Holiday Survival Guide for Enbies: How to Stay Sane, Seen, and Sparkly This Festive Season
Ah, the Holidays. The Season of Joy… and Microaggressions.
For many enbies, trans folks, and the broader queer glow-in-the-dark community, the holidays are a mixed bag.
Think: nostalgia, chosen family group chats, overeating, and the annual sport of “How Many Times Will Aunt Linda Misgender Me Before Dessert?”
Some of us go home.
Some of us don’t.
Some of us try it one more time “just to see,” only to remember by day two why we moved across the country, or left the country entirely.
This guide isn’t to focus on the potential doom and gloom of the holidays. And it’s not a guilt trip. It’s a permission slip: to go, not go, half-go, boundary-go, or make a grand exit the moment someone says, “When are you getting a real job?”
Whatever your holiday looks like, here are some thoughts and tips to help you get through it with your dignity and mental health intact.
Step 1
Decide If You’re Actually Going
Before we even start packing emotional armour and pocket scripts, we need to ask the one question most people avoid until the last possible second:
Do you actually want to go home?
Not: “Should I?”
Not: “Will Grandma cry if I don’t show up?”
Not: “I already bought the flights, and my bank account will sue me if I change them.”
I mean the fundamental question:
Does going home support your wellbeing, or drain it faster than a family group chat argument about how non-binary doesn’t exist?
Give yourself permission to be honest.
A lot of us are conditioned to believe that opting out is a failure or a betrayal of “tradition.”
And by conditioned, yes, I mean: the familiar maternal guilt-trip, the dramatic “I could crash my car, and you’d have to live with the guilt forever” kind of energy. Olympic-level emotional manipulation wrapped in festive sentiment.
Then you feel compelled to go, and suddenly there’s a list of unspoken rules: how to look, how to behave, how to exist quietly, subtly, and “normally” in the background. You’re not just attending; you’re performing.
But traditions aren’t sacred. They’re just habits with good PR, and half the time, they leave you with more regret than FOMO.
Ask yourself:
Do I feel safe there: emotionally, mentally, physically?
Will this visit cost me more energy than I can afford?
Or more money than I can afford? Both are valid.
Will I spend the whole time bracing for misgendering, commentary, or interrogation?
Do I actually want to spend this time with these people, or am I doing it out of obligation?
Would I enjoy a quiet holiday at home with chosen family, or would I enjoy it more literally anywhere else?
If the answer is “meh” or “absolutely not,” you’re allowed to skip.
You’re not heartless. You’re not dramatic. You’re not “making everything about your identity.”
You’re respecting your limits, which is honestly something the adults in your life probably never modelled for you.
And if you do decide to go…
Great. That’s a valid choice too.
But don’t go unarmoured.
The following sections will help you go in with realistic expectations, soft boundaries, and a few lifesaving escape hatches.
Step 2
Set Your Boundaries Before They Set Themselves
Here’s the thing about going home for the holidays:
If you don’t set the tone, someone else absolutely will. And it’s almost always the relative who still uses “preferred pronouns” like it’s a political slur.
Boundaries aren’t rude.
Boundaries aren’t dramatic.
Boundaries are what keep you from dissociating into the wallpaper during family dinner.
Start Before You Arrive (Yes, This Feels Awkward. Do It Anyway.)
If your stomach clenches at the thought of pre-emptively stating your needs, congratulations, that means you were raised to have no boundaries. But now you’re older, queerer, and frankly, too exhausted to run the “polite silence” Olympics again.
A simple pre-visit message can save you hours of discomfort later. Think:
“Just a reminder: please use my name and pronouns when I’m home.”
“I won’t be discussing my gender, my body, or my medical history.”
“I will step away if conversations become uncomfortable.”
“I’ll be arriving at X time and leaving at Y time.”
You’re not asking for special treatment.
You’re asking to be treated like a human being.
A baseline request. The floor, not the ceiling.
If They Say You’re Being ‘Sensitive’
You are.
You’re sensitive to being misgendered, steamrolled, or treated like the family’s designated “teachable moment.”
