I sat there, holding those tiny pills, and felt my heart sink. I had fought so hard, only to find myself in a new battle. With my son’s innocent eyes fixed on me, I uttered what felt like the most significant falsehood of my life: “It’s safe. You’ll be just fine. I promise.” Inside, I was screaming, “You’re lying! Terrible mom! Total failure!”
The day I first gave my son medication for his ADHD was one of the toughest moments I’ve ever faced. I had resisted holding one of those pills for so long. I tried every “natural” method I could think of. I cut out food dyes, invested in pricey “natural light” bulbs for our kitchen, and even bought a mini trampoline for him to bounce on. I had him running laps in our living room between homework questions. I read to him, showered him with love, and fought tooth and nail for his well-being.
He didn’t want to take the pills. With a severe nut allergy, he was exceptionally cautious about anything new. Whether it was food, a restaurant, or even candy, if he hadn’t tried it before, it was a no-go. Convincing him to swallow that pill felt like a tug-of-war that I eventually “won,” after tears, promises, threats, and finally, a bribe.
I told him it was safe, but deep down, I knew I shouldn’t have made that promise. I had read the studies, seen the side effects, and they frightened me. The research was only about 20 years old and hadn’t been conducted on my son. How could I be sure he wouldn’t be the one to have an adverse reaction? How did I know it wouldn’t interfere with his brain development at such a crucial age? And yet, I assured him that I knew best, and being his mom—his protector—he believed me as he swallowed that pill, day after day.
I became hyper-vigilant, watching for any changes in his mood, appetite, sleep, anything. He stopped eating lunch—he simply wasn’t hungry. Teachers reported he was calmer but not more focused. He could sit still, but concentration remained elusive. Most of the time, he wasn’t disruptive.
I opted not to give him the pills on weekends. It may sound odd, but I didn’t want to see him so subdued. My son isn’t meant to be calm; he’s vibrant, wild, loud, and yes, sometimes he makes me want to pull my hair out. But that’s who he is—that’s our rhythm. The quiet, subdued boy who was becoming too skinny for his doctor’s comfort wasn’t my child! I couldn’t bear the transformation the medication caused, so I reserved the pills for school days, avoiding them on weekends and during summer.
I continued the medication for five years, switching between different types, each with the promise of perfection. Then came middle school. He became increasingly vocal about his dislike for the pills. “I want to want to eat lunch. I don’t like how they make me feel,” he said.
I found myself in the uncomfortable position of forcing my child to take medication he didn’t want. Middle school became a saga of parent-teacher meetings as he still struggled to complete his work. Daily emails about extra homework because he was staring off into space piled up. We were both breaking. The nightly homework battles were exhausting, draining joy from our relationship. His self-esteem was plummeting, my patience was wearing thin, and we were all suffering. Yet, each morning, I handed him the pills and a lunchbox that typically returned untouched. He took them, avoiding my gaze, his compliance speaking volumes about his internal struggle.
The weight of my failure and shame was suffocating. Each visit to the specialist for his prescription refill felt like a punch to the gut. I kept hoping that time would bring change, that perhaps a new medication would work wonders. We tried four different ones, each bringing its own set of nightmarish side effects. Every new pill felt like another notch in my guilt belt—“Are you sure this one is okay?” he’d ask, still trusting me. I nodded, but the lies came easier while the guilt grew heavier.
Eventually, circumstances shifted. He matured, and we found an alternative school that catered to his learning style and pace. But the most significant change? He no longer takes those pills. I’ve shed my cloak of guilt. This was the best decision for both him and our family. I now have the son I was always meant to have—perfect in his imperfections, just like the rest of us.
I share this story for those who think parents who choose to medicate do so lightly. It’s not a decision made without deep consideration or due to influence from Big Pharma. Choosing to medicate your child is never easy. I hope this offers insight into this challenging decision and encourages kindness towards parents who face such tough choices. For some, medication may be a miracle, while for others like me, it was a temporary solution that didn’t change everything.
So let’s be gentle, avoid judgment, and may you never find yourself in a position where you must make promises to your child that you’re unsure you can keep. If you’re interested in exploring other parenting journeys, check out our post on home insemination and parenting. And for more on fertility options, see this guide on couples’ fertility journeys, a valuable resource. For those looking into in vitro fertilization, this Wikipedia page offers excellent information.
Summary:
The author reflects on the difficult decision to medicate her son for ADHD, sharing her journey through various treatments and the emotional toll it took on their family. Ultimately, she found that stopping the medication was the right choice for her son, allowing him to embrace his true self. The piece serves as a reminder of the complexities surrounding parental decisions about medication and the need for empathy towards those facing similar challenges.