I’ve just returned from a long-awaited holiday with my husband and two adult sons — a family trip to France and Italy. On paper, it was a beautiful mix of relaxation and reconnection. The purpose was twofold: to have a much-needed break together, and to meet my husband’s extended family, many of whom my sons and I had never met. A chance to explore identity, culture, and heritage.
But as with so many things in neurodivergent life, what looks effortless on the outside often requires a huge amount of internal energy and effort.
Sensory Needs Don’t Take Holidays
Like many neurodivergent households, we’re a family with differing neurotypes, sensory profiles, and regulation needs. I tried to plan for this including downtime in the itinerary, choosing hotels for quiet recovery space, and managing transitions. But there were many elements I couldn’t predict or prepare for.
The long-haul travel, jet lag, meeting dozens of new people, sensory unpredictability, changes in food, noise, routine, and even climate, these all had a significant impact on my nervous system.
A few things became very clear:
– Water is my regulator in particular showers.
– Music that I love helps soothe and re-centre me.
– Resistance training is critical for my emotional regulation.
As someone with ADHD, I have a tendency to push through, often until I hit a wall. I kept telling myself I’d rest later. But “later” didn’t always come.
When Energy Accounting Becomes Essential
In my work, I often talk about Energy Accounting and Spoon Theory. This is the idea that we all start the day with a limited amount of energy, and every interaction, environment, or sensory demand either depletes or replenishes it.
I teach this. I coach others to use it. And yet on this holiday, I often forgot to apply it to myself.
This blog is a reminder to myself, as much as it is to others, that we can’t pour from an empty cup. When we ignore our limits, the cost is usually our mental health, our ability to regulate, and sometimes, our relationships with the people we love most.
Masking in Unfamiliar Environments
One of the hardest aspects of the trip was how much masking I had to do. We were meeting extended family members for the first time, often hosted in their homes, in cultures not our own, and in environments where I had zero control over sensory input. I was constantly trying to appear engaged and regulated, even when I had nothing left in the tank.
One day in particular stands out. We were invited to a family lunch in my husband’s hometown. I expected something intimate. Instead, we arrived to a restaurant with over 30 guests, many of whom I’d never met, many of whom spoke no English. There were hours of introductions, kisses, embraces, navigating who was who — all before we even sat down to eat at 2pm.
I hadn’t eaten all morning as we were told to save our appetites. By the time the lunch ended around 6pm, I was emotionally and physically depleted. But we weren’t done — we were then taken to two more houses for more visits, more conversation. I was still smiling, still nodding, still engaging — but inside I was crashing.
Because we were relying on others for transport, we couldn’t just leave when I hit my limit. And that loss of agency is something many neurodivergent people will understand deeply.
Rome in the Rain (and Other Unplanned Factors)
I had scheduled our final days of our holiday in Rome as “rest and recharge” time before returning to Australia. But Rome had other plans – heavy rain, crowds, unpredictable conditions, and a sensory environment that felt overwhelming at times.
Throughout this holiday all made compromises. We all let go of regulation tools we rely on daily including sleep, exercise, diet, routine. And while we did our best, I returned home not re-energised, but exhausted, and then proceeded to get very sick on our return home and needing antibiotics – needing antibiotics is very unusual for me.
What I’d Do Differently (and What I Hope Helps You)
Travel is a privilege. But it’s also hard work, especially for neurodivergent people.
Here are some reflections and practical tips from this experience:
- Build in more space between big events.
Don’t underestimate the recovery time needed after social or sensory-heavy days. - Know your regulators.
Showers, music, movement, whatever works for you, plan how you’ll access it. - Account for energy before it’s gone.
Use energy accounting to anticipate depletion, and schedule around it. - Plan for the unexpected.
Weather, crowds, delays – build in flexibility. - Communicate needs ahead of time.
Even if it’s awkward. Boundaries help you stay connected longer. - Choose your rest environments wisely.
Without enough time in them, even the most peaceful space won’t serve its purpose. - Be gentle with yourself.
Masking has a cost. You’re not failing, you’re managing your needs the best you can.
Final Thoughts
I’m sharing this not to complain but to honour the reality of what travel can look like through a neurodivergent lens. If you’ve had a similar experience, know this: you’re not alone.
And if you’re planning a trip, especially one with strong cultural, emotional or family significance, I hope this helps you think about what you need to feel safe, seen, and supported, so you can enjoy the moments that matter, without burning out along the way.