Being sensitive is not the problem.
People refusing to adjust their behaviour is.
Set Boundaries With Yourself, Too
External boundaries mean nothing if you haven’t sorted out your internal ones.
Before you go, decide:
How long are you willing to stay? (Spoiler: “as long as they want me to” is not an answer.)
What topics do you refuse to engage in? (“I’m not discussing that” is a complete sentence. No follow-up required.)
What are your escape conditions? (One transphobic comment? Two? The moment your deadname appears? Decide now.)
Who is your emergency-text person? (A friend who can talk you through a bathroom break works wonders.)
Boundaries = Care
Not confrontation.
Not punishment.
Not starting drama.
Boundaries are you saying: “I am willing to be here, but not at the cost of my peace, identity, or basic self-worth.”
And honestly? That’s the healthiest holiday tradition you can start.
Step 3
Create Pocket Scripts for When Things Get Weird (Because They Will)
No matter how well you prep, the holidays have an exceptional talent for turning even the simplest interaction into a micro-aggressive obstacle course.
This is where pocket scripts come in: short, calm, pre-loaded lines you can whip out the moment someone says something off-key, outdated, or entirely too bold for someone wearing a light-up Rudolph sweater.
Think of these as your conversational armour. Minimal effort. Maximum protection.
When You’re Misgendered (Again)
“Hey, my pronouns are ____________.”
“Just a reminder: it’s ____________.”
“Try that again with my pronouns.”
For repeat offenders: walk out, breathe, reset.
No apologies.
No dissertations.
No getting roped into unpacking gender theory at 7:15 PM over turkey.
When Someone Asks About Your Body/Transition/Medical Life
“I’m not discussing that.”
“That’s personal.”
“I’m here to enjoy the holiday, not talk about my medical history.”
“Let’s change the topic.”
“Wild question. Anyway…”
Spicy mode (warning, not recommended for long-term family peace): Ask Aunt Karen how her stealth boob job is healing, or whether Uncle Joe is getting a vasectomy anytime soon because the last thing the world needs is another generation raised on his transphobic monologues.
But honestly? Save your energy.
Attack mode may feel justified (and it is), but your sanity matters more.
When Someone Tries to Debate Your Identity
“I’m not having that conversation.”
“My existence isn’t a topic.”
“Nope.”
If they push:
“I’m going to step away.” (Then leave, do it.)
When a Relative Wants to ‘Understand’ but Knows Nothing and Is Doing It Badly
“I appreciate the interest, but I’d rather not discuss that right now.”
“Happy to talk another time, just not today.”
“There are great resources online if you want to learn more.”
If they won’t stop: remind them that Google is free, grab seconds (or thirds) of whatever coping carb is nearby, and walk away with dignity.
This is the “I am not the family’s unpaid DEI consultant” clause.
It should be written in your internal boundary contract back in Section 2.
When You’re Cornered by the ‘So Are You Dating Anyone?’ Brigade
“No updates.”
“I’m focusing on myself this year.”
“Nope.”
“Next question.”
If they pry:
Deadpan: “How’s the third divorce going?”
They’ll retreat. Bye-bye, Aunt Linda!
When Someone Drops a Bigoted Comment Like It’s a Christmas Ornament
“That’s not appropriate.”
“Let’s move on.”
“Nope, not doing that today.”
Escape plan optional… but recommended.
(If you run, take a to-go plate.)
When You Need to End the Conversation Entirely
“I’m grabbing some air.”
“I need a break.”
“I’m going to refresh my drink.”
“Bathroom.” (The universal safe word.)
Pocket scripts aren’t about preparing for every scenario.
They’re not about being clever.
They’re about conserving your energy.
Think — Less emotional labour. More emotional survival.
Step 4
Build Your Comfort Kit (Physical, Emotional, and Petty if Needed)
If you’re heading into the holiday arena, you deserve a survival kit. Not a metaphorical one.
A literal, tangible, “I will not lose my mind in this house” kit.
Think of it as your go-bag: part sensory comfort, part emotional grounding, part “I refuse to be spiritually destabilised by anyone born before 1980.”
