For three years, we hesitated to medicate our son, Ethan, for his ADHD. Like many parents, we chose to explore every other option first. This approach served two main purposes: it acted as a shield against anyone who might label us as negligent parents. “Yes, we’re giving our child medication, but we’ve genuinely tried everything else first.” It also alleviated some guilt about using medication, as we could confidently say we exhausted all other avenues.
The pivotal moment in our decision came during a parent-teacher conference. My husband and I sat across from Ethan’s four teachers, who looked overwhelmed. They had tried every technique they knew, yet Ethan managed to complete only about 40 percent of his schoolwork. His classroom behavior was chaotic—materials scattered everywhere, constant disruptions, and a lack of awareness about what he was supposed to be doing. The teachers were so focused on redirecting Ethan that the learning of the other students suffered. After that meeting, I went home and cried. It was clear we needed to take action; our previous efforts had not yielded results.
Ethan started on 10 mg of Focalin on a Tuesday. Just fifteen minutes later, I noticed subtle changes. When I asked him to put on his shoes, he had already done so. When I told him to get in the car, he complied without argument. During our drive to school, he gazed thoughtfully out the window. I was initially worried that he was zoning out, but then he shared an elaborate plan for a new building design in Minecraft. Who was this articulate child?
When he returned home, I was astonished to see him neatly place his shoes in the laundry room, unpack his backpack, and dive into his homework. His younger sister was creating a ruckus, and for the first time, he calmly asked her to be quiet so he could concentrate. He finished his homework in record time and dashed outside to play with friends.
The next day, I asked Ethan to clear the kitchen table. When I turned around a minute later, I was surprised to see he had already completed the task. In that moment, I realized that it wasn’t just Ethan who had been struggling; ADHD was affecting our entire family dynamic, especially me, as his primary caregiver. I had been so focused on his challenges that I didn’t recognize how the constant negative feedback he received might have conditioned me to expect failure. I had become accustomed to believing he wouldn’t follow through without my constant involvement, often resorting to yelling to get his attention.
To sum it up, I had unintentionally trained myself to be annoyed by my own child. The unsettling part? I hadn’t even realized it. This was simply the norm for me as a mother.
By Thursday morning, just days into his medication, Ethan was studying his multiplication flashcards in the car on the way to school. He methodically recited each card, eliminating the ones he had mastered. Then he said, “Mom, let me know when a minute’s up. I want to think about something else for a moment, then I’ll see if I still remember everything.” A wave of recognition washed over me. My son had devised a study technique similar to one I had used myself. It struck me: we are truly connected!
That afternoon at chess club (which is really cool, by the way), I spoke with his reading and social studies teacher. She was practically bouncing with excitement, showcasing a writing sample from Ethan that displayed impressive length and clarity. “Look at this!” she exclaimed. “His handwriting! It reads like a science textbook!”
Ethan then chimed in with a series of questions about the fire alarm in the classroom, maintaining eye contact and engaging thoughtfully with his teacher. We exchanged glances, our eyes misty with joy.
For years, I viewed myself as impatient and reactive, often losing my temper. I questioned whether I was suited for motherhood. However, since starting Ethan on medication, I’ve noticed a significant shift. The effects last until 6 or 7 p.m., which gives me a calm, attentive version of him for a few hours each day. It turns out that when both my children act as one would expect, I am more patient and composed than I ever thought possible.
Now, I find myself grappling with a bittersweet realization: I prefer the version of my child when he’s on medication. He is clearer, easier to communicate with, and more organized. Even more importantly, I like who I am during those times. I find myself shouting less, thinking more clearly, and feeling less frustrated. This newfound life is enjoyable, but it raises questions: Is the medicated Ethan still the real Ethan? Have I inadvertently pushed him toward conformity for my own convenience? Who truly benefits from this situation?
After six weeks on medication, I have gained perspective. We haven’t medicated on weekends, and I’ve been pleasantly surprised by my increased patience even during those times. It seems that Ethan’s weekday medication has equipped me emotionally for any ADHD challenges we face over the weekend. As for Ethan, he now finds school enjoyable because he feels competent, and he appreciates that his teachers are less critical.
I remind myself that medication doesn’t change Ethan’s core personality; it simply clears the mental clutter, allowing him to access his true thoughts and abilities. He was always a good kid, and the medication merely helps him shine.
That’s what I keep telling myself.
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Summary:
In this heartfelt account, a mother reflects on her journey with her son Ethan, who has ADHD. After years of resisting medication, she finally decided to give him Focalin, leading to remarkable improvements in his behavior and their family dynamic. She grapples with mixed feelings about the changes in Ethan, recognizing that while medication helps him focus and succeed, it also changes her perception of motherhood and her relationship with him. Ultimately, she realizes that the medication allows Ethan to express his true self, free from the noise of ADHD.