Every year when December creeps in, so does all the pressure. The lights go up, the invites roll in, and suddenly there’s this unspoken expectation that Christmas should be magical, loud,family filled, social, and busy. But when you’re a parent carer, Christmas doesn’t always look or feel like that. Sometimes, “escaping Christmas” isn’t selfish or dramatic—it’s survival. It’s love. It’s choosing calm over chaos for the sake of what your child needs.
For me, prioritising Archie has always meant stepping away from the big family gatherings, the noise, the unpredictability, and the overwhelm. It means saying no when everyone else around me is able to say yes. It means leaving events early, or not even going at all. And deep down, I know it’s the right thing for Archie. I know his comfort, safety, and emotional wellbeing matter far more than any tradition ever could.
But that doesn’t mean it’s easy and I often feel like I am missing out. When people moan and say things like, “oh I haven’t had time, I’ve been out so much with friends” I want to shout in their faces and make them see how fortunate they are! (I don’t…to be clear 😉
Because all the while that am proudly protecting and supporting my Awesome Archie, I’m also silently grieving the version of Christmas that I used to enjoy of I thought I’d have as a big family. The laughter around the table with ALL the family. The last-minute plans and the buzz and excitement that it can bring. The feeling of belonging in big family moments. Instead, there are so many times where I feel like I’m watching life happen from the sidelines—present for my child, but absent from the world. And that can feel incredibly isolating .Last night my husband and other kids stayed out till almost midnight having fun a frivolity at a christmas family gathering and I was at home on the sofa from 4 pm because Archie needed to be home. No matter how neuroaffirming and proud you are …THAT SUCKS!!!
There’s a huge part of me that celebrates that I am “Mum the carer”, strong and resilient and endlessly giving, especially when I know that NOONE else could do this for him as well as I do. But there’s also still me, Beckie—the individual who often wants to feel included, wanted, carefree, and part of something bigger than responsibilities. Missing out doesn’t always look dramatic; sometimes it’s just a quiet ache, a reminder that my life is different and will always be different, that I am not who I once imagined I would be.
And here’s something that all too often goes unsaid: parent carers make underappreciated and unnoticed sacrifices every single day, not just at Christmas. Sacrifices that aren’t wrapped in tinsel or celebrated in cards. The kind that happen quietly—cancelled plans, emotional labour, exhaustion, guilt, worry, endless advocating, and constantly putting someone else’s needs above your own. It can be extremely lonely and can cause real lasting damage in relationships.
It is so important to acknowledge that. To say it out loud. To recognise that mums like me don’t just “get on with it”. We adapt. We bend. We give. We sacrifice and sometimes, we break a little too.
When those sacrifices go unrecognised, when it starts to feel like you’re taken for granted or simply expected to cope, it can put a strain on everything—relationships, mental health, even your sense of identity. Feeling unseen and unimportant hurts. Feeling like what you do is “just what mums do” instead of something totally extraordinary chips away at your inner strength.
So if you’re a parent carer reading this, I NEED you to know this… I SEE YOU!!!
You are allowed to prioritise your child.
You are allowed to feel isolated.
You are allowed to grieve the things you miss out on.
You are allowed to want recognition, appreciation, and understanding.
None of that makes you selfish. It makes you human.
Escaping Christmas doesn’t make us weak parents. If anything, it proves how fiercely we love our children and how we truly put their needs before our own. But we too deserve support, compassion, and the space to say “this is hard” without guilt.
This year, I’m choosing what’s right for Archie. And I’m also choosing to be honest about how that feels—for both of us.
Because acknowledging the sacrifice doesn’t take away from the pride, affirmation and love. It simply reminds the world that mums like me are still here, still a person with her own wants and needs and still deserving of appreciation too.