Being a dedicated mom has always been my identity, but parenting a son with ADHD turned my world upside down — making me question everything about my child, my parenting skills, and our ability to navigate the toughest moments without losing control.
His struggles surfaced when he was in preschool. While his classmates were engaged in coloring letters, my son was upending tables, pulling down bookshelves, and darting out of the classroom. After one particularly eventful day, his teacher requested a meeting. I remember her flushed cheeks and the way she spoke in hushed tones, as if that could somehow cushion the harsh reality. Yet all I could hear was the relentless voice in my head: You’re a terrible mom. A terrible mom. A terrible mom.
Receiving a diagnosis of ADHD and ODD felt like a double-edged sword — a relief to know my son wasn’t inherently “bad,” but a burden to convince others of the same. When your child has a developmental disorder, you become an unexpected advocate, whether you like it or not.
It’s not your responsibility to educate the world, yet it often feels like the least you can do. My sister, diagnosed with bipolar disorder, reminds me how challenging it is to showcase an invisible illness. Unlike a broken bone, you can’t wear a cast on your head.
Beyond the external challenges, keeping harmony at home was equally daunting. My other son, the well-behaved one, began to feel resentment. He witnessed my stress, tears, and frustration as his brother broke rules and spiraled. He couldn’t understand why I seemed to parent them differently — why I allowed his brother to have coffee at breakfast or a Mountain Dew at school. I had learned caffeine might help with focus, and by fourth grade, his doctor had prescribed medication. I explored every alternative, from eliminating synthetic dyes from his diet to giving him fish oil, but every unsolicited piece of advice from others felt overwhelming. Life became a repetitive cycle, like a scene from Groundhog Day.
There seemed to be no handbook for motherhood tailored to our situation. Though I knew comparisons were unproductive, I found myself observing other mothers — how they managed their lives, kept appointments, and arrived on time. I stacked their successes against my failures. My son did the same, believing he was the “bad” one compared to his older brother.
Those comparisons can be crushing.
At that time, I had no idea there was a community of mothers who also felt overwhelmed. I wasn’t aware of mothers who didn’t have perfectly tidy homes, or who swore when stepping on Legos, or who occasionally forgot to sign school forms. There were mothers like me, who struggled and made mistakes.
The weight of worry felt like a throbbing muscle in my chest. Balancing a full-time job with the stress of divorce was often unbearable. Our mornings resembled a chaotic concert, filled with shouting and tension. Guilt consumed me — guilt for not having answers, for feeling frustration, and for wishing I could express my feelings more constructively. I had no clue that my emotions were normal; that it was possible to love deeply yet feel anger.
On many days, it was a challenge to remember my son’s unique wiring. Scientific research indicates that certain brain structures in children with ADHD may be smaller than in their peers. While this doesn’t affect intelligence, it can influence problem-solving, memory, impulse control, social behavior, and attention span.
My ex-husband believed the issue was a lack of discipline, viewing ADHD as an excuse rather than a legitimate condition. To outsiders, my selective battles appeared to stem from favoritism. Yet, as a mother, I felt compelled to support the child who needed rescue the most.
During his teenage years, my son’s underlying struggles intensified with the onset of hormones and depression. He withdrew from school, immersed himself in video games, and lashed out at anyone who entered his space. Experts advised loving the child while disapproving of the illness, but that’s not always easy when faced with anger and destruction. Beneath his rage lay layers of sadness and anxiety.
Despite the chaos, labeling him as “bad” was never an option. Criticism only reinforced negative behavior and bred resentment, as noted by Dr. James Greenblatt, author of Finally Focused.
Now, at 22, my son is thriving, thanks to therapy, medication, and exercise. It took years and many setbacks for us to grasp his condition fully. I still experience doubts about my parenting choices, but I remind myself that ADHD is a neurodevelopmental disorder that even specialists acknowledge can be challenging. Motherhood doesn’t come with a manual, but it’s a journey of guessing, trying, fighting, crying, and persisting. Sometimes, it all works out.
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Summary
This article reflects on the challenges of raising a son with ADHD, emphasizing the emotional turmoil experienced by the mother and the misunderstandings often faced from family and society. It highlights the journey of acceptance, the complexity of parenting, and the importance of seeking support and understanding in navigating these difficulties.