Going Home for the Holidays: A Field Guide to Not Becoming Your Teenage Self

You know how you've spent months (years?) in therapy working on boundaries, communication skills, and not spiraling when your mom makes that one comment? You've been crushing it. You're a whole regulated adult with healthy coping mechanisms and everything.

And then you walk through your childhood front door, smell that specific combination of carpet cleaner and whatever your family always cooks, and BAM -- suddenly you're 14 again, feeling small and defensive and like you can't do anything right.

That right there? That's family regression.

What Regression Actually Looks Like (And Feels Like)

Here's what I hear from clients every January:

"I don't know what happened. I had a plan. I had boundaries. But within two hours of arriving, I was arguing with my sister about who got the bigger piece of pie in 1997."

Regression looks like:

• Snapping at your parents in ways you'd never speak to anyone else

• Feeling a surge of sibling rivalry that makes no logical sense (you're both adults with separate lives, why does it matter that she got more compliments on her casserole?)

• Reverting to old coping mechanisms you thought you'd outgrown—people-pleasing, shutting down, getting defensive, or picking fights

• Feeling an overwhelming urge to prove yourself or justify your life choices

• Wanting to both flee immediately and also get validation from people who fundamentally might not be capable of giving it

• Crying in your childhood bedroom or the bathroom at 2pm on a Tuesday
  

And here's what it feels like:

• Like you're watching yourself from outside your body making choices you don't want to make

• A tightness in your chest when you hear footsteps coming down the hall

• Younger. Smaller. Less capable than you actually are.

• Defensive about things you genuinely feel confident about in your regular life

• Like your hard-won progress has evaporated
  

This doesn't mean you've lost your progress. This means you're human and family systems are incredibly powerful.

Why This Happens (The Neuroscience-Meets-Your-Actual-Life Explanation)

Your family is essentially a time machine for your nervous system.

When you're home, you're not just physically in the same space—you're surrounded by the same dynamics, patterns, and unspoken rules that existed when your brain was still developing. Your nervous system remembers everything. The tone of voice your dad used when he was disappointed. The specific way your mom's anxiety manifests before a big meal. The look your brother gave you when you said something he thought was stupid.

All those neural pathways that got carved deep during your formative years? They're still there. And being back in that environment is like greasing those old pathways up and sending your brain zooming down them at full speed.

Add to that: these are the people who knew you before you had fully formed frontal lobes. They have a vested interest (often unconscious) in you staying in your assigned family role. If you were "the responsible one," your family might subtly (or not so subtly) rely on you slipping back into that role. If you were "the screw-up," they might be weirdly invested in evidence that you still are.

Family systems are self-perpetuating. When one person tries to change, the system pushes back to maintain homeostasis. It's not malicious—it's just how systems work. But it means your growth can feel threatening, even if no one would articulate it that way.

Also? You're probably tired, overstimulated, sleeping in a different bed, eating at weird times, and navigating a thousand micro-interactions that each carry decades of subtext. Your resources are depleted, which means your coping skills are working overtime.

What To Do About It: Your Actual Action Plan

Okay, enough theory. Let's get tactical.

BEFORE You Go: The Pre-Game

1. Do a reality check conversation (with yourself or your therapist)

Questions to explore (in writing, talking to yourself while driving...)

• What are my most likely triggers in this specific environment with these specific people?

• What role did I play in my family growing up? (The peacemaker? The problem? The invisible one? The golden child? The comedian?)

• What's one boundary I'm afraid to set?

• What does success look like for this visit? (Hint: it's probably not "everyone finally understands me and validates my life choices")

• What's my exit strategy if things get overwhelming?
  

2. Set micro-goals, not transformation goals

You're not going to heal generational trauma over sweet potato casserole.

Instead, try:

• "I'm going to practice pausing before responding when my dad criticizes my job."

• "I'm going to leave the kitchen when the conversation turns to my weight."

• "I'm going to spend 20 minutes alone each day."
  

3. Build in your escape hatches BEFORE you arrive

• Book a hotel or Airbnb if financially possible

• If staying with family, identify a physical space that's "yours"—even if it's your car. (I can't count how many clients have done sessions from their car. It's a great soundproof booth to call a friend, cry, scream, or book a therapy session.)

• Schedule a call with a friend for halfway through the visit

• Plan one activity outside the house (a walk, a coffee shop visit, literally anything)

• Have a code word with your partner/friend if you need rescue
  

4. Pack your emotional first aid kit

Make a list in your phone of:

• Grounding techniques that work for you

• Three people you can text when you're spiraling

• Playlists that regulate your nervous system

• The mantra or reminder you'll need most (something like: "I am not responsible for their feelings")

• A photo or reminder of your actual adult life. Something that makes you proud of who you've become.
  

DURING the Visit: Field Operations

1. Name the regression when it's happening

Say out loud to yourself: "Oh, I'm regressing right now. This is that thing."

