Different, Not Less: What the Holidays Look Like in Our Neurodivergent Home

raising an autistic child

Finding Joy in the Way We Celebrate

With Halloween just behind us and the holidays fast approaching, I’ve been thinking about how celebrations can look so different from one family to the next—especially when you’re raising a neurodivergent child.

If your Halloween didn’t look like everyone else’s, you’re not alone.

Ours was different too—and it was perfect.

While the other neighborhood kids raced from house to house, my son, Liam, had his own kind of fun. Dressed in his terrifying clown costume, he sat perfectly still amidst smoke and shadows, holding our candy bowl like a sentinel. Every movement was deliberate. Every scare, perfectly timed. He waited for the right moment—and the right person—before springing to life with a precision that would make any horror director proud.

We have our rules, of course: no scaring anyone who doesn’t like to be scared or seems too unsure, and absolutely no scaring babies or little kids. When he spots someone hesitant, he gives them his signature cheerful (yet slightly creepy) clown smile—a gentle reassurance that they’re safe.

He lasted about two hours this year, out in the cold wind and against the full sensory onslaught of his costume, mask, and the endless stream of visitors. For most people, that might sound easy. For Liam, it was a huge accomplishment—a night of constant social interaction, unpredictable noises, and stimulation. When he finally came inside, he exhaled, decompressed, and basked in the quiet victory of it all.

Although we’ve only lived here a little over a year, our neighbors have been incredible. They’ve learned Liam’s “Halloween style,” and they make sure to stop by just to see his latest creepy costume in action. Some even bring him his own bags of candy since he doesn’t trick-or-treat door-to-door. Those small gestures have built something beautiful—a quiet circle of understanding and acceptance that makes this neighborhood truly feel like home.

By the end of the night, Liam had tallied every successful scare and declared it the perfect Halloween. And honestly, it was.

Redefining “Normal”

Over time, I’ve realized that my job isn’t to make holidays look traditional—it’s to make them feel safe, meaningful, and ours.

So whether it’s Halloween on the porch, Thanksgiving with noise-cancelling headphones, or Christmas morning with carefully planned routines, Liam’s way of celebrating is no less joyful. It’s just his.

And that’s the kind of normal I want to protect.

For Other Parents

If your child doesn’t light up at the same things other kids do this season—if they’d rather hand out candy, play with data, or watch from the sidelines—know this: they’re not missing out. They’re engaging in the way their nervous system allows.

Honor that. It’s not less. It’s authentic.

So as the holiday whirlwind begins, I hope you’ll find space for your child’s version of celebration too. Different doesn’t mean broken—it means beautifully their own.

As we move into the season of gatherings, lights, and noise, I’m holding onto that truth. Our holidays may look a little different, but they’re filled with love, laughter, and connection in all the ways that matter most.

Until next time,

Vanessa 🎃✨

You don’t need to have all the answers right now. I certainly didn’t when I first started learning how to support my son, Liam. If you’re ready for guidance that understands both the science and the emotions of raising a neurodivergent child, our therapists at Parenting Autism Therapy are here for you. Many are parents of neurodivergent kids themselves—and they truly get it.

Looking for help now? Get Started Here!

Coming Next Week: Starting Over: Moving Across the Country and Watching My Son Rebuild From Zero

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