It doesn’t have to be dramatic. It just has to help.
The Physical Comfort Kit
Pack things that help regulate your body and give you micro-escapes, such as:
Headphones or noise-cancelling earbuds (silence: the most underrated gender-affirming tool)
Snacks you don’t have to justify (nobody needs commentary on your portion sizes or what you’re eating)
A soft hoodie, scarf, or jacket (something you can hide in like a gay emotional turtle shell)
A grounding fidget or sensory object (ring, stone, bracelet, bead or something nice to hold when your uncle starts a sentence with “back in my day…”)
A book or e-reader (reading is the international symbol for “leave me alone”)
A tiny gender-affirming item (perfume, nail polish, a binder, a discreet accessory, whatever makes you feel like yourself inside a house decorated with “Live Laugh Love” signs)
The Emotional Comfort Kit
This might be even more important than the physical one.
An exit plan (“If A happens, I go outside. If B happens, I leave. If C happens, I launch myself into the sea.”)
Check-ins with chosen family (a quick message from your besties can reset your entire nervous system)
A pre-arranged venting buddy (someone you can text “OH MY GOD” to without explanation)
A grounding strategy (breathwork, counting objects, stepping outside, touching something cold, literally whatever helps your body calm the hell down)
A promise to yourself (something like: “I will not betray myself just to make this visit ‘easier’ for others”)
The Petty-but-Healthy Comfort Kit (Optional But Delicious)
For when you need just a sprinkle of chaotic queer morale-boosting:
Create a playlist titled Family Avoidance Mode, featuring three genres: queer anthems, angry femmes, and songs that make you feel like Bella Swan unnecessarily staring out a window for three months over a man 🎶 there’s a possibility… 🎶
A second outfit hidden in the car, specifically for the moment you decide you’re done performing “appropriate child” and would like to reclaim your final form: Hot Queer With Nowhere To Be And Likely Actually Nowhere
The quiet, comforting knowledge that you can leave at any moment under the universally respected excuse: “I’m suddenly not feeling well,” said in a tone that implies both mystery and stomach cramps.
A fully rehearsed mirror-speech that begins with “Actually…” and goes on to dismantle 400 years of gender norms, a speech you will never deliver because you’ve ✨evolved✨ and also because the emotional cost of educating these people exceeds the GDP of a medium-sized nation.
A mental fantasy about dramatically grabbing your coat and storming out… even if, in reality, you quietly slip away to sit in your car and listen to your playlist like a melodramatic Victorian protagonist. Irish goodbyes can be amazing when you’re the one giving them, not receiving them.
Look, sometimes a little petty imagination is what gets you through the holidays with your sanity intact.
Whether you take the high road or let your inside thoughts slip out, you are valid.
You’re trying to survive, not convert your relatives or perform queer resilience for an unappreciative audience.
Holiday gatherings can be overstimulating, invalidating, or just… a lot.
Creating a comfort kit gives you control over the tiny things, which makes the big things less overwhelming.
It’s not dramatic.
It’s not over-preparing.
It’s caring for the version of you who survived many holidays before, often without tools, language, or support.
This time, you go in resourced.
Step 5
Create Micro-Joys (Because the Holidays Don’t Get to Steal Your Sparkle)
Holiday gatherings can be chaotic, overstimulating, or aggressively mediocre, but tiny moments of joy can make the whole ordeal feel less like emotional dodgeball.
Micro-joys aren’t about pretending everything is fine.
They’re about claiming small pockets of delight in spite of everything.
These little rituals help you stay tethered to yourself, especially when you’re in an environment that expects you to revert to your teenage self, who cried quietly in the closet (literally and figuratively) while hiding from relatives.
Let’s avoid that fate.
Create A Morning Ritual Just for You
Start the day with something grounding before stepping into the chaos:
A quiet walk
A hot drink in silence
A playlist that reminds you you’re a whole person
A moment to breathe before the emotional Cirque du Soleil begins
The goal: locate your inner peace before exposure to family members who refuse to locate Google.
