A Christmas That Wasn't
Just over two years ago, our family didn’t really have a Christmas. Yes, we put up a tree, wrapped our gifts, bought the Radio Times, and geared ourselves up for normal festivities.
But this was all wishful thinking.
You see, the autumn that preceded Christmas 2022, had been a catastrophe for our four-year-old son. This was his first full term in reception year, and despite his mainstream school having an autism provision, it soon became apparent that he could not cope with the environment — the noise, the crowds, the rules and regulations.
That first term of school gave me certain hard truths that, up until that point, I was unable to face. Our son’s autism was more severe than I had first anticipated.
The Reality of School: Masking and Meltdowns
Our son got his ASD diagnosis a year and a half earlier, when he was two, and despite many difficulties in those early days — especially with his communication — he was pretty much a happy little boy. He loved nursery, and was comfortable in that environment. He loved to laugh, and dance, and would be happy to be put to bed in his own room.
All this changed when he started mainstream school. He quickly started doing something I later found out was called ‘masking’ — a coping mechanism used by children who need to hold it together whilst in an environment they find threatening. On his way to school the glint in our son’s eye would go dim, and he would hold a demeanour I can only describe as being ‘inward’ all day long. Then, once he was back in the safety of his own home, the fallout would be spectacular. Spectacular in a terrible, terrifying sense.
A Family in Crisis
Things went sideways very quickly. Meltdowns became a nightly occurrence: he’d squeal for hours, and hit himself. I’d find myself spending nights, lying on my back, restraining my little lad from hurting himself. Bedtimes were even worse. It would take three or four hours every night to get him to sleep, and he’d only sleep if he could by under the crook of his mum’s arm — if she moved it was game over. And even then, within a few hours of him being asleep, he’d frequently wake wake up squealing and start hitting his head with the heel of his palm. I spent a year of going to work on no sleep. I was a walking zombie by day, and by night, we would be fighting crisis after crisis.
A parent’s nightmare had manifested itself in that Autumn term of 2022. A rolling cloud of blackness descended over our family. Every solution brought about new problems; toys that once brought our son joy were triggering him into distress; certain push books were okay, but others would cause catastrophic meltdowns.
A Rock Bottom Moment
I remember one night, a week or so before Christmas, I bought home a tepee tent and sensory lights. I set up a laptop to watch a Disney movie, and filled his tent with cushions and a blanket. That evening, he cuddled into me, and fell asleep watching Dumbo. I was so thrilled I could’ve cried — so comfortable was he on his cushions, and safe in his little cove. But then, just as I was about to congratulate myself for being world’s best daddy, he was up, squealing, hitting his head again, running from room to room, throwing himself off the walls and the doors of our apartment. My masterplan had unravelled in an instant. I remember the look I shared with his mum in that moment. It was a rock bottom look.
You see, it became apparent that everything, and I do mean everything, had become too much for our son to handle.
Big black clouds blotted out the sky. Our world had no more sunshine. But at least we knew what we needed to do in that moment — we needed to baton down the hatches, and brace ourselves for a long and bleak winter.
Christmas 2022: A Process of Elimination
A process of elimination was our Christmas in 2022. The tree came down early, no guests came, and the Radio Times was pointless because we couldn’t keep the telly on for very long without our son getting upset.
Everything was a potential meltdown trigger point.
Needless to say, that Christmas was one where none of us slept. Sleep was a disaster that year…midnight meltdowns, melatonin trials, intense sensory engagement and routines…nothing seemed to work. Nothing could calm the tempest.
I remember being in the courtyard of our communal building with our son at five am on a Boxing Day morning, as he insisted on sitting in a muddy puddle. The fresh air was what he needed after three hours of delirious non-sleep. And despite the bitter cold, he wanted to sit in a muddy puddle and splash endlessly. It was the only time he’d not cried in hours. What’s a dad to do in a moment like that?
A Turning Point: Fighting for Change
When New Year rolled around, we knew we had a battle on our hands. We knew our son’s dysregulation was a message that his world needed to change. We needed to get him into a special school, and despite being told there were no places available — anywhere — we mounted our attack.
Hope made way for determination.
We wanted our happy little boy back, and would stop at nothing. It became our sole mission. It was a war to get him in to special school. A war that we fought and won. But that is a story for another day.
Christmas 2023: A Glimpse of Normality
When our son started his special school in the September of 2023, black clouds slowly turned grey. Tempests became storms. The Christmas of 2023 was a whole lot better than the one previous, and despite the residue of that previous year still clinging to aspects of our lives, we were able to have some normality in our home. Our son was sleeping a bit better, which meant that his mother and I were sleeping (slightly) better, and despite our son’s meltdowns being at the mercy of fine hair trigger points, we were able to get through with some joy. And because he was a year older, our son had developed a bit of autonomy with his portable DVD player. He was even able to handle the telly being on at certain times of the day.
2025: The Weather Has Changed
And now, here we are in 2025, with our son six-years-old, and well on his way to talking. His inward demeanour has been replaced with a fully engaged, demanding, funny, complicated, curious, and loving little lad. The black clouds have made way for blue skies. And although he still has meltdowns, they’re a lot less self-injurious than they used to be, and can be overcome in a shorter amount of time. These meltdowns — though unpleasant and demanding — are like bursts of rainfall in otherwise sunny days.
When times get tricky, it’s worth remembering that the weather can change.
Why This Blog Matters
This monthly feature will share a father’s perspective on raising an autistic child—the struggles, the breakthroughs, and everything in between.
If you're on a similar journey, know that you're not alone.
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