A Boy Called Christmas: A Trauma-Informed Holiday Reflection on Hope, Loss, and Becoming

“Hope isn’t found. It’s grown through belonging, courage, and care.” - Mary Coughlin

The holidays are often wrapped in stories of joy, magic, and certainty. But for many of us, they arrive layered with grief, longing, exhaustion, or quiet dread. That’s why A Boy Called Christmas has stayed with me. Not because it’s cheerful—but because it’s honest.

At its heart, it’s not really a Christmas movie. It’s a story about a child navigating loss, uncertainty, and a world that keeps telling him to stop believing and choosing, again and again, not to.

When I watch it through a trauma-informed lens, I see something deeper:

• I see the anatomy of resilience.

• I see the slow, relational birth of hope.

• I see B.U.F.F.E.R. in motion.

Belonging: Finding Home When It’s Been Lost

Nikolas loses his mother early. His world fractures. The ground beneath him is no longer safe.

And yet—belonging doesn’t disappear. It re-forms.

Through companions met along the way. Through kindness that isn’t flashy, but steady. Through moments of being seen when it would be easier to disappear.

Trauma often severs our sense of belonging. Healing restores it—not by erasing loss, but by expanding who and what can hold us.

The holidays can amplify loneliness. This story reminds us that belonging doesn’t have to look traditional to be real.

Understanding: Making Meaning Without Minimizing Pain

Nikolas isn’t spared hardship. The story doesn’t rush him past grief or fear. It lets him ask questions. It lets him be confused. It lets him not know.

This is trauma-informed storytelling at its best.

Understanding isn’t forced insight. It’s the slow integration of experience when meaning is allowed to emerge rather than be imposed.

So many of us were taught to “be grateful” before we were allowed to grieve. A Boy Called Christmas quietly refuses that narrative.

Forgiveness: Softening Without Forgetting

There are moments in the story where bitterness would be understandable. Where withdrawal would be protective. Where cynicism would make sense.

And yet, what unfolds instead is forgiveness as liberation, not obligation.

Forgiveness here isn’t reconciliation. It’s the choice not to let pain calcify the heart.

This matters during the holidays, when old wounds often resurface. Forgiveness, when it comes, must be self-paced, self-directed, and grounded in safety.

Frameworks: Stories That Help Us Survive the Dark

This film understands something essential: Humans need stories to survive.

Nikolas carries stories with him—not as escapism, but as orientation. They help him remember who he is when the world tries to erase him. They give shape to hope when evidence is thin.

Frameworks don’t limit us. They buffer us.

During the holidays, when chaos and expectation collide, we need frameworks that remind us: This moment is not the whole story.

Equanimity: Holding Light and Shadow Together

This is not a glossy Christmas tale. It’s cold. Stark. Nordic. Real. And yet, it never loses its center.

Equanimity isn’t forced positivity. It’s the capacity to stay present to both sorrow and wonder without collapsing into either.

For many, this is the hardest part of the season. This story models what it looks like to stay open without being overwhelmed.

Respect: Honoring the Child Within

Perhaps the most trauma-informed aspect of the film is its respect for childhood. Nikolas is not mocked for believing. He is not shamed for hoping. He is not rushed into adulthood.

Belief here is not naïveté. It’s courage.

The holidays often ask us to perform happiness. This story invites us to honor the child within us who may still be waiting to feel safe enough to believe again.

A Holiday Invitation

If the holidays feel complicated for you this year, you are not broken. If joy feels distant, you are not failing. If hope feels fragile, you are not alone.

Perhaps the invitation of A Boy Called Christmas is this: Not to believe in magic, but to believe in becoming.

Becoming someone who chooses kindness in a harsh world. Becoming someone who carries light without denying darkness. Becoming someone who understands that hope is not found—it is made, relationally, over time.

That, to me, is the most trauma-informed holiday story of all.

Where has belief felt risky for you this year?

In the spirit of becoming,

Mary