Wear Something That Makes You Feel Like You
Whether it’s subtle, bold, or secret:
Jewelry
A binder
Painted nails
Perfume
A queer-coded accessory
A piece of clothing that helps you feel aligned
You’re allowed to feel good in your body even if others refuse to understand it.
Tiny Treats = Big Emotional Regulation
Bring something small that sparks joy:
A fancy chocolate
A cold drink you actually enjoy
A ridiculous holiday snack
A novelty fizzy drink you pretend is a coping mechanism
A baked treat you made for yourself and might share selectively
Tiny indulgences remind your nervous system that you’re safe and worthy of sweetness (even if nobody else at the table deserves your baked goods).
Create a Joyful Distraction
Something that gives your brain a little dopamine break:
A book you’re excited about
A game on your phone
Scrolling your TikTok feed in the bathroom for 6 minutes
Sending live updates to your group chat for emotional sport
You’re allowed small escapes.
You’re not a hostage.
This is not jury duty.
Find One Thing to Enjoy Intentionally
Not to force gratitude—gross—but to anchor yourself in the present moment in a gentle way:
The smell of something baking
The glow of Christmas lights
A conversation with the one family member who isn’t terrible
The dog (vital)
A quiet five minutes on the porch
The satisfaction of surviving this far without snapping
Micro-joys remind you that you exist outside of how others perceive you.
They’re a small celebration. A stabiliser for your soul.
Why Micro-Joys Matter
Because you’re not just trying to “get through” the holidays.
You’re trying to get through them without losing yourself in the process.
Micro-joys are the tiny sparks that reconnect you to your identity, your pleasure, your community, and your dignity.
They won’t fix everything, but they’ll help you remember who you are.
And who you are is worth protecting.
Step 6
Have an Escape Plan (A.K.A. You Are Not a Hostage—most likely)
Let’s be clear about one thing:
You are never trapped.
Yes, technically, Stockholm syndrome is real, and many of us have received the maternal guilt that can and often does trap us into staying.
But in reality, you are not a hostage. You are not trapped.
Not by tradition.
Not by guilt.
Not by the relative who insists you “just relax and enjoy it.”
So prepare yourself and create your escape plan.
Escape plans aren’t dramatic; they’re self-preservation.
Every queer knows the value of a graceful exit, a strategic exit, or a “grab your coat and floor it” exit.
Let’s prepare yours.
Plan Your Transportation
If you can, bring your own way out.
Your own car, rideshare access, bike, scooter, or even pre-booked bus or train, whatever keeps you in control.
Because nothing is worse than wanting to leave and hearing:
“We’ll head off in a few hours, don’t rush.”
No.
Absolutely not.
Set a Hard Out Time
Have a personal deadline like:
“I’m leaving at 7 PM.”
“I’ll stay for dinner, then I’m heading home.”
“I can only do a short visit today.”
You do not need a reason.
You do not need permission.
You do not need to explain your itinerary to anyone who is not paying your therapy bills.
If guilt crops up, smother it with the knowledge that boundaries are not RSVPs; they are statements.
Create a Socially Acceptable Escape Trigger
These excuses are classic for a reason:
“I’m suddenly feeling unwell.”
“Work tomorrow, early morning.”
“I promised I’d check on my pet / neighbour / sourdough starter.”
“I need to lie down; my head is spinning.”
Say it with conviction and a hand to your stomach for dramatic flair.
Use the Bathroom Exit (A Queer Favourite)
The bathroom is the Switzerland of family dynamics:
Neutral territory
Nobody questions your presence
Everyone will politely pretend not to notice how long you’re in there
This is the perfect space for:
A reset
A moment of silence
A snack
A panic-text to your bestie
A quick cry
No shame. Bathrooms are sacred ground.
Phone-a-Friend Emergency Protocol
Arrange a “call me if I text you pineapple” system.
Or banana, glitter, executive dysfunction, pick your code word.
They ring you.
You look serious.
You mouth “oh no…”
You leave.
You do not have to tell anyone that the crisis is fictional.
That is privileged information.
The Irish Goodbye (Elite Tier)
Slip out unnoticed.