Just naming it creates distance. You're not your teenage self -- you're your adult self observing a familiar pattern. That's different.

2. Use the STOP technique when you feel activated

• Stop what you're doing

• Take a breath (or five)

• Observe what's happening in your body and mind without judgment

• Proceed intentionally (or don't proceed—you can just excuse yourself)
  

3. Practice strategic absence

You don't have to be present for every moment.

• Take bathroom breaks. Even if it's just to stare at the bathroom wall.

• "Go get something from your car"

• Volunteer for the grocery store run

• Take a walk

• Go to bed early

This isn't avoidance -- it's resource management.

4. Deploy the boring bean dip technique

When someone brings up a triggering topic:

"Mmm." [take a bite of food] "Speaking of which, this bean dip is incredible. What's in it?"

Or any version of acknowledging and redirecting. You don't owe anyone a debate about your life choices.

5. Set boundaries in the moment (even tiny ones)

This might sound like:

• "I'm not discussing my relationship status right now"

• "I need to take this call" [go outside for 15 minutes of silence]

• "I'm going to head to bed"

• "That doesn't work for me"

• Simply not answering a question that feels intrusive

You don't need to JADE (Justify, Argue, Defend, Explain). Watch what happens when you don't.

6. Find your allies

Is there one person -- sibling, cousin, family friend -- who gets it? Stick close to them. Exchange knowing glances. Text each other from different rooms. You're not alone.

7. Track your window of tolerance

Check in with yourself every few hours:

• Am I in my window? (Able to respond rather than react)

• Am I hyperaroused? (Anxious, irritable, activated)

• Am I hypoaroused? (Shut down, numb, dissociated)

If you're outside your window, you deserve a regulation tool or a break.

The Processing Questions (Real-Time or After)

Pull these out when you're alone in your room, on a walk, or journaling:

In the moment:

• What just happened in my body?

• How old do I feel right now?

• What do I need right now?

• Is this my feeling or am I absorbing someone else's?

• What would I tell a friend in this situation?
  

After an interaction:

• What got triggered?

• What was I hoping for in that interaction?

• Was that realistic given this person's capacity?

• What boundary could I set next time?

• What do I need to process this with someone safe?
  

End of day:

• What did I do today that I'm proud of?

• Where did I surprise myself?

• Where did I slip into old patterns?

• What's one thing I'd do differently tomorrow?

• What do I need to let go of?
  

The big one:

• Am I trying to get something from these people that they've historically been unable to give me? What would it look like to grieve that instead of keep trying?
  

AFTER You Leave: The Debrief

1. Process with someone safe

Not everyone. Not social media. Someone who understands family dynamics and won't just say "your family is toxic, cut them off." (Although if cutting off your family is where you're at, I'm listening.)

2. Celebrate what went well

You set a boundary! You left the room instead of engaging! You only cried once instead of seven times! These are wins.

3. Have compassion for where you struggled

You're not bad at boundaries because you struggled with your family. Your family is sincerely the hardest place to practice boundaries because the stakes feel existential and primal parts of our attachment core.

4. Reconnect with your actual adult life

Do the things that remind you who you really are. Call your friends. Go to your favorite coffee shop. Sleep in your own bed. Wear your weird clothes your family doesn't understand.

5. Extract the lessons

What did you learn about yourself? What do you want to work on in therapy? What might you do differently next time?

The Thing No One Tells You

Here's the difficult truth, but you need to know this: You can do everything "right" and still feel like garbage. You can have perfect boundaries and still feel hurt that your dad didn't ask about your work. You can be completely regulated and still grieve that your family doesn't really know you.

That's not regression. That's grief. And while it feels terrible, it's also very very human.

Sometimes the work isn't about not regressing—it's about having compassion for yourself when you do, getting back to baseline faster, and slowly accepting that your family might not be capable of meeting certain needs. And I'm so sorry that might be happening to you. That last part is heartbreaking, and I am here to sit with you in that grief.

Your Permission Slips

You have permission to:

• Leave early

• Not go at all

• Limit your visit

• Feel however you feel about it

• Change your mind about any of it

• Need a lot of support afterwards

• Be imperfect at this
  

You've been doing the work. That work doesn't disappear when you go home... but it does get deeply tested. Think of this as your practical exam.

And remember: you're returning to an old environment, but you're not the same person. You're bringing new awareness, new tools, and new capacity. The regression might happen, but now you'll see it happening.

You've got this. (And if you don't got this, we can talk about it in your next session.)

If you find yourself really struggling, please reach out. You don't have to white-knuckle your way through this alone. Sarahbeth Spasojevich, LPC, MEd, MA, MBA, NCC

Licensed Professional Counselor

Connected Resilience, LLC

For scheduling: (804) 220-0388 (text/phone) 

sarahbeth@connectedresilience.us 

www.connectedresilience.us