Explaining the experience of raising a child with ADD to someone who hasn’t lived it can be incredibly challenging. “Oh, my kid takes forever to get dressed too. That doesn’t mean he has ADD; it’s just what kids do,” they say, oblivious to the reality I face. When I ask my daughter to put on her shoes and socks, I might as well be asking her to solve a complex equation. I could return years later to find her still in the same spot, likely daydreaming out the window, her tiny feet still bare. And in that moment, her last thought wouldn’t be about thirst; it would be, “Wow, those leaves are really cool.”
“Don’t worry — my son gets distracted during soccer games too, usually picking daisies,” they continue. But how many times have parents complained that my daughter, while playing “Lion’s gonna getcha!”, has startled their kids in the field? And that’s on the days when I’m not rescuing her from the tree behind the goalpost while it’s her turn to kick.
Reaching a point of understanding why my daughter can craft intricate stories yet freezes when asked a simple math question has been one of the most terrifying and perplexing adventures of my life. It all began when I enrolled her in preschool at 18 months.
“Have you noticed that Lily kind of…zones out sometimes?” her teacher asked me one day. “Like, she just drifts off and it takes a lot to bring her back?”
“Um, yes?” I replied, pretending I was aware. The thought that my child was taking frequent mental vacations felt like a failure on my part. Meanwhile, I was juggling a 1-year-old, a 5-month-old, and dealing with my third pregnancy. Each night, as I tucked them in, I was just grateful they were all alive and well. So, when her teacher pointed out something I should’ve caught, it sent me spiraling.
Like any concerned parent, I took it to heart. I didn’t know what “it” was, but I decided it must be something bad, and I was to blame. “It” was my fault for not spending enough dedicated time with her, for feeding her store-bought baby food, for enjoying a glass of wine at a friend’s wedding while pregnant, and for letting her watch cartoons during my work calls.
“Let’s just monitor it; it’s probably nothing serious,” the teacher reassured me. But “it” felt substantial.
“Lily is a bit of a puzzle,” her teachers would say, as if reciting from a script. “Some days she comes in, breezes through tasks, while other days, she seems lost and unsure of her surroundings.” They’d add, “But oh, her creativity! Look at this amazing drawing!”
Before kindergarten, her teachers suggested an evaluation. I didn’t know for what, and neither did they. After a three-hour assessment, where I overheard phrases like “within normal range” and “unnecessary,” I left feeling embarrassed, as if I had conjured some issue out of thin air.
Everything must be fine, I thought, until that fall when kindergarten began. Soon after, a letter arrived: “Based on assessments, your child qualifies for additional support…” My heart sank. I preferred it when I was the one worrying over nothing. Thus began the emotional rollercoaster of inconsistency that would define the next two years.
This rollercoaster meant feeling like a failure whenever I received a letter stating that my 5-year-old needed special math and writing assistance. It was disheartening when, despite her acing tests, her teachers expressed serious concerns about her attention. It was embarrassing when the school counselor reassured me she was just fine. It’s a little girl who one day completes her homework with ease and the next day sobs over her inability to understand. Friends would dismiss my concerns, insisting all kids do this, driving me to the brink of frustration.
Amidst horror stories of children turned into “zombies” by medication, the connection to ADD wasn’t clear until her first-grade teacher mentioned “attention.” Suddenly, I was reading everything I could find about ADD, realizing that it often presents differently in girls. The characteristics described mirrored Lily — the daydreaming, struggles with math, and difficulty picking up social cues.
In an ideal world, Lily would spend her days in a whimsical realm of imagination. But reality hit hard: she needed to learn basic skills to thrive beyond our home. A year ago, she returned from school in tears, exclaiming, “I’m trying to pay attention, but my brain keeps interrupting!” That moment made me realize she was the one I needed to listen to.
We started with weekly tutoring sessions focused on math and spelling with a fantastic educator who understood her needs. We eliminated most dyes and sugars from her diet, enforced an early bedtime, and ensured she sat at the front of the classroom, where her teacher discreetly helped her stay engaged. We consulted a child psychiatrist specializing in ADD for a formal evaluation and began medication.
My hands trembled as I administered her first dose, anxiously checking for side effects every few minutes. Like many parents, I feared that medication would strip her of her uniqueness. I imagined a future where she would be ordinary, devoid of her creative spark.
And yes, she has changed. We’re still navigating this journey, but we’ve found a good rhythm. She’s learning to channel her creative thoughts into tangible projects. Her room is now filled with “Invention Journals” full of sketches, and she’s written and illustrated numerous stories. While she may not love math, she’s excelling in school and no longer requires special services.
Her “Sparkly Brain” has become a cherished part of our family, bringing joy and challenges alike. One evening, my husband remarked, “She’s going to be just fine. I was a ‘bluebird’ in school myself,” referencing the special reading group. “I couldn’t read until med school, and I think I have ADD too.”
Suddenly, everything clicked into place. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I exclaimed. “I’ve been blaming myself for everything!”
“Yeah, I didn’t think about it until now,” he shrugged, taking a sip of his wine.
“Shhh,” I said, patting his hand. “It’s okay. Just go back to your own world. I hear it’s lovely there.”
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In summary, the journey of parenting a child with ADD is filled with unexpected challenges and joys. Understanding and nurturing their unique abilities while navigating the complexities of their needs is essential. While it can be a rollercoaster, the love and creativity they bring into our lives are worth every moment.