This is the highest form of self-care.
You avoid the:
Performative hugs
“Leaving so soon?” chorus
Five-minute guilt monologue at the door
You vanish into the night like a boundary-respecting cryptid.
The Dramatic Exit (Optional, But Cathartic)
If you ever want to storm out, coat in hand, eyes blazing, scarf trailing behind you like a cape, you have full permission.
This is a choose-your-own-drama moment.
Not always advisable, but undeniably iconic.
Why Escape Plans Matter
Because knowing you can leave makes it easier to stay.
Escape plans give you:
Autonomy
Control
Emotional safety
Permission to protect yourself
You’re not there to endure suffering for tradition’s sake.
You’re there on your terms, for as long as those terms are respected.
Step -1
So, You Decided Not to Go Home (You’re Choosing Yourself)
Remember back at Step 1, when I honestly asked you to consider the question: “Do you actually want to go home?”
Well, this is for those who said, "Absolutely not."
Let’s talk about this other holiday experience, the one nobody advertises and has yet to be made by Hallmark.
Not going home at all.
For many enbies, trans folks, and queers, skipping the family holiday isn’t a last resort; it’s an intentional act of self-preservation. Sometimes it’s the first time you’ve been able to do it. Sometimes it takes years to get there. Sometimes you waffle back and forth until the last minute.
Whatever the reason:
Not going home does not make you cold, selfish, dramatic, or ungrateful.
It makes you honest about your limits.
Opting Out Is a Valid Choice, Not a Moral Failing
You’re not obligated to subject yourself to:
Misgendering
Emotional labour
Unsafe dynamics
Backhanded comments
Conversations that exist solely to test your patience
Choosing not to go is not “giving up on family.”
It’s prioritising your mental health over holiday aesthetics.
Tradition is not more important than your well-being.
So What Does a Holiday Look Like Without the Obligations?
Anything you want.
You get to design your own queer holiday blueprint, free from expectations.
Some ideas:
A quiet solo holiday (warm food, cosy blankets, a movie marathon, peace—this is underrated and incredibly healing)
A chosen-family gathering (the queer potluck—the safest* tradition ever invented)
A “treat yourself” day (spa, buffet, hiking, shopping, sleeping in, whatever makes your brain purr)
A holiday trip (beach, bush walk, hotel stay, or just driving aimlessly with your favourite playlist)
A no-holiday holiday (ignore the day entirely and pretend it’s just… Tuesday)
You Don’t Need to Earn Rest
You don’t need a traumatic reason to skip a family gathering.
You don’t have to be sobbing in therapy to justify staying home.
You don’t need a dissertation on boundary-setting to say no.
Sometimes “I don’t want to” is reason enough.
The Real Gift: Peace
When you choose not to go, you’re gifting yourself:
Safety
Emotional quiet
Autonomy
Space to exist without performing
The version of yourself you like best
That’s not failure.
That’s liberation.
And If You Feel Guilty?
Of course you do.
You were probably raised to believe showing up = love, and staying away = betrayal.
But here’s the truth:
Guilt is a feeling. It’s not a mandate.
You can feel guilty and still make the right choice for yourself.
Your Holiday, Your Rules
Going home is valid.
Not going home is valid.
Half-visiting is valid.
Hiding in a hotel, ordering Uber Eats, and watching YouTubers for twelve hours straight is also valid.
What matters is that you choose a version of the holidays that doesn’t leave you drained, dysregulated, or questioning your entire life.
Your queerness is not an obstacle to holiday joy; the circumstances are.
And you’re allowed to change those circumstances.
Step OMG I survived and now what
Aftercare & Recovery: How to Reset Once It’s All Over
Congratulations 🥳
You made it through another holiday season in one piece (or at least in the same number of pieces you started with), whether you spent it biting your tongue at family dinner, hiding in a bathroom with your “Family Avoidance Mode” playlist, or having the cosiest chosen-family night of your life, aftercare matters.
Think of this as the emotional cooldown after a marathon you never signed up for.
You’re allowed to take time to recalibrate.
