Some seasons sparkle. Others teach us how onto hold on what is left.
A Christmas shaped by familiar faces, shared space, and the comfort of knowing what to expect.
Teen Years: When Christmas Expands
In my high school years, Christmas began to change shape.
It became about finishing the school year. The relief of the last day. The excitement of the weekend that followed — parties with friends, making our own plans for the holidays. I quickly realised that the final day of school felt like the best day of the year.
We made our own fun.
We created new traditions alongside the old ones.
In those years, I felt like I truly belonged — not because everything stayed the same, but because I was finding my place in the world beyond childhood.
Belonging can grow as independence begins.
Childhood Christmases and the Feeling of Belonging
As a child, Christmas was magic.
My whole family came together. Gifts were scattered throughout the living room. Tables were pulled out, chairs squeezed in wherever there was space. The house felt full — loud, warm, alive. I remember believing, without question, that this was what Christmas would always look like.
In those moments, I felt comfortable. I felt safe. I felt like I belonged.
I was the only child with a disability in the room, but no one cared. I wasn’t treated differently or made to feel separate. I was simply part of the noise, the laughter, the familiarity of being together.
That sense of belonging came from predictability — the same people, the same rhythms, the same traditions returning year after year.
Some seasons are magical because they feel safe.
As independence grows, the season begins to hold
new meanings alongside old traditions.
Over time, celebrations often become quieter - not because they matter less, but because life changes.
Disability, Change and Why Christmas Feels Heavier
Now, Christmas feels more reflective than celebratory.
I find myself thinking about the future — wondering what Christmas will look like in the years ahead. How many Christmases I still have with the people I love. What the season becomes when familiar faces are no longer there.
As an only child, these thoughts sit heavily. There’s no one else who remembers Christmas exactly the way I do.
For many people with disabilities, change can feel especially unsettling. Familiar routines, predictable environments, and known people create a sense of safety. When those things shift — as they often do at Christmas — the season can feel overwhelming in ways that are difficult to explain.
Joy and grief can exist side by side.
So can excitement and uncertainty.
Uncertainty feels louder when routine is your anchor
Adulthood: When Tradition Begins to Shift
As I got older, things shifted again.
My family grew, and slowly people began to branch off and establish their own traditions. Christmas gatherings became smaller. Quieter. Less certain. I began to realise — gently at first, then more clearly — that my family wouldn’t always be there in the same way.
The biggest shift came when my grandmother passed away two days after Christmas.
After that, everything felt different. Christmas stopped being about the gifts or the food. It became about who was missing. About the empty spaces at the table. About traditions that suddenly felt incomplete.
It wasn’t just grief — it was the loss of familiarity, of structure, of the version of Christmas I had always known
Not every change arrives loudly. Some arrive quietly and stay
Change can bring questions that don’t need answers - just space to sit with them.
Belonging still exists when traditions look different than they once did.
A Closing Reflection for Parents and Educators
As Christmas approaches, it’s easy to focus on making the season feel joyful and complete. But for many children — especially those with disabilities — this time of year carries layered emotions.
Routines soften. Expectations rise. Familiar faces come and go.
What children need most during this season isn’t perfection.
It’s reassurance.
It’s permission to feel mixed emotions.
It’s the comfort of knowing that even when things change, their place remains secure.
Belonging doesn’t require constant celebration.
It requires presence, patience, and understanding.
Some moments don’t need fixing. They need understanding.
Belonging Beyond Familiar Traditions
As Christmas continues to change, I’m learning that belonging doesn’t disappear just because traditions do.
Belonging might not look like a full house anymore. It might be quieter, smaller, more fragile. But it still matters.
Belonging can look like remembering.
It can look like adapting.
It can look like giving yourself permission to grieve what was — while gently making room for what is.
Christmas doesn’t need to look the way it once did to be meaningful.
Belonging isn’t tied to tradition - it’s tied to the feelings of safety
A reminder that it’s okay to experience the season in your own way.
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