I've talked with so many survivors who've told me that the holidays don’t bring them warmth, joy, or peace.

• Instead, the holidays bring stress, that walking-on-eggshells-feeling, and hypervigilance.

The body knows something is coming, even if the mind hasn’t named it yet.

There’s a tightening in the chest, shallow breathing, a low hum of anxiety that starts days or weeks before the holiday gatherings even begin.

This isn’t just in their imagination.

It’s pattern recognition.

• A certain smell drifting through the house.
• The sound of wrapping paper tearing.
• A familiar song playing in the background.
• Even the quality of the light at this time of year.

They bring memories, sensations, and nervous system responses that arrive without warning.

Sensory details can act like keys that quietly unlock memories of holidays that weren't safe, like:

• times when tension lived in the air
• when conflict erupted behind closed doors
• when love felt conditional and unpredictable

What comforts one person might be deeply activating for another.

Not because something's “wrong,” but because the body remembers.

• It's a traumaversary response.

Not tied to a specific date, but to a season.

The body might react before the mind has time to make sense of it.

You might notice:

• a sudden tightness in your chest
• a drop in your stomach
• a feeling of dissociation or fog
• an urge to freeze, fawn, or disappear entirely

• You might also feel on edge, emotional, exhausted, or overwhelmed without a clear reason why.

And that makes sense.

If holidays used to be times of:

• heightened abuse
• neglect
• emotional volatility
• forced performance

Then, your nervous system learned to associate this season with danger, not joy.

Just the presence of decorations, traditions, or expectations can signal to your system to brace itself instead of relaxing.

None of this means you’re failing at healing.

It means your body is responding exactly as it was trained to respond.

• By trying to protect you.

TRIGGER WARNING: Below are a few examples of what abuse can look like during the holidays, along with an understanding of the survivor's internal experience. Be gentle with how you proceed.



1. The Emotional Landmine

What it looks like:

A casual comment at dinner. A “joke” that lands too close to a wound. A sudden shift in tone that leaves the survivor frozen mid-bite.

What the abuser wants:

Control through destabilization. To quietly remind the survivor who holds power.

What happens in the survivor’s body:

• The nervous system slams into freeze.
• Heart racing. Muscles tense. A sudden blankness in the mind.
• They might smile automatically. Laugh quietly. Change the subject.

Not because they agree, but because their body's learned that stillness is safer than response.

The emotional cost:

Swallowing words creates pressure inside the chest and throat.

Later, they might feel shame.

"Why didn’t I say anything?"

But in that moment, the body chose survival over expression.

2. The Performance of Peace

What it looks like:

The survivor becomes the buffer. The peacemaker. The one who smooths over tension so no one else has to feel uncomfortable.

What the abuser wants:

Image preservation. Emotional labor without accountability.

What happens in the survivor’s body:

This usually looks like the fawn response where the nervous system tries to stay safe by appeasing others and doing the emotional labor for everyone.

• There might be a buzzing in the limbs.
• A constant scanning of faces.
• An inability to sit still or relax.

The survivor is working, even while they're just seated at the table.

The emotional cost:

By the end of the gathering, exhaustion sets in like gravity.

• Not just physical tiredness, but a deep depletion, the kind that sleep doesn’t fix.

The survivor might feel invisible, resentful, or hollow.

They kept everyone else comfortable at the expense of themselves.

3. The Silent Undermining

What it looks like:

Subtle digs. Backhanded compliments. Private comments whispered just out of earshot.

What the abuser wants:

To erode confidence without being confronted. To maintain plausible deniability.

What happens in the survivor’s body:

The survivor might second-guess their perception and ask themselves, "Did that really happen? Am I overreacting?"

• A sinking feeling in the stomach.
• Heat in the face.
• A spike of cortisol that never quite comes down.

This is the body responding to cognitive dissonance under threat.

The emotional cost:

The survivor leaves the event replaying moments instead of resting.

Self-trust begins to erode.

The abuse doesn’t end when the gathering does... it follows them home.

4. The Demand for Access

What it looks like:

Pressure to hug. To share personal information. To “be normal” for the sake of others.

What the abuser wants:

Entitlement to the survivor’s body or emotional space.

What happens in the survivor’s body:

They might look calm on the outside, but internally, the nervous system is bracing itself and collapsing inward.

• Shoulders rounding.
• Breath shallow.
• A slight sense of leaving the body.

The emotional cost:

Afterward, the survivor might feel disconnected or numb.

As if something was taken that didn’t belong to anyone else.

What hurts isn’t only what happens. It’s what the survivor has to do to survive it.

• They become smaller. Quieter. More agreeable.

They tuck parts of themselves away like fragile objects that can’t be brought out safely.

Over time, this creates grief even if it's not always consciously, for not getting to exist freely.

If you notice this happening to you, you don’t need to force yourself through it or explain it away.

• Your body adapted because it had to.
• Your responses were intelligent.
• You weren't weak, you were protecting something precious.

Healing isn't about forcing yourself to confront or endure more. It’s about slowly, lovingly teaching your nervous system that safety can exist without self-erasure.

And one of the kindest things you can do in moments like these is to bring your attention back to what is true right now.

• You might gently press your feet into the floor and notice the support beneath you.
• You might wrap your hands around a warm mug and feel its weight and temperature.
• You might quietly name three things to yourself you can see or hear that remind your body that you are here, and that this moment is not the past.

These aren't techniques to make the feelings disappear, they're invitations for your nervous system to soften its grip, even just a little.

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