Being a mom is undoubtedly challenging, but being a mom to a neurodiverse child adds a layer of complexity that is hard to put into words. My journey took a turn when my son was five years old. Kindergarten and a new home brought about behaviours that concerned me deeply. I initially thought he was just anxious, needed time to adjust, or was simply going through a particularly challenging period of adaptation. However, his behaviour seemed to escalate. My bright, funny, kind, and sensitive boy was becoming increasingly prone to anger when things didn’t go as planned. His outbursts grew more frequent and more intense, evolving from cries to screams, sometimes even escalating to kicks and punches. Losing a game, or a minor hiccup with homework could result in a 30-minute tantrum. At pick-up after school, I never knew how the drive home would go. Indeed, any difficulty at school could result in a decompensation as soon as he entered the car.
As a loving mother and a psychologist, I believed that I surely could find a way to help my son. I delved into my academic knowledge and read countless parenting books. Yet, the classical parenting tools I had at my disposal—negative reinforcement, natural consequences, increased playtime, breathing exercises, clearer limits — all seemed to fall short, leaving me feeling powerless and heartbroken.
Compounding the difficulty, my partner and I had differing views on discipline. He leaned towards a more authoritarian approach than I did, which led to conflicts and strained our relationship. At school and with his grandparents, my son thrived, masking the unravelling that was happening at home. I found myself shouldering the blame, which was a distressing realization. Here I was, a successful clinical psychologist, someone who loved her son more than anything, and yet, I felt incapable of helping him.
I sought guidance from family therapists and occupational therapists, but as time passed, my son’s anger persisted. When he was finally diagnosed with ADHD at the age of eight, there was a strange sense of relief. Yet it was a lonely experience, one that was marked by worry for his future, and our family’s overall well-being. I grappled with feelings of inadequacy and feared my relationship might not withstand the strain. My worries were often minimized by certain well-intentioned family members and friends, leaving me feeling isolated and unheard.
Through it all, certain strategies emerged as lifelines. Understanding that my ADHD son’s brain functioned differently than a neurotypical child’s was a pivotal realization. Instead of immediately trying to teach him, I learned to first connect with him, ensuring that I too was in a regulated state before addressing any behaviours.
I turned to trusted friends, sharing my struggles without fear of judgment. Connecting with parents who faced similar challenges provided a sense of community and support. I sought out a new family therapist with expertise in ADHD, thereby gaining access to invaluable resources.
I learned to anticipate my son’s emotional breakdowns, preparing myself mentally for predictable outbursts. I acknowledged the impact his explosive behaviours had on me and crafted an action plan for myself. In the midst of inevitable emotional fires, I would need to stand tall like that white house with the red roof that remained untouched by the devastating wildfires in Maui earlier this year. This required making more time for myself, meditating and even starting a new hobby.
Recognizing that my son’s feelings, though louder, bigger, and more frequent, were just as valid as anyone else’s was a crucial insight. Understanding that interventions designed to teach emotional regulation might be counterproductive for him, I shifted my approach. Rather than trying to overpower his emotional brain with rationality, I spent more time acknowledging and validating his emotions. Educating him on alternative coping strategies and developing better problem-solving skills needed to be postponed until we were both regulated and more receptive.
I also learned to upregulate his positive behaviours. Building positive and proactive parenting strategies became paramount. I focused on investing in his successes, incorporating rewards, positive affirmations, and engaging activities. I invited problem-solving when things were going well, fostering in him a sense of pride and self-compassion.
In my son’s journey with ADHD, I remembered that he possessed unique gifts—a natural athleticism, boundless physical energy, and a remarkable willingness to learn when genuinely interested. On the toughest days, I held onto the tenet of positive parenting, knowing that it was easier to nurture positive behaviour than to diminish the negative. In our household, emotions run deeper, but they can also be a source of strength. We are embracing the fact that ADHD can also stand for Active, Driven, Happy and Dynamic.
As I reflect on the past few years, and all the extra challenges my son’s ADHD has brought; it is clear that being a mother to a neurodiverse child is also a profound teacher. It has forced me to reconsider some of my beliefs and become more accepting of my son’s and my own limitations. It has highlighted the necessity of self-care and seeking support. It has also allowed me to realize that ADHD comes with remarkable strengths and qualities that make my son the unique and extraordinary individual he is.
Iris lapin is a clinical psychologist and mom from Montreal, Quebec.
