When Your Child is in Treatment This Holiday Season

By Yasmin Sorte, MSW

The empty chair at the table. The stocking you’re not sure whether to hang. The questions from relatives you aren’t ready to answer.

If your child is in treatment this holiday season, you are facing a grueling emotional journey. You made the agonizing choice to get them help, and now you’re feeling the weight of that decision during a season that demands "joy."

I want to tell you what I tell every family I work with:

Everything you are feeling right now is normal. 

The Guilt Nobody Talks About 

Most parents don’t feel relief when treatment starts; they feel guilt.

• "We ruined their Christmas."

• "They’re going to hate us for this."

• "Everyone else’s kids are home baking cookies, and ours is in rehab."

  
  

The guilt strikes in small moments: when you realize you can’t send a family photo in your holiday cards, or when a coworker asks about your plans, and you freeze. Seeing "perfect" celebrations online can make you feel like you’ve failed.

Choosing treatment is not a failure. It is the opposite. You are choosing their life over a performance of normalcy. You are choosing their future over one uncomfortable season. They are missing this holiday, so they don't miss the rest of their lives.

Handling the Questions You Dread

“Where’s Sarah this year?” 

“Is Jake coming to the party?”

These questions feel like landmines.

You don't want to lie, but you aren't ready to share your child’s private struggle.

Remember: You do not owe anyone your child’s full story. 

Be honest, but brief: "She's taking care of some health issues right now" or "He's focusing on himself for a bit" is the truth.

• Prepare your script. Practice a one-sentence response with your partner. A prepared answer prevents you from over-explaining out of nerves.

• Audit the intent. Most people ask because they care. Those who push for details they aren't entitled to are revealing their own lack of boundaries—that is not your problem to solve.

When the Absence Feels Heavy

When your child isn't there, their absence takes up physical space. You might find yourself crying while wrapping gifts or avoiding decorations entirely.

This is grief.

You are grieving the holiday you imagined and the "normalcy" you don’t have right now. Allow yourself to feel it. Your child is safe and supported, but it is okay to be heartbroken that they aren't home.

Both can be true at once.

The Fear of Resentment

Parents often ask: "What if they never forgive us for 'abandoning' them at Christmas?"

Your child may be angry. They may even say they hate you. That is often the addiction or the illness speaking; it views you as the enemy for disrupting its hold.

Your job is not to make them happy with this decision today. Your job is to hold the boundary that keeps them alive. 

I have seen the other side of this: the young adults who, years later, thank their parents for having the courage to make the hard call.

You aren't destroying the relationship; you’re refusing to watch it dissolve.

What Your Child Needs From You

They don't need you to fix their feelings or apologize for the treatment.

They need you to be steady.

• Consistency over Intensity: Send cards if the facility allows. Keep calls focused on connection, not logistics.

• Unconditional Hope: Hold the belief in their recovery even when they can’t.

• Presence over Performance: Show them that your love isn't conditional on their gratitude.

Protecting Your Own Spirit

You cannot pour from an empty cup.

1. Do the work. If the facility offers family therapy, show up. It’s uncomfortable, and it’s necessary.

2. Find your "People." Whether it’s Al-Anon or a specialized therapist, find those who understand that loving someone through addiction is exhausting.

3. Permission for Joy. You are allowed to enjoy a meal or a moment of laughter. Modeling healthy coping is a gift to your child’s recovery.

   
   

Your Child is in Treatment This Holiday Season: The Turning Point

This holiday is messy and painful, but it is a beginning. You are starting a new family story where honesty beats appearances and health is valued over tradition.

This year's empty chair is an investment. You are giving your child the chance to fill that chair next year, not as the child you wish hadn't struggled, but as a person who has learned how to live.

You aren't ruining the holidays.

You are making future ones possible.