Christmas Morning Looks Different for Some Children

On Christmas morning, many children wake up to light.

They run down the stairs in pajamas still warm from sleep. They tear into wrapping paper. They listen for footsteps in the hallway, not with fear, but with excitement. The day holds promise: food, laughter, safety, togetherness.

But for some children, Christmas morning begins very differently.

They wake up already tense. Already listening. Already calculating what the day will require of them. Not wondering what they will get, but wondering what will be done to them.

For children experiencing family-controlled human trafficking, holidays like Christmas are not a break from harm. They are often an escalation of it.

When Everyone Comes Home

Family-controlled trafficking is uniquely devastating because the traffickers are not strangers. They are parents, caregivers, siblings, extended family members, and trusted adults. And Christmas is the holiday when everyone comes together.

For a child being trafficked within their family system, Christmas can mean:

• More offenders in one place

• Longer periods of isolation from the outside world

• Heightened expectations of obedience and performance

• An increase in violence, exploitation, or threats disguised as “family time”

When abuse is intergenerational, Christmas can feel like being surrounded by an entire network of people who have harmed you—or protected those who did. The living room may be full. The tree may be beautiful. The music may be cheerful.

But the child is alone.

Watching Christmas From the Cold

I often describe my lived experience of the holidays through a familiar story: The Grinch.

Not because I hate Christmas—but because for so long I watched it from the outside.

Like the Grinch on the edge of Whoville, I could see the lights, hear the songs, watch people gather around tables full of warmth and joy. Everywhere I turned, I was told:

“This is the most wonderful time of the year.”

“Christmas is about family.”

“You should be grateful.”

And yet, inside, I felt cold. Empty. Afraid.

That dissonance—the world celebrating while your body is bracing for survival—creates a particular kind of pain. One that many survivors carry for decades. Not because they are ungrateful. Not because they are broken.

But because their reality never matched the story everyone else was telling.

Why Holidays Can Be So Triggering for Survivors

Even years after leaving abuse, the holiday season can stir up deep, embodied memories:

• The smell of certain foods

• A specific song playing in a store

• The pressure to gather with family

• The expectation to be joyful

For survivors of family-controlled trafficking, Christmas can activate grief, fear, dissociation, anger, or profound sadness—often all at once.

And the hardest part?

Many survivors feel they must hide it.

They don’t want to “ruin the holiday.”

They don’t want to explain.

They don’t want to be told to “focus on the positive.”

So they smile. They withdraw. Or they disappear entirely.

A Quiet Call to Advocates and Helpers

If you are an advocate, clinician, teacher, caseworker, faith leader, or trusted support person—this season matters.

This is your gentle reminder:

• Check in on the survivor you haven’t heard from in a while

• Send the text that says, “I’m thinking of you today”

• Offer connection without expectation

• Let them know they don’t have to perform joy to be worthy of care

You don’t need the right words.

You don’t need a solution.

You just need to show up.

For many survivors, one safe person reaching out can mean the difference between feeling invisible and feeling remembered.

Holding Space for Both Realities

Christmas can be magical.

Christmas can also be terrifying.

Both truths exist at the same time.

At Mezzo Allies, we believe that awareness means holding the full picture—even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially when it’s uncomfortable.

This season, as lights glow and carols play, may we remember the children and survivors who are still watching from the cold.

And may we be the ones who help bring them in from the edges—one message, one moment of care, one act of quiet solidarity at a time.