Describing the experience of raising a child with ADD to someone who hasn’t lived it is no easy task. “Oh, my daughter takes forever to put on her shoes too. That doesn’t mean she has ADD. That’s just what kids do!” my friends say, completely unaware that I’m talking about an eternity in the literal sense. I could instruct my daughter to slip on her shoes and socks, only to return three years later to find her still sitting there, likely entranced by a tree outside, her little feet still bare. I doubt her last thought would be about being thirsty; I imagine it would be, “Oh, I was almost done observing the leaves on that tree!”
“Don’t fret — my kid zones out during her soccer games too. She spends half the time picking flowers,” they’ll say. But how many parents have complained that my daughter scares their kids by sneaking up on them while playing “Lion’s gonna getcha!” during the game? That’s on top of me having to rescue her from a tree in the woods behind the field every time it’s her turn to bat.
Reaching the point where I understand why she can craft a novella yet turns into a deer in headlights when presented with 2+2 has been one of the most bewildering, stressful, and frustrating journeys of my life. It all began when I enrolled her in preschool at 18 months.
“Have you noticed that Emma sometimes…spaces out?” her teacher asked one day. “She sort of…vanishes, and it takes a lot to bring her back.”
“Ummm, yes?” I responded, not wanting to appear as a negligent parent. I was overwhelmed with a 1-year-old, a 5-month-old, and soon to be welcoming baby number three. Every night, as I tucked them in, I was just relieved I had managed to keep them all alive. The teacher’s observation sent me spiraling.
As a concerned parent, I instantly took it to heart. I had no idea what “it” was, but I was convinced it was bad, and that I was to blame. “It” was because I didn’t spend enough one-on-one time with her. Because I didn’t prepare her baby food from organic veggies. Because I enjoyed a glass of wine at a wedding while pregnant with her. Because I often relied on cartoons to entertain her while I worked from home.
“Let’s keep an eye on it,” her teacher suggested. “It’s probably nothing.”
But “it” was something.
“Emma puzzles us,” her teachers would always start, as if reciting a rehearsed line. “Some days she comes in, fully engaged, breezing through activities. Other days, she appears lost, unsure of where to put her coat, and looks at us like we’re speaking a foreign language during letter and number lessons.” Then they’d pause, “But wow, she is so imaginative! Look at this drawing she made!”
As spring approached before kindergarten, her teachers recommended that we have her evaluated. For what, I wasn’t sure, and neither were they. A three-hour assessment where I sat behind a curtain, overhearing terms like “above average,” “fine,” and “unnecessary.” I left with a “within normal range” slip, feeling humiliated, convinced I had fabricated some problem.
I finally relaxed until…
That fall, she started kindergarten and soon after, I received a letter: “Based on assessments, your child qualifies for additional services…” My world spun, and my stomach dropped. I preferred the version of myself who was just overreacting. Thus began the wild ride of contradictions over the next two years.
The rollercoaster of inconsistency is a strange blend of emotions. It’s feeling like a failure when you get a letter stating your 5-year-old qualifies for special math and writing help. It’s feeling like a lunatic when you bring in your daughter for testing and she aces every task. It’s panic when teachers repeatedly express “major concerns about her attention.” It’s embarrassment when the school counselor says she’s “fine, just let her be 6.” It’s a child who one day breezes through homework and the next cries because she’s confused. It’s friends insisting all kids do the same things, which makes you want to bang your head against the wall. It’s reading alarming books that warn how, without medication, your child could face self-esteem issues that lead to drugs or risky behavior. It’s horror stories from parents whose children were medicated and turned into mindless zombies, losing their creativity and spark.
To be honest, I didn’t immediately connect what was happening to ADD. It wasn’t until her first-grade teacher mentioned “attention” that I had my epiphany and began researching ADD. I had always thought it only affected hyperactive boys. Learning that it often presents differently in girls was a revelation, but the books I read seemed to describe her perfectly — the daydreaming, the challenges with math and spelling, the social cues she misses, the exuberant silliness, and the incredible imagination that writers would envy.
Ideally, my daughter would spend all day in what we call “Emma Land,” daydreaming about fairies and ice cream flavors. However, we had to face reality; she will need to eventually leave home, and that requires a grasp of basic math. Plus, Emma Land doesn’t translate well in a classroom setting.
A little over a year ago, my usually cheerful daughter came home crying. “I don’t understand what’s happening at school,” she sobbed. “My teacher thinks it’s because I’m not paying attention, but I am! My brain just keeps interrupting her.” It was then that I realized I should have been listening to her all along.
We began weekly math and spelling sessions with a wonderful tutor who understands her unique way of thinking. We eliminated most food dyes and sugars, established an early bedtime, and ensured she sits in the front row at school. Her teacher is fantastic at subtly guiding her focus without making it a big deal. We scheduled an appointment with a child psychiatrist specializing in ADD for an official assessment and diagnosis, and this year we started medication.
As I nervously administered her first pill, I repeatedly checked her pupils. “How are you feeling? Are you seeing spots or having trouble breathing?” I asked, pulling her lips back every thirty seconds to check for any unusual signs.
Like many parents, I feared medication would alter her essence, dull her brilliance, and make her — gasp — ordinary. Yet, she has changed. We’re navigating this journey together, still far from having all the answers, but we are in a much better place. She’s learning to channel those creative thoughts that once flitted around her mind into organized, constructive ideas. Her room is filled with “Invention Journals” brimming with sketches of prototypes. She has penned and illustrated several books and creates board games from recycled materials. While she still doesn’t adore math, she’s thriving in school and no longer requires special assistance.
Her “Sparkly Brain” has become a cherished part of our family, bringing us laughter and occasional frustration. Someday, I believe she will harness that creativity to change the world.
A few weeks ago, while sitting at the dining table with my husband, he said, “She’s going to be fine. I was a bluebird, you know.”
“What’s a bluebird?”
“The ‘special’ reading group,” he replied, air quoting. “I couldn’t read until med school. I think I have ADD, so she probably inherited it from me.”
“Wow,” I said, slamming my hand on the table. Suddenly everything clicked. “You’re right! But that would’ve been useful information three years ago when I was convinced I was ruining our child!”
“True,” he replied, casually sipping his wine. “I just didn’t think about it until now.”
“Shhh,” I said, patting his hand. “It’s okay. Just go back to your happy place. I hear it’s lovely there.”
In this journey of parenting, it’s crucial to remember we’re not alone. For more insights on navigating these challenges, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary:
Parenting a child with ADD can be a tumultuous experience filled with moments of joy, confusion, and frustration. The journey often begins with subtle signs that may go unnoticed and leads to a deeper understanding of the unique needs of each child. Through patience, support, and professional guidance, parents can help their children navigate the challenges of ADD while celebrating their creativity and individuality.