The Barely Functional Human's Guide to Surviving December: Science-Based Survival Strategies for the Festively Exhausted

It's November 28th. My daughter just texted "finished!" about her last exam two years ago, but I still remember that moment. I should have felt relief. Instead, I sat in my car in the office parking lot, too tired to turn the key, wondering if I could just... not do December that year.

(Spoiler: You can't not do December. It arrives anyway. Like load-shedding during dinner.)

Here's the thing—I'm writing this now, at the end of November 2025, and that same exhaustion is everywhere. It's in my office, in the Woolworths queue, and in the parent WhatsApp groups I've muted. We're all running on fumes, and nobody's talking about it.

The Professional Confession Nobody Expects

This week alone, I've had eleven clients cry about being too tired to face December. You know what I told them?

"Same."

Because sometimes the most therapeutic thing is admitting we're all drowning in the same year-end tsunami. There's no DBT skill for "December is coming and I have nothing left." No ACT technique for "I'm too tired to accept anything with mindfulness right now."

I'm supposed to have answers. I'm supposed to model healthy coping. Instead, I'm eating breakfast cereal for dinner and considering whether anyone would notice if I just... didn't decorate this year.

(They would. They always do.)

The Permission Nobody's Giving

What if—hear me out—we just admitted that November-end exhaustion is real?

Not "I need a holiday" tired. Not "what a year" tired. I'm talking about that bone-deep, cellular-level depletion where your soul feels like it needs a nap. Where you stand in your kitchen at 7 PM and genuinely can't remember if you've eaten today. Where the idea of December planning makes you want to lie down on the floor. Just... lie down.

I bought paper plates yesterday. Real talk. Because washing dishes feels like climbing Kilimanjaro. My teenager (back when she was finishing exams) looked at them and said, "Rough day, Mom?"

No, love. Rough year. Rough existence. Rough everything.

The Universal November Xth Experience

You know what's happening right now across South Africa?

• Exam parents staring at nothing, too relieved to celebrate, too tired to process.

• Professionals who pushed through to year-end deadlines, now collapsed like marathon runners after the finish line.

• Teachers marking final papers with their last three functioning brain cells.

• Humans who are somehow supposed to magic up festive energy from the void where their energy used to be.

  
  

And everyone—EVERYONE—pretending they're not completely depleted.

The Neurodivergent Plot Twist

Here's what nobody tells you about year-end with ADHD and autism (yes, both, it's a party): It's not just exhausting. It's the sensory nightmare before the festive sensory nightmare.

My executive function gave up somewhere around October. It sent a resignation letter. "Dear Melanie," it said, "I'm done. Figure out December yourself. Good luck with those gift lists and meal planning. PS: You forgot to pay something important but I'm too tired to remember what."

The masking energy it takes just to appear functional right now? I could power Johannesburg through load-shedding with the effort it takes to seem okay in one Zoom call.

And December—December requires MORE masking. More social. More sensory input. More everything when I have absolutely less than nothing left.

(I know neurotypicals are exhausted too. But imagine your regular exhaustion, then add a brain that's already working overtime just to process regular life. That's November with neurodivergence.)

The Body Image Bomb Nobody's Discussing

Can we talk about what else starts happening late November?

The "December body" panic. You're already exhausted, emotional regulation is shot, and now your brain starts the mental calculations about festive eating. The clothes that need to fit for family photos. The exhaustion making emotional eating worse. The whole mess of it.

I had a client say yesterday, "I'm too tired to hate my body properly." And honestly? Relatable.

The Actual Science of Why You Feel Dead Inside

You want the clinical explanation? Fine. Your nervous system has been in sympathetic overdrive all year. Cortisol levels are chronically elevated. Your prefrontal cortex (executive function central) is basically offline. Your hippocampus (memory) is struggling. Your amygdala (fear/stress response) is hyperactive.

Translation: You're not weak. You're not failing. Your brain and body are doing exactly what they do when pushed beyond capacity for too long.

This isn't burnout. Burnout implies you were on fire once. This is what comes after burnout. The ashes. The empty fireplace. The vague memory that warmth existed once.

The Survival Guide Nobody Asked For

I'm not giving you tips for "thriving." We're not thriving. We're barely surviving, and that's okay.

Permission Slips for December:

• You can use paper plates all of December.

• You can say no to everything optional (everything is optional).

• You can have cereal for dinner.

• You can leave family WhatsApp groups on mute.

• You can not decorate.

• You can buy all the gifts from one shop in one trip.

• You can admit this is impossible.

  
  

Scripts for Boundaries You Need:

• "Thanks, but we're keeping things quiet this year."

• "I'm not able to commit to that right now."

• "We're taking a simplified approach to December."

• "That doesn't work for us."

(No explanations. No apologies. Just no.)

The Part Where I Stop Pretending

It's almost November 30th. In a few days, December arrives whether we're ready or not.

Here's what I'm not going to tell you: That you need to rally. That you should be grateful. That this too shall pass. That others have it worse. That you need to dig deep and find that festive spirit.

Here's what I will tell you: You're allowed to be completely, utterly, absolutely depleted.

Year-end exhaustion is real. It's valid. It's not a character flaw or a failure of gratitude. It's the logical consequence of existing in 2025, in South Africa, in this economy, in this world, with these nervous systems that weren't designed for this level of sustained stress.

The Truth That Changes Nothing but Helps Anyway

You know what I realized, sitting in that parking lot two years ago, too tired to drive home?

December doesn't need my enthusiasm. It needs barely my presence. Some years, showing up is just... being in the building. Breathing. Existing. Nothing more.

And that's enough.

Actually, that's miraculous.

Because being this exhausted and still showing up? Still making sure everyone's fed (even if it's cereal)? Still responding to messages (even if it's just thumbs up emojis)? Still here?

That's not nothing. That's everything.

The Ending Nobody Writes

Tomorrow is November 23rd. Then the 30th. Then December. Ready or not. Exhausted or not. Paper plates or not.

We'll survive it the way we survived this year—badly, anxiously, with questionable coping mechanisms and too much coffee. But we'll survive it.

And maybe that's all we need to know. That we've survived every November before this one. Every December that followed. Every year-end collapse.

Still here. Still exhausted. Still showing up.

(Even if we're showing up in the same pants we've worn all week.)

P.S. - If you're reading this at midnight because you can't sleep even though you're exhausted, you're not alone. Somewhere, probably quite near you, someone else is also staring at their ceiling, too tired to sleep, too awake to rest, wondering how December is almost here when January was yesterday.

We see you. We are you. Paper plates for everyone.

The Barely Functional Human's Guide to Surviving December: Science-Based Survival Strategies for the Festively Exhausted