This is not a diagnosis.
It’s not labelling.
It’s simply a curious little lens – the kind that helps us notice strengths, kindness, and problem-solving in places we’ve always looked, but maybe never quite seen.
Because once you start looking, Christmas is quietly full of neurodivergent-coded brilliance.
Old Chris Cringle
Take Father Christmas.
A man who spends most of the year preparing for one very specific night. Lists, systems, routines, logistics. He checks his list twice – obviously. Probably more. He completes a year’s worth of work in a single, hyper-focused sprint, fuelled by purpose, tradition, and snacks.
Perhaps that’s why Father Christmas waits until we’re asleep. Not to be mysterious, but to protect his flow. Interruptions break concentration, and once the thread is lost it’s hard to pick up again. And perhaps the daytime appearances are just that – appearances. A bit of well-practised, good-natured masking before the real work begins, carried out quietly, without small talk, in the hours he’s structured to suit himself.
He prefers chimneys to front doors – not because he’s sneaky, but because if he had to lock up after himself he’d be backtracking all night. Keys would be lost. Doors would be checked. Again. And again.
This isn’t chaos.
This is systems thinking.
And then there are the mince pies.
Familiar. Predictable. Always the same.
Small rituals that fuel a very big night.
- quick dopamine hits
- reliable sensory comfort
- sugar and fat under pressure
- food that says “this is expected, this is safe”
Add in the milk (grounding), the identical outfit every year (sensory consistency), and the fact it’s all contained to one night only (built-in recovery), and suddenly Santa is still magical but just a bit more… exceptionally well regulated for the task at hand.
He’s kind. Patient. Fair. Quietly justice-driven. He notices who needs what, even when nobody is watching. And when conditions are difficult – foggy, unpredictable, overwhelming – he doesn’t give up. He adapts.
I Don’t Think It’s Going To Rain Dear – It’s Just Foggy
Which brings us to Rudolph.
The one who was different.
The one who didn’t fit.
The one the others excluded because they didn’t understand him.
Rudolph’s difference was visible. Unavoidable. Uncomfortable for others. Until, of course, it wasn’t.
Fog rolls in. The usual way won’t work. And suddenly Rudolph’s very specific trait – the one that made him stand out – becomes essential. Not despite his difference, but because of it.
It’s a familiar story to many neurodivergent people. Misunderstood in calm conditions. Indispensable when things get tricky.
And the rest of the team? Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen. A wonderfully specialised group with names that hint at speed, rhythm, energy, storminess. Not interchangeable. Not generic. Each there for a reason.
Even the wider Christmas world starts to look different through this lens. Workshops full of repetitive, skilled work done with care. Strong routines. Clear roles. Community. Purpose. A shared mission that values contribution over conformity.
A Journal-ist Perhaps?
It’s also why I’m drawn to journalling as a practice. Not as self-improvement or productivity, but as a way to notice what actually works – the routines, rituals, comforts and strengths that help us navigate foggy days as well as bright ones. A place to record patterns without judgement, and to make sense of our own rhythms in a noisy world.
The journals I design at Nourish Flourish UK are rooted in this same idea – thoughtful, non-generic spaces for reflection, grounded in nature, seasonality, and calm, created to support both neurodivergent and neurotypical minds.
Much of my work is shaped by this strengths-based way of looking at things – noticing difference, comfort, creativity and care rather than trying to “fix” what was never broken. It’s something I’m exploring more deeply through my studies and will be weaving into future offerings, courses and resources designed to support calm, reflective, neurodivergent-friendly lives.
Neurodivergence & Christmas
This isn’t about turning festive characters into diagnoses. It’s about recognising something gentler and more hopeful – that difference has always had a place in our stories. That strengths often look strange until the moment they’re needed. That kindness, loyalty, focus, creativity and problem-solving are worth celebrating.
So no labels. Just curiosity.
And maybe a little fawning over the idea that Christmas has always been more neurodivergent-friendly than we realised – if we know how to look.
