For three long years, we hesitated to medicate my son, Jake, for his ADHD. Like many parents before us, we opted for the “try-everything-else-first” approach. This strategy served two purposes: it acted as a shield against judgment from those who might accuse us of being negligent parents and it eased our guilt over starting medication — after all, we had genuinely attempted every other possible solution first.
The pivotal moment in our “Should We Medicate?” discussion arrived during a parent-teacher conference. My husband and I sat across from Jake’s four teachers, who were clearly overwhelmed. They were exceptional educators, yet Jake was only managing to complete about 40% of his assignments. In class, he was chaotic, with materials scattered around him, constantly making disruptive noises and interrupting lessons. They spent so much time trying to redirect him that it affected the learning of the other students. After that meeting, I went home in tears. It was clear we had to take action; our previous efforts weren’t cutting it.
Jake began taking 10 mg of Focalin on a Tuesday. Just fifteen minutes after his first dose, I noticed subtle yet striking changes. I asked him to put on his shoes, and he had already done so. When I asked him to get in the car, he responded with an enthusiastic “Okay” and hopped right in. As we drove to school, he sat there, gazing thoughtfully out the window. I initially worried he had turned into a zombie, but when I inquired about his thoughts, he excitedly shared an elaborate plan for his next Minecraft project. Who was this articulate child?
That afternoon, he walked through the door, neatly placed his shoes in the laundry room, unpacked his backpack, and even dove into his homework without being asked. His younger sister was running around, and he calmly said, “Can you please be quiet? I’m trying to focus.” It was a statement I had never heard from him before. He finished his assignments quicker than usual and dashed outside to play with the neighbors.
The next day, I asked him to clear the clutter off the kitchen table, and to my surprise, he had already completed the task before I could remind him again. It hit me then: Jake wasn’t the only one who had been struggling with ADHD; I had been too. The constant challenges of managing his condition had worn me down, and I had conditioned myself to expect the worst — that he would never do what I asked without my constant oversight. I had grown accustomed to being frustrated with my own child, and I hadn’t even realized it.
On Thursday morning, Jake worked on his multiplication flashcards in the car, reciting each one aloud and strategizing on how to remember them better. Suddenly, I was struck by the realization that he had developed a study method similar to one I used as a child. It brought forth a profound sense of connection; I could see myself in him for the first time.
Later that day, while picking Jake up from chess club (which is honestly so cool), I encountered his reading and social studies teacher. She was practically buzzing with excitement as she shared how well Jake had been doing. “Look at this writing sample! His handwriting is improved, and the content reads like a science textbook!” she exclaimed. Jake eagerly interrupted us with a flurry of questions about the fire alarm on the ceiling, clearly engaged and interested. The teacher and I exchanged glances, both teary-eyed.
For years, I had labeled myself as impatient and reactive, often resorting to yelling. I doubted my capabilities as a mother. However, since Jake started his medication, I discovered a more patient side of myself. The medication lasted until the evening, providing me with calm moments with Jake after school when he was focused and engaged. It became clear that when both of my children behaved as expected, I was naturally patient — I just needed the right environment.
Now, I grapple with mixed feelings: I genuinely prefer my son when he’s on medication. He is more organized, coherent, and communicative. More importantly, I like myself better too; I am less likely to yell and more capable of thinking clearly. I enjoy this life, but I question if I am changing who he is with medication. Am I making him more like me? Who am I truly helping here?
After six weeks on medication, I’ve gained perspective. We’ve chosen not to medicate on weekends, and I’ve been pleasantly surprised to find my patience has improved, even during moments of ADHD challenges. I believe the structure of the weekdays helps me handle the weekends better. Jake now finds joy in school, realizing he’s capable and enjoying learning. He shares that school is fun because he feels smart, and he’s grateful that his teachers are no longer constantly correcting him.
I remind myself that medication doesn’t alter Jake’s core essence; it merely helps him silence the distractions, allowing his true self to shine through.
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Summary
The journey of deciding to medicate my son for ADHD was fraught with challenges and emotions. After years of trying alternative methods, medication has transformed not just Jake but also my experience as a parent. He is more engaged and organized, allowing me to rediscover my patience. This journey has led me to question the real impact of medication, yet I realize it helps him access his true potential without changing who he is at his core.