I Prefer My Kid When He’s on Medication

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Parenting

by Jamie Carter

Updated: Aug. 3, 2021

Originally Published: July 18, 2015

For three long years, we held off on medicating Ethan for his ADHD. Like many parents before us, we tried all the alternatives first. This approach served a dual purpose: it protected us from being judged as lazy parents. “Sure, we’re giving our kid medication, but don’t worry, we’ve exhausted every other option first.” It also made us feel less guilty about medicating him, knowing we’d genuinely tried everything else.

The pivotal moment in our decision came during a parent-teacher conference. My husband and I sat across from Ethan’s four teachers, and it felt like a wave of “Please Help Us” crashed over me. These were the best educators in the state, yet Ethan was only managing to complete about 40% of his assignments. He was a tornado in the classroom—his desk a mess, always distracted, and constantly disrupting others. The teachers were spending so much time trying to reach him that the rest of the class was suffering. After that meeting, I went home and cried. It was clear: we needed to do something. Our attempts at alternatives were failing.

Ethan started on 10 mg of Focalin on a Tuesday. Within 15 minutes, I noticed subtle shifts. I went to ask him to put on his shoes, only to find he had already done so. When I asked him to get in the car, he simply responded, “Okay,” and hopped in. During the drive to school, he gazed thoughtfully out the window. I panicked, thinking, Oh no, he’s turning into a zombie! When I inquired about his thoughts, he excitedly shared a detailed plan for his next Minecraft project—this was a child I didn’t recognize, communicating in coherent bullet points.

When he returned home that day, he walked in, neatly placed his shoes in the laundry room, unpacked his backpack, and zipped off to do his homework. His younger sister was running around, yelling, and he calmly said, “Can you please be quiet? I’m trying to concentrate.” I had never heard him say anything like that before. He finished his homework in record time and dashed outside to play with the neighbors.

The next day, I asked Ethan to clear the papers off the kitchen table. To my surprise, when I turned around a minute later, he had already done it. I realized then that it wasn’t just Ethan suffering from ADHD; it had taken a toll on all of us, especially me, as his primary caregiver. I had spent years worrying that the negative feedback he received at school would lead him to think he was incapable of doing well. I was right to worry, but I had overlooked how ADHD affected me.

I had become conditioned to believe that Ethan would never do what I asked without my constant guidance. I had to repeat instructions, maintain eye contact, and still check in with him every couple of minutes. I had grown accustomed to being annoyed by my own child, and I hadn’t even realized it.

The morning after starting the meds: On the drive to school, Ethan worked with his multiplication flashcards in the car, reciting them aloud. He sorted through them, setting aside the ones he had mastered, then said, “Mom, let me know when a minute is up. I’m going to think about something else for a minute, then I’ll return to see if I remember everything.” A strange mix of emotions washed over me—he reminded me of myself. For the first time, I felt a strong genetic connection to him.

Later that day, I picked Ethan up from chess club (yes, it’s as cool as it sounds) and ran into his reading and social studies teacher. She was practically bursting with excitement as she showed me a writing sample he had completed. “Look at how much he wrote! His handwriting! Just read it—it’s like a science textbook!”

Ethan interrupted us, curious about the fire alarm on the ceiling, peppering his teacher with questions about how it functioned. The teacher and I exchanged glances, our eyes brimming with tears of joy.

For years, I saw myself as an impatient, reactive person—a yeller. I often doubted my ability to be a good mom. But since Ethan started on medication, everything changed. The meds last until 6 or 7 p.m., so I get a calm, engaged version of him for a few hours each day. With two kids acting like kids should, I found my patience returning. I had simply forgotten what it felt like.

Lately, I’ve been grappling with a bittersweet realization: I like my child better when he’s on medication. He’s more focused, easier to talk to, and organized. Even more surprising, I like myself better too. I’m not yelling constantly, and I can think clearly. This life feels better.

But it leaves me wondering: Is the medicated Ethan still the real Ethan? Did I medicate him to make him more like me? Am I just making my life easier at his expense? Who am I really helping here?

Now that Ethan has been on meds for six weeks, I have more clarity. We haven’t been medicating on weekends, and I’m pleased to find I’m much more patient, even without the meds. It seems that having him on medication during the week has given me the emotional strength to handle the occasional ADHD moments that come up. As for Ethan, he now finds school enjoyable and feels competent in his learning. He’s happy that his teachers aren’t constantly on his case.

I remind myself that the medication doesn’t change who Ethan is; it simply clears away the distractions in his mind and allows him to access his true self—the person he was always meant to be. That’s what I keep telling myself.

This article was originally published on July 18, 2015. For more insights on the topic, check out this other blog post.

In summary, navigating the world of ADHD and medication can be complex. It can lead to revelations about both the child and the parent, reshaping relationships and perspectives on parenting and learning.