at some point, even briefly
- Limit social media if seeing everyone’s “perfect family Christmas” is painful
- Remind yourself: this is one day. You can do anything for one day.
And know this: there are thousands of people spending Christmas alone by choice this year. You’re not the only one protecting yourself. You’re not the only empty chair. And that choice—that brave, hard, necessary choice—is worth honoring.
Your Healing Matters More Than Their Tradition
Here’s what I need you to carry with you through December:
Christmas is one day. Your healing is forever.
“Family tradition” is just patterns people have repeated. Your recovery is your actual life.
Their disappointment will pass. The damage of forcing yourself into harmful situations might not.
You are not responsible for managing everyone else’s feelings about your boundaries. You are responsible for protecting yourself. That’s it.
If going home costs you your peace, your progress, or your sense of self, the price is too high. No tradition is worth that. No expectation is worth that. No guilt trip is worth that.
You survived the abuse. You do not have to survive every family Christmas, too.
You’re Not Alone
If you’re reading this and feeling seen—if something in here made you exhale for the first time in weeks—I want you to know: you’re not alone.
Thousands of survivors are facing this exact decision right now. Some will skip. Some will go with safety plans in place. Some will try something different than they’ve ever tried before.
There’s no wrong answer except the one that harms you.
Your boundaries aren’t walls. They’re gates. And you get to decide who comes through them—especially on December 25th.
What’s Next
This is Part 1 of my Christmas Survival Series for trauma survivors.
Read Part 2 here.
Coming soon:
- Part 3: Grounding, Coping & Surviving: In-the-Moment Tools for Christmas
- Part 4: After the Holidays: Recovery, Self-Compassion & Looking Ahead
If you’ve decided you ARE going to Christmas despite the challenges, Part 2 will give you everything you need to go in protected.
Save this post. Share it with someone who needs it. And if you need more support, I’m here.
Download your complete Holiday Survival Guide here
You’re valuable beyond measure. You’re worth protecting. And you deserve a Christmas that doesn’t cost you your peace.
If you’re struggling with thoughts of self-harm or suicide during the holiday season, please reach out:
- 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (call or text 988)
- Crisis Text Line (text HOME to 741741)
- RAINN: 1-800-656-4673
You matter. Please stay.
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