1. Debrief With Someone Who Gets It
Once you’re back in your space, send the message your soul has been holding onto:
“OH MY GOD YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE—”
“I survived.”
“Why am I like this?”
“Guess what my uncle said this year?”
Vent. Laugh. Cry. Swear. Over-analyse.
This isn’t drama; this is processing.
And it’s healing to be witnessed by people who get the nuance, the identity fatigue, and the absurdity of it all.
2. Do the Bare Minimum for 24 Hours
Your nervous system is tired.
You deserve a break from performing, pleasing, decoding tone, or surviving microaggressions.
This is your permission slip to:
Order food
Wear the same outfit for 12 hours
Leave texts on read
Do nothing productive literally
Take a nap that alters you spiritually
This is decompression, not laziness.
3. Re-Affirm Yourself (Identity Repair Is Real)
Even if your family was “fine,” family environments can still trigger old versions of you, smaller versions, closeted versions, versions who had to shrink to survive.
Your aftercare may include:
Playing with gender expression in low-stakes ways
Putting on clothes that make you feel like your actual self
Painting your nails, unbinding, rebinding, styling your hair, whatever restores your sense of self
Saying your name and pronouns out loud
Queer music, queer content, queer joy
Reclaim your nervous system.
Remind yourself who you are now, not who you were forced to be then.
4. Reconnect to Joy in Whatever Form Feels Most You
Small things count:
A good meal
A warm shower
Clean sheets
A walk
A cosy movie
A campy video essay
A treat you didn’t have to share with anyone
Being alone with your own thoughts without someone calling you “sensitive”
Let your body unclench. Let your brain re-expand.
5. Don’t Gaslight Yourself About How It Felt
You’re not “too sensitive.”
You’re not “overreacting.”
You’re not “making everything about identity.”
Your feelings are valid even if your relatives don’t validate them.
If something hurt, it hurt.
If something drained you, it drained you.
If something crossed a boundary, that boundary matters.
Naming what happened is part of healing — not negativity.
6. Set a Note for Next Year (Future You Will Thank You)
Record your thoughts while they’re fresh:
What went well?
What didn’t?
What would you do differently?
Who was supportive?
What triggered you?
Do you actually want to go again next year?
This isn’t about planning 12 months, it’s about honouring your truth while you still remember it.
Your future self deserves accurate data, not holiday amnesia.
Aftercare Is Not Optional, It’s Protection
You survived a complex emotional landscape.
You deserve softness, grounding, and the freedom to… exist.
Whether the holidays were chaotic, surprising, affirming, neutral, or exhausting, you’re allowed to take time to recalibrate back into yourself — your authentic, complete, whole self.
You made it.
You’re here.
And you get to rest now.
Closing Thoughts
You Deserve a Holiday That Doesn’t Hurt
Whether you went home, stayed home, created new traditions, Irish goodbye out the door, or spent the day in a blanket burrito avoiding humanity, I want you to remember something:
You’re not challenging to have needs.
You’re not dramatic for protecting your peace.
You’re not ungrateful for choosing yourself.
You’re not wrong for wanting joy on your own terms.
Being enby, trans, gender-diverse, or queer in a family environment can be complicated, sometimes beautiful, sometimes painful, sometimes both in the same afternoon. We walk into these spaces carrying history, identity, boundaries, hope, and sometimes a little petty rage, all while trying to be festive.
But you made it through this season.
In your way.
On your terms.
With whatever strategies kept you safe and semi-sane.
The holidays don’t get to define you.
They don’t get to diminish you.
They don’t get to dictate your worth.
You are real. You are valid. You are allowed to take up space even in places that haven’t fully caught up to who you are.
And every year, you get to revisit the question:
“What do I want my holidays to look like?”
And you get to answer each time differently.
So take a breath. Let your shoulders drop. Find your grounding again.
Let yourself rest, recover, and return to the people and places that actually nourish you.
And remember:
You deserve joy.
You deserve ease.
You deserve a holiday that doesn’t hurt.
Until next season, may your boundaries be respected, your pronouns correct, and your exit routes precise.
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