This year, we did something we swore we’d never do: We went on an all-inclusive holiday.
Twice. (We know.)
Call it late-stage parenting burnout, call it demand avoidance in a tropical wrapper, call it the seductive pull of not having to cook, but there we were.
Poolside. Buffet-hopping. Surrounded by questionable entertainment and tourists who still clap on planes.
And somehow… loving parts of it?
We used to roll our eyes at all-inclusives.
They felt like something “other people” did.
People with matching swimwear.
People who didn’t need to hide in the bathroom after group brunch.
People who think “fun” can be scheduled.
But spoiler: it turns out we are those people. Or at least, we can be… if the place lets us opt out without falling apart.
🧠 Two Holidays, Same Setup: Completely Different Nervous Systems
The first one was a happy accident.
In April, after cancelling a long-dreamed-of trip to New York (shoutout to US border paranoia and Leon’s full-PDA unpredictability), we booked a last-minute trip to Fuerteventura.
We needed something, anything, that didn’t involve forms, stress, or boiling pasta. And it worked. Really well.
Then in August, riding on that one good experience, we booked a second holiday in Cyprus.
Same TUI umbrella. Same all-inclusive promise.
This time: slides, sun, strategy.
We thought we were pros now.
We were wrong. In the best and worst ways.
😬 Ease Is Not Inclusion
On paper, both holidays had the same pull:
- Buffet meals
- No cooking
- No planning
No pressure
(In theory.)
But here’s what we learned: “Ease” for neurotypicals is often just a different kind of overwhelm for us.
In Fuerteventura:
- The layout of the resort gave us space and privacy
- The sea view from our balcony made us cry
- The vibe was: “Do your thing. We won’t chase you with a clipboard.”
No one made us wear a bracelet. Praise be.
In Cyprus:
- It looked better online
- It felt like a shopping centre on a Saturday afternoon with water slides
- There was nightly “entertainment” right outside our balcony
- Staff were either exhausted or robotic
- The bracelets were non-optional. Think livestock tagging, but shinier.
And we had to argue for a late checkout. (We won. After 110 euros and a mini-meltdown.)
It wasn’t even that the food or rooms were bad.
It was the lack of softness. The constant proximity to performance.
The sense that every moment had already been decided for you.
🎤 When Entertainment Feels Like Surveillance
We don’t do hotel entertainment.
We don’t do kids clubs.
We don’t do surprise theme nights with 11pm noise.
Because Leon, our brilliant, intense, PDA-coded child, doesn’t thrive when “fun” is forced. Neither do we.
So we did what we always end up doing:
- Hid in our room (yes, with screens)
- Spent hours in the pool (not the one with foam parties)
- Dodged group activities like they were contagious
But even in all that avoidance, something happened.
🌪️ The Core Memories Were Never on the Itinerary
In both holidays, the magic showed up only when we stopped trying to “make the most of it.”
In Fuerteventura:
We booked a water park. Salty water. Tantrums. Rage. Left after one hour.
Then we took a wrong turn and found… sand dunes.
Leon, who swore for years he hated sand, sprinted into them like a movie extra on the run.
We joined him.
We rolled, screamed, and laughed.
No plan. No prompt. Just a nervous system finally saying yes.
That moment changed how we understood his demand avoidance. It’s not sensory. It’s autonomy + anxiety. And in that moment, he was free.
In Cyprus:
The overstimulation was starting to win.
So we cracked, rented a car, and impulsively booked a speedboat.
It started terribly. Wind. Salty water. We were all miserable.
Then we let go.
We winked at each other. I sped up.
Leon lit up. He drove the boat. Screamed with joy.
We stopped at a hidden cove. I swam.
He called it “a core memory.”
We also visited a cat sanctuary and a shipwreck.
All unplanned. All just-right.
💡 This Isn’t Luxury. It’s Survival.
There was this moment where we looked at each other and said,
“This is such a luxury.”
And then it hit us: No. This is baseline.
This is what our family needs to function and feel safe.
Not a reward. Not an indulgence. Air.
ND families are constantly sold “ease” but that ease is often rigid. Loud. Structured. It’s ease for people who already belong.
We don’t need luxury. We need:
- Control over when and how we engage
- Food freedom, not forced schedules
- Places to retreat without shame
- Silence built into the day
- A break from fitting in to relax
Honestly? Sometimes we need a holiday from the holiday.
🧭 What We’ll Choose Next Time (Not a Checklist. Just Clues.)
We’re not offering advice. We’re just collecting clues.
Next time, we’ll look for:
- Hotels where entertainment is optional, not piped into our pillows
- Layouts with natural separation between chaos and rest
- Places where you’re not punished for hiding
- Food that’s not gourmet, but accessible
- Room to say “no thanks” without needing an excuse
- A car. Always. (Pattern-interrupt = essential.)
- One adventure. Not ten.
We’re not bad at holidays. We’re just not built for the kind where freedom feels like a reward for masking.
Our best holidays look like our real life: Safe. Flexible. Slow. But with chocolate fountains and speedboats.
🧃 Final Truth
You’re allowed to want different things from travel.
You’re allowed to reject rigid schedules and theme nights and forced fun.
You’re allowed to say: “We spent 3 hours in the hotel room today and it was perfect.”
If you find a place that lets you rest, stim, melt down, laugh, snack, and opt out without judgment, tell us.
We’re building a list.
And who knows?
Maybe one day, we’ll build the actual place.