The Holiday Hangover: Masking and Mental Health

Boy, am I fucking hungover.

No, not the kind that comes from indulging in too many holiday cocktails.

I’m talking about the mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual hangover that hits after participating in holiday events.

The holidays always make me feel a certain kind of way: empty, anxious, detached.

This year was no different. Trying to make things merry. Trying to be jolly. Trying to make my partner feel like things are “normal.”

While I see others with their cheery smiles and hopeful faces, I can barely muster a grin. But I continue to contort and force myself to participate in the societally acceptable—if not expected—holiday activities.

My intentions are good. I think I want to participate. It looks “fun,” and it makes other people happy. I like to have fun and be happy, too. And maybe—just maybe—if I try hard enough, I’ll finally feel the warmth and magic you see on the holiday cards and in the movies.

Maybe.

A Mismatch of Joy

For me, “fun” and “happy” often look different from the Hallmark version.

Crowds—or even groups larger than three—are overwhelming. Add loud noises and lots of activity (what feels like “chaos” to me), and I’m white-knuckling through the whole event.

For much of my life, I’ve tried to be what everyone else wanted me to be. I was trained well. Like most girls—especially neurodivergent girls—I learned to act a certain way, suppress my true self, and perform to be loved and accepted.

Add undiagnosed ADHD and autism to the mix, and I developed a survival strategy that’s second nature: masking.

Masking is the conscious or unconscious act of hiding one’s traits or mimicking “normal” behavior to fit in. I thought everyone did it until I realized…they don’t.

But masking comes at a cost. It’s exhausting. It can lead to anxiety, depression, feelings of inauthenticity, and can cause difficulties forming genuine connections.

And it reminds me of one undeniable truth: I don’t fit in with the normies.

The Weight of the Holidays

This year, like every year, the holidays felt like one long performance. Smile bigger. Pretend to have the most fun. Outpour appreciation for others to make them feel good about what they did, said, or chose. In other words—dance for the nice people.

But once the presents are opened and the performance is over, the hangover begins.

I’m left physically, mentally, and emotionally drained. I don’t want to see or talk to anyone. I just want space to feel my emotions in whatever way I need to. But because I’ve become so skilled at hiding what’s happening beneath the surface, even those closest to me don’t see it.

Take my partner, for example. He casually said, “I noticed you didn’t seem as anxious at the Christmas party.”

I cringed. I didn’t know why his observation annoyed me—it wasn’t meant to. He was trying to reflect something positive, but it just made me feel like I was under a microscope. He noticed the headline but missed the whole story.

He doesn’t see the effort it takes for me to do that. To mask. To play the part. He only hears that I need alone time afterward.

Then, the same day as our last holiday event, he suggested, “Maybe we could have sex before the house fills up again.”

That annoyed me too.

Doesn’t he see that I’m wiped out on all levels? Sex is the last thing on my mind when I’m running on fumes.

Unseen, Unheard

I often feel like a blank screen onto which others project their needs and desires, expecting me to fulfill them without question—because to do otherwise might seem like a rejection of their very existence.

The bigger issue? I don’t see myself either.

I’m still learning when my boundaries are pushed and how to communicate my needs—usually long after the hangover has passed.

Finding Calm

When I’m running on empty, all I want is solitude. To escape into the woods, where I feel calm and free from expectations. Away from the world I don’t understand and into a space without judgment or performance.

In the woods, I find silence.

I breathe.
My mind quiets.
My heart rate slows.

This is where I want to be. This is where I go to deal with my holiday hangover.

Tips for Coping with the Holiday Hangover

If you’re feeling as wiped out as I am after the holidays, here are a few things that help me crawl out of the fog (that I’m currently practicing):

1. Retreat to Your Safe Space:
   Whether it’s the woods, your bedroom, or a corner of the couch with a blanket, take time to just be alone. No expectations, no noise, no people. Just you, breathing.
2. Let Yourself Feel It All:
   Fuck the “holiday cheer” expectations. If you’re feeling empty, anxious, or detached, let it happen. Write it out (as I am doing here), cry, or just sit with the feelings. Pretending doesn’t fix it—acknowledging it might.
3. Set Boundaries:
   No, you don’t have to attend every leftover holiday get-together. No, you don’t have to explain why. A simple “I’m unavailable” works wonders.
4. Move Your Body:
   And no, I don’t mean hit the gym unless you want to. Take a walk outside, stretch on the floor, or dance like a fool in your kitchen (I love a good kitchen dance party). Movement helps shake off the emotional and physical hangover.
5. Find Your Version of Joy:
   Forget what society says “fun” should look like. Joy could mean bingeing your favorite show, doodling nonsense, or making pancakes in your pajamas. Your happy is yours.
6. Talk to Someone Who Gets It:
   Venting to a friend who actually understands—or even just sitting in silence together—can be healing. If no one in your circle gets it, therapists are great for this too.
7. Breathe. Seriously, Just Breathe:
   When everything feels overwhelming, start small. A deep inhale. A slow exhale. Do it again. You’ll be surprised how grounding it can be.

And Remember…

If the holidays leave you drained, you are NOT broken—you’re human. It’s okay to need space. It’s okay to not feel like the shiny, happy people on the postcards.

Take the time to honor what you need, even if it doesn’t look like anyone else’s version of holiday recovery. Whether that’s solitude, a quiet walk in the woods, or saying “no” more often, do what helps you feel like yourself again.

The world will keep spinning. Your worth isn’t tied to how well you perform for others, especially during the holidays. You’re enough, exactly as you are.

Here’s to breathing deeply, living authentically, and surviving the holiday hangover—on your terms.