My son’s name is Ben. He’s my first-born child, and he’s about to turn 10. Like many parents, you think everything’s normal or typical because you don’t have another child to compare them with, but once we started socializing more — when he joined soccer and outside activities — I was like, “Oh, these other kiddos can sit and be engaged.” And he would try. I could see that he would try so hard.
In kindergarten, he was having a really hard time, and I was starting to think he might have ADHD. His kindergarten teacher wanted to put him on a behavior plan, which broke my heart. Coaches have sat him on the bench or thought he was being disrespectful because he didn’t look them in the eyes, but he’s just got to be moving to be processing what you’re saying.
He was eventually diagnosed in 2nd grade, and his diagnosis was the beginning of me recognizing myself. Suddenly I wasn’t only learning how to parent him differently. I was rewriting the story I’d been telling myself about my own life.
“I want him to know the difference between ‘I made a bad choice’ and ‘I am a bad kid.’”
I’m the exact kind of girl who was missed in the ’90s and early 2000s. I was academically gifted. I could achieve at a really high level. I wasn’t the stereotypical, hyperactive little boy people picture when they hear “ADHD.” But underneath the achievement, there were things I struggled with tremendously, like starting tasks or sustaining attention when something wasn’t interesting to me. I was very, very impulsive. I had trouble with emotional regulation, anxiety, and was constantly seeking stimulation.
- In addition to diagnostic symptoms of ADHD, which medical providers regularly use to diagnose the condition, many people have associated symptoms that affect their everyday lives, such as executive dysfunction and emotional dysregulation. The latter can show up as “irritability, having a short fuse, or being easily overexcited,” according to the American Psychological Association.
My parents pushed me very hard, and achievement was important in our family. Looking back, a lot of what was intended to motivate me landed as shame. That’s changed how I parent Ben. We can’t yell at them. We can’t say things like, “Why can’t you just do this? You’re not trying hard enough.” I worry about him internalizing, “Why can’t I be better?” When kids hear that enough, eventually they stop thinking “Something is difficult for my brain” and start thinking “Something is wrong with me.”
There was a lot of grief with my diagnosis, too. I finally had an explanation for things I’d spent my whole life believing were personal failures, and that feels wonderful for about five minutes before you start thinking, “But what if somebody had known when I was 8 or 18?” So I’ve grieved for that younger version of myself, not because I think my life would have been perfect with an earlier diagnosis, but maybe I would have been kinder to myself. With that being said, you can grieve what might have been different while still loving the person you became.
I don’t want my son to need 35 years to separate who he is from what his brain struggles to do, like I did. So I walk a fine line: His ADHD does not get him a free pass; he is still absolutely accountable for his behavior, but I want him to know the difference between “I made a bad choice” and “I am a bad kid.”
He’s intense because he cares intensely. He has an enormous sense of fairness. He’s funny, creative, curious, and passionate. He notices things other people miss. He asks questions. He feels things deeply. Yes, we’re helping him develop the skills to manage the parts of ADHD that make life harder — but I have absolutely no desire to make him less him in the process.
That’s what I’d want another mom who’s at the beginning of this journey to know: Your child doesn’t become a different child when they receive an ADHD diagnosis. You just have more information about the child who was already there.
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