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Why Neurodivergent People Don't Owe You Their Attendance


Ah, the holidays. The season of joy, twinkling lights, and gatherings galore. It’s a time when calendars fill up with celebrations, dinners, and endless social events. For many, it’s an exhilarating whirlwind, but for neurodivergent people, the holiday season can quickly tip from festive to f*cked. The more events that pop up, the higher the stakes become, and what starts as a warm season of connection can spiral into a labyrinth of stress, overstimulation and hiding in the cave of overwhelm.


The expectations are subtle but relentless: attend, participate, and make an appearance. But what if I told you that attending every holiday event isn’t just a challenge for some—it’s a mountain that many of us can’t, and shouldn’t have to, climb? As we dive into the whirlwind of holiday invitations and social expectations, it’s important to understand why neurodivergent people don’t owe anyone their attendance, and why extending grace and empathy during this time is one of the best gifts you can give.


Energy is a Currency, and We’re on a Budget

Neurodivergent folks often operate with an energy bank that’s vastly different from the neurotypical standard. Just as you wouldn’t expect someone to spend money they don’t have, it’s unfair to expect a neurodivergent person to push themselves to attend an event when their energy levels say, nope. Social gatherings can be invigorating for some, but for many of us, they drain our precious energy reserves faster than you can say, “small talk.”


Our days are a dance of managing overstimulation, masking, sensory input, and navigating a world built on unwritten rules that weren’t designed with us in mind. When an invitation comes our way, it’s not just about scheduling or a matter of “do I feel like going?” It’s a full-on risk assessment involving questions like: Will this atmosphere exhaust me? Will I need days to recover? How many backup plans do I need to avoid an overload? Is it worth depleting my energy budget?


Saying No Isn’t Personal, It’s Protective

This is where things can get murky. The narrative of, “If they cared, they would come,” is a sneaky little lie that guilt-trips both sides into discomfort. Neurodivergent people aren’t skipping your events because we don’t care. Quite the opposite, really. We’re acutely aware of social expectations and the impact our choices have on those around us. But saying “no” is an act of self-preservation, not rejection.


Declining an invitation isn’t about you, your event, or your relationship. It’s about us making a conscious decision to honor our needs and set boundaries that help us thrive. Imagine running on a low battery, and every hour of social interaction drains you further until there’s nothing left but exhaustion. Now imagine being told that saying “no” means you’re rude or ungrateful. That’s the reality many of us face.


The Myth of Obligation

Alright, let’s tackle this head-on: the myth that ANY people owe anyone their presence. Owe? That word reeks of obligation, like we’re supposed to be paying off some kind of social loan. Newsflash: relationships aren’t a scoreboard of who showed up the most. and Neurodivergent folks aren’t here to play the attendance game. We're more the 'quality over quantity' people and we definitely shouldn’t be guilt-tripped into showing up to situations that leave us drained.


Showing up isn’t the only measure of love or loyalty. Sometimes, the most loving thing we can do is say “no", so we can keep our sanity and come back refreshed and ready to connect later. A “no” is its own form of magic—it’s us saying, “I care about you enough to protect my energy today, so I can be my full, fabulous self tomorrow.”


The Power of Genuine Understanding

When someone in your life declines an invitation, instead of feeling disappointed or interpreting it as disinterest, try offering understanding. Maybe even a message like, “Hey, I completely get it. Take care of you.” You’d be amazed at the warmth and safety those words bring. It tells us you see us—not just as your neurodivergent friend who might show up, but as a person worthy of respect whether we’re there or not.


So, to my fellow neurodivergent humans out there: you don’t owe anyone attendance. You don’t owe them a public appearance, a brave face, or a performance. What you owe yourself is self-respect, compassion, and the choice to say “yes” or “no” based on what you need. And trust me when I say, the people who really love you will understand. Eventually.

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