The Most Dangerous Table You’ll Sit At This Year

What it really feels like to survive the holidays with a narcissistic family

Every December used to hit me like a slow-motion train wreck. The world was singing carols, and I was silently begging my nervous system to behave. My phone would buzz with the family text — a reminder that I was expected to show up, smile, and forget the bruises nobody saw. I’d tell myself, maybe this year will be different. It never was.

The Performance They Call “Family”

If you’ve ever walked into a narcissistic family’s holiday gathering, you know that it’s theater disguised as tradition. The table is set with tension instead of silverware. Every seat has an assigned role: the golden child, the fixer, the scapegoat. I was the last one.

They’d tell stories about me that weren’t true, laugh in that too-loud way, and when my eyes filled, someone would whisper, “Don’t ruin the evening.” And I didn’t. I swallowed my truth like it was gravy, thick, bitter, and burning all the way down.

The hardest part wasn’t the cruelty. It was the pretending. Pretending I wasn’t invisible. Pretending that if I could just be good enough, kind enough, quiet enough, they’d finally see me.

The Breaking Point

One year, my body said no before my mouth could. My chest felt like it was being crushed. I went to the bathroom, locked the door, and sat on the edge of the tub trying to breathe. Through the door, I could hear them laughing, clinking glasses, living in a reality that denied mine. And in that moment, shaking and small, I finally understood — I was dying in the name of family.

That was the last year I stayed.

How You Protect Yourself When “Family” Means Fear

If this is your life, you already know there’s no Hallmark ending. But you can survive it, and more than that, you can reclaim it.

1. Know your role — and refuse to play it. They may label you the problem; that label is their shield, not your truth.

2. Stay grounded in reality. Write a note to yourself before you go: I am not who they say I am. Read it in the car if you have to.

3. Keep contact brief. You don’t owe them full days of your energy. Two hours is plenty for people who drain you.

4. Bring a lifeline. A friend who can text you mid-visit with reminders like “You’re doing great. You can leave anytime.”

5. Plan your exit. Drive yourself. Keep the keys in your pocket. Freedom starts there.

6. Give yourself recovery time. You’ll need it. Emotional hangovers are real.

The Year I Didn’t Go

I woke up that Christmas morning to quiet, no chaos, no tension, just my own heartbeat and the smell of coffee. I sat by the window and cried because peace felt like a foreign concept. I thought loneliness would kill me, but peace did the opposite. It brought me back to life.

That day, I learned that love isn’t proven through suffering. Walking away didn’t make me heartless. It made me whole.

When Guilt Knocks

They’ll say you’re selfish. They’ll call you ungrateful. They’ll paint themselves as victims. But guilt is just their leash — and every time you choose yourself, a link breaks. The freedom that follows will feel shaky at first, but it’s yours.

You are allowed to build a holiday that feels safe, even if it’s only you, a candle, and a meal that doesn’t come with insults. You are allowed to stop showing up for your own humiliation.

This Year, Let Them Feast on Their Illusion

You don’t owe anyone your silence to keep the peace that never included you. You don’t have to sit at the most dangerous table in your life, the one that demands your self-betrayal in exchange for acceptance.

Stay home. Breathe. Heal. The world won’t end if you stop performing. But a new one might begin.

“You are not cold for walking away. You are warm with the fire of every boundary you finally lit.”— Victoria Cuore

Victoria Cuore is a globally recognized survivor-advocate, amputee, and founder of A Contagious Smile Academy. This award-winning trauma-informed education platform offers free and low-cost courses for survivors, veterans, and their families worldwide.