The Post-Holiday Burnout Recovery Guide for ND Moms: What to Do When You’ve Hit Empty

The holidays ask a lot from most moms. If you're autistic, ADHD, both, or something in-between, they usually ask more than your nervous system can actually give. By the time everyone's gone home and the last trash bag of wrapping paper is dragged outside, you might feel hollowed out and weirdly buzzy at the same time – like you survived something but you're not sure what's left.

You might look "fine" from the outside. You're feeding your child, answering basic questions, maybe even making a joke here and there. Inside though, there's a heavy, shut-down feeling that doesn't match the "fresh start" energy blasting out of every January ad. Your brain is tired in a way that even sleep can't fix. (Girl we know you've tried.)

This guide is for that version of you. The one sitting in a quiet house after weeks of forced activity, trying to figure out how the hell to come back to yourself.

This isn't about perfection or a ten-step glow-up plan. This is about understanding what just happened to your nervous system and setting up a low-demand January that respects your actual capacity as a neurodivergent mom.

📌 save this now so you can find it later when your brain is too tired to search

why the holidays wreck ND nervous systems (it’s not just you)

If you trace your stress back over the last few weeks, the pattern might feel very familiar. The holiday season stacks several demanding things on top of each other, especially when you are the one holding the mental load for a small human.

First, there's social performance. You spend time with relatives, in-laws, friends, coworkers, other parents, literally everyone and their dog. Mind you, every setting has its own unspoken rules. You're tracking tone, facial expressions, and timing while also keeping your child from melting down or licking electrical outlets. Your brain may slide into masking without permission, smoothing your reactions so you feel "acceptable" to everyone around you. That costs energy, even if you're good at it. Especially if you're good at it.

Then you have sensory chaos. Crowded houses, overlapping conversations, music, cooking smells, travel, decorations, unfamiliar spaces. If you're already sensitive to sound, light, texture, or smell, the holidays can ram your system into the red zone rather quickly. It might not show up as a dramatic public meltdown. But it might live in your shoulders, your jaw, your headaches, the way you flinch at sudden noises by the end of the day. Or in the way you snap at your partner for breathing too loud. We've all been there.

Routines that usually keep you functional tend to fall apart during this time. sleep schedules shift. Meals become irregular. You might travel or host, which replaces predictable daily patterns with constant small decisions. Neurodivergent brains lean heavily on routine to keep decision fatigue and executive dysfunction under control. When those routines dissolve, your brain has to manually handle every tiny choice, and that is exhausting.

Finally, there is the invisible spreadsheet in your head. Gifts, outfits, logistics, nap windows, snacks, activities, packing lists, emotional dynamics between people, your child’s sensory needs in new environments. That quiet, constant planning is work. When you stack that on top of masking, sensory overload, and lost routine, burnout becomes almost guaranteed.

signs you’re in autistic burnout after the holidays (not just tired)

You might tell yourself you are “just tired.” At the same time, you can feel that something about this exhaustion hits different. A few common patterns show up for a lot of ND moms after high-demand seasons like this.

Your executive function feels flat. Simple tasks feel heavier than they should. Starting the dishwasher, replying to one message, or planning dinner feels like too many steps for the amount of fuel you have. You know what needs to happen but your body doesn't follow. And then of course you feel guilty about it – which doesn't help but here we are.

Your sensory threshold is lower than usual. Normal sounds feel sharper. Visual clutter bothers you more, even if you don't have the energy to clean it. You feel yourself bracing against noise from toys, TV, or conversation. You may catch yourself snapping or shutting down faster when there's too much going on in one room. The same exact sounds that were "fine" three weeks ago now feel like someone's scraping a fork across your brain. And not even the good fork.

Emotionally, you might feel numb and overwhelmed at the same time. There's a sense of being "checked out" to survive the day while also feeling on the edge of tears or irritability. You may feel guilty for wanting everyone to leave you alone. You may wonder if you're a bad mom because you need more quiet than other parents seem to need. Spoiler: you're not. Their nervous systems just work differently.

If you recognize pieces of this, you are not failing. Your brain and body are showing you the cost of weeks of high demand. The point of naming it is not to label yourself forever, but to give you enough clarity to change how you treat January.

recovery isn’t optional – it’s maintenance for your ND brain

Most of the advice you see in January assumes you have spare capacity. New routines, big goals, intense planning sessions, decluttering challenges, fresh starts. None of that matches the reality of a system that has just crawled through a marathon of social and sensory demand. (Like, cool vision board babe but I can barely choose pants right now.)

For a neurodivergent brain, recovery is not a cute optional add-on when everything else is done. It is maintenance. If you skip maintenance, the system does not magically rise to the occasion. It breaks down in quieter ways: shutdowns, resentment, brain fog, illness, spirals of shame about not doing “enough.”

