I found myself holding those tiny pills, and in that moment, I felt utterly defeated. I was engaged in a new battle, one that felt all too familiar. With my son’s innocent eyes fixed on me, I uttered what felt like the biggest lie of my life: “This is safe. You’ll be just fine. I promise.” Deep down, a voice screamed at me, “Liar! Terrible mother! You’re failing him!”
The day I decided to give my son medication for his ADHD marked one of the toughest moments of my parenting journey. I had resisted the idea for so long, having tried various natural alternatives. I eliminated food dyes, purchased expensive “natural light” bulbs for our kitchen, invested in a mini trampoline for him to jump on, and even had him run laps in our living room between homework questions. I read to him, showered him with love, and fought tirelessly for his well-being.
My son was reluctant to take the pills. Given his severe nut allergy, he was naturally cautious about anything new. If it wasn’t something he had tried before, he refused to even consider it—whether it was food, a restaurant, or candy. Convincing him to swallow that pill turned into a battle of wills, one that involved tears from both of us, promises, threats, and ultimately a bribe.
I told him it was safe, but the truth was I was terrified. I had read the research, understood the potential side effects, and it all frightened me. The studies were relatively recent and no guarantee for my son’s unique situation. How could I be sure he wouldn’t be the one to experience adverse effects? How did I know this wouldn’t hinder his brain development at such a crucial time? Yet, I assured him, believing that as his mother, I needed to be his protector. He believed me and took the pill, day after day.
I kept a close eye on him for any changes in mood, appetite, or sleep. He began skipping lunch, claiming he just wasn’t hungry. Teachers reported that while he was calmer, he wasn’t any more focused. He could sit still, but concentration remained elusive. He wasn’t disruptive, which was a relief, but it didn’t feel right.
On weekends, I opted not to give him the medication. It may sound strange, but I didn’t like seeing him so subdued. My son is supposed to be energetic, loud, and occasionally exasperating. That’s who he is. The calm, quiet version of him that emerged looked so different that it broke my heart. The once vibrant child who now appeared frail was not my son. I couldn’t bear to see him change like that, so I reserved the medication for school days.
Five years passed with me trying different medications, each one promising to resolve our struggles. Then came middle school, and my son began to voice his discontent. “I want to want to eat lunch. I don’t like how these make me feel,” he expressed.
Now, I was insisting my child take medication that he was pleading to stop. Middle school brought a slew of parent-teacher meetings, and it became clear he was still struggling with his work. Daily emails about his inability to focus and complete assignments overwhelmed me. I was cracking under the pressure, just as he was. Our nightly homework battles drained any joy from our relationship. His self-esteem plummeted, my patience evaporated, and we were both suffering. Yet, every morning, I handed him those pills along with a lunchbox that would inevitably come back full. He took them, avoiding my gaze, his compliance speaking volumes.
With each visit to the specialist for a prescription refill, my guilt grew heavier. I clung to the hope that time might change things, that perhaps a new medication would be the solution. We tried four different ones, each accompanied by its own set of unsettling side effects. The first morning on each new medication felt like another weight on my conscience—“Are you sure this one is okay?” he would ask, still placing his trust in me. I nodded, the lies becoming easier to tell, but the guilt increasingly unbearable.
Eventually, changes began to unfold for us. My son matured, and we discovered an alternative school that suited his learning style and pace better. The most significant shift, however, was that he no longer needed to take those pills. I felt the burden of guilt lift. This was the right choice for him and our family. I now cherish the son I have, perfectly imperfect, just as he should be.
I share this story to shed light on the complex decisions parents face regarding medication. It’s easy to assume that those of us who choose to medicate have done so without thought or are influenced by external pressures. The truth is that deciding to medicate a child is never simple. I hope this insight helps others understand the weight of such decisions and encourages kindness towards parents navigating these challenging choices. For some, medication is life-changing; for others, like myself, it may provide only partial relief.
Be empathetic, hold back judgment, and may you never face a decision where you must promise your child something you’re unsure you can deliver.
If you’re interested in exploring more about home insemination and related topics, check out one of our other blog posts here. For additional information on pregnancy, visit this excellent resource by the CDC.
Summary
The author reflects on her difficult journey of medicating her son for ADHD, detailing the emotional turmoil and challenges faced as a parent. After years of trying different medications, which often came with side effects and guilt, she ultimately decided to stop the medication. Emphasizing the complexity of such decisions, she calls for understanding and compassion for parents in similar situations.