The Permission Slips Nobody Gave Us
For neurodivergent adults who are overstimulated and tired of the bullshit.
Unlearning decades of survival mode is hard as hell. And I know I’m not the only one who trips back and forth across the line between avid rule follower and stubborn rule ignorer. That back-and-forth makes it a challenge to give myself permission to accommodate my needs over the needs of my loved ones.
Here’s the Ish: You don’t actually need anyone’s permission. But sometimes knowing you’re not the only one who has these needs helps quiet the guilt. So below are the permission slips nobody gave us - the ones that might make your holidays slightly less of a shitshow.
Permission to say ‘no’ to hugs To moms, aunts, grandmas, uncles, cousins, in-laws, family friends who've "known you since you were this big" — all of them. You don't owe anyone access to your body, and you can start enforcing that boundary today even if you never have before. "I'm not a hugger" requires no further explanation.
Permission to skip it entirely You’re not legally required to attend anything. Not Christmas. Not the office party. Not your cousin’s ugly sweater potluck. “I’m not coming this year” doesn’t require a justification, a doctor’s note, or a tragedy. Sometimes the most radical act of self-care is just... not showing up.
Permission to leave early You don’t have to stay until the end. You don’t have to wait for dessert, the gift exchange, or Uncle Dave’s third bourbon-fueled political rant. Set your exit time before you arrive. When it’s time, go. You came - that was the gift.
Permission to sit in the car Before you go in. During the party. After you’ve hit your limit. The car is a perfectly valid decompression chamber. Sit there and scroll your phone, cry, stare at nothing, or blast music that would horrify your grandmother. The car is neutral territory.
Permission to hide in the bathroom Or the bedroom. Or the backyard. Or anywhere you can get five goddamn minutes without someone asking why you’re being so quiet. Strategic disappearing is a survival skill, not rudeness.
Permission to wear what’s actually comfortable Fuck the itchy sweater. Fuck the “nice pants.” Fuck the shoes that hurt after twenty minutes. If you need soft fabrics, elastic waistbands, and layers you can remove when you start overheating from social stress, wear them. No outfit is worth a sensory meltdown.
Permission to eat weird Eat before you go. Bring your own safe food. Skip the dishes that make you gag. Eat only the rolls. Eat nothing at all. Your relationship with food during high-stress events is your own business. The food police can choke on their green bean casserole.
Permission to not drink (or to drink) You don’t owe anyone an explanation for either choice. “No thanks” is complete. So is “yes please, and keep them coming.” Whatever gets you through.
Permission to bring your own car Even if it’s “silly” to take two cars. Even if someone offers to pick you up. Having an escape route isn’t paranoid - it’s strategic. You cannot leave when you need to if you’re trapped.
Permission to have a signal with your partner/friend/ally A code word. A hand gesture. A specific text. Whatever means “I’m done, get me out of this conversation” or “we need to leave in the next ten minutes.” Solidarity pacts are essential.
Permission to not explain your diagnosis You don’t have to come out as neurodivergent at the dinner table. You don’t have to educate your family. You don’t have to justify your accommodations to people who will respond with “everyone’s a little ADHD” or “you seem fine to me.” Pearls before swine, etc.
Permission to refuse the interrogation “So what are you up to these days?” “Are you seeing anyone?” “When are you having kids?” “What happened to that job?” You can deflect, redirect, give a non-answer, or straight up say “I’m not talking about that.” Your life is not a performance for relatives who only see you twice a year.
Permission to not perform happiness You don’t have to smile constantly. You don’t have to be “on.” You don’t have to pretend you’re having a great time when you’re overstimulated, exhausted, or quietly dissociating. Your face is allowed to match how you actually feel.
Permission to opt out of gift culture The shopping. The wrapping. The forced reciprocity. The anxiety of getting it “right.” You can bow out. You can set spending limits. You can suggest no gifts. You can give the same thing to everyone. You can give nothing at all and let people deal with their feelings about it.
Permission to do the holidays YOUR way Stay home in your pajamas. Volunteer somewhere. Go to a movie alone. Ignore it completely. Create new traditions that don’t make you want to disappear. The “right” way to do holidays is whatever doesn’t wreck you.
Permission to recover afterward Block off the day after. The week after. However long you need. Don’t schedule anything. Don’t expect productivity. Let yourself be a potato. You just survived something your nervous system experienced as a marathon. Rest isn’t optional - it’s mandatory.
Permission to feel however you feel about your family Love them and dread seeing them. Miss the family you wish you had. Feel relief when it’s over. Feel grief for what the holidays “should” be. Feel nothing at all. All of it’s valid. Complicated feelings about family aren’t a character flaw - they’re just... reality.
Permission to protect your peace over keeping the peace You don’t have to absorb someone else’s shitty comments to avoid “ruining the holiday.” You don’t have to be the bigger person every time. You’re allowed to have limits, and you’re allowed to enforce them - even if it makes things “awkward.” Awkward is survivable. Betraying yourself isn’t.
You're not alone in needing these permissions. And you're not broken for struggling with things that seem "easy" for everyone else. If any of these resonated, screenshot them, save them, share them with someone who needs to hear it. We're all just out here trying to survive the season without completely losing ourselves in the process.
Figuring it out with you,
Samantha
Want to download permission slip images to your phone? Click here to download a .zip file. Prefer a PDF to download, keep scrolling.
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