Treating recovery as maintenance means you plan for it the way you plan for groceries or diapers. It becomes part of the default, not a reward you hope to earn. That shift can feel hella uncomfortable at first, especially if you have a long history of pushing through and then crashing. With practice, it starts to feel more honest.

step 1: figure out your actual bare minimum (not what instagram says)

The first thing you can do is define what "good enough" actually looks like for this month, for you. Not in an abstract inspiring way, but in a concrete, neurodivergent, this is real life way.

Start by choosing three non-negotiables that keep your household functioning. For many ND moms, that looks like: everyone fed, essential work handled, basic hygiene. Your version may include medication, school drop-off, or one simple house task that helps you feel grounded. The point is to decide what truly matters when your energy is low, so you can let the rest take backseat without constant self-attack.

Then, mentally label everything else as optional for now. The deeper cleaning, the perfect meal plan, the elaborate activities, the color-coded calendar, the full home reset. Optional. (I know your brain is screaming "but what if—" shhh. Optional bb.)

step 2: make January low-demand on purpose

Once your bare minimum is defined, you can shape the rest of January around being low-demand on purpose. A simple way to do that is to sort your ideas and tasks into three lists.

The first list is essential daily and weekly tasks. Feeding, sleep, childcare, non-movable work items, time-sensitive bills or appointments. These stay on your plate and get scheduled with the assumption that your energy is limited.

The second list is low-effort improvements. These are small things that genuinely help but do not require huge planning or emotional bandwidth. One load of laundry from start to finish a few days a week. A very simple repeating meal pattern. A five-minute reset of one surface in the evening. You only pull from this list on days when you have more capacity than usual.

The third list is “later” projects. Whole-room declutters, massive organizing binges, deep planning, new habits that need a lot of monitoring, creative projects that demand focus. Instead of telling yourself you will not do them at all, you write them down clearly and assign them to another season or month. That way your brain feels heard without being dragged into overcommitment while you are still in recovery.

This structure respects how executive dysfunction and cognitive overload actually work. You are not asking your brain to prioritize from a giant mixed list every day. You are sorting once, then choosing from a smaller, calmer menu.

step 3: turn down the sensory and social volume

A low-demand month is not only about tasks. It is also about input. Your system has spent weeks being flooded by noise, light, people, and expectations. Reducing that load even slightly can make the rest of your recovery plan more effective.

For social load, notice where you can say no or "not this month" without everything falling apart. That may mean fewer playdates, slower replies to messages, or shorter visits with relatives. You don't need a long justification. Simple phrases like "I'm very wiped from the holidays and laying low this month" are enough. You're allowed to protect your limited capacity, even if other people don't fully understand the level of burnout you feel. And they probably won't, but that's not your problem to fix right now.

low-demand January prompts when your brain is too fried to plan

If your brain freezes when you try to plan, use these gentle prompts as a starting point. You can answer them in a notes app, a journal, or the back of an envelope. Short, messy answers are perfect.

1. energy check

How does your body feel right now from head to toe, and what does that tell you about how much you can realistically handle this week?

2. absolute essentials

What three things truly need to happen most days so your household keeps functioning at a basic level?

3. things you can pause

What can you deliberately put on hold for the rest of January without serious consequences?

4. sensory first aid

What two or three sensory changes usually help you feel less overloaded, and how can you make those easier to access?

5. tiny help

Who or what can realistically take one task off your plate this month, even if it is small?

6. “no” or “not now” scripts

What short sentences feel natural to you when you need to say no, cancel, or reschedule?

7. future-you kindness

What is one five-minute task today that would make tomorrow feel a little easier?

8. social capacity

How many social commitments feel tolerable for you in a week right now, and what is your hard limit?

9. rest menu

What counts as real rest for your brain and body, not just numbing out, and how can you make a short list to choose from when you are too tired to think?

10. one gentle focus for the month

If January could only hold one small focus for you, what would feel genuinely supportive instead of aspirational?

You don't have to earn a quieter January, and you don't need to turn it into a project. Your nervous system has carried you through a demanding season while parenting and holding a heavy mental load. Treat this month like a buffer, not a launchpad. The goal isn't to perform a perfect recovery – it's to give your brain enough space to remember what steadier days feel like.

And if January still ends up messy? February exists. You're not on a deadline ♡

one more thing before you go

If this helped at all, save it somewhere you'll actually remember. Bookmark it, pin it, screenshot the prompts section —whatever works for your brain. You might need this again in a few weeks when the crash catches up with you.

And if you know another ND mom who's hitting empty right now? Send it to them. We’re all just trying to survive January together.