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I suspected my child was different long before any official diagnosis. The way she would repeatedly leap onto the couch or tumble to the floor, laughing joyfully, and her tendency to touch every item on store shelves were clear indicators. She thrived on sensory experiences, yet even the slightest sound could send her into a panic, covering her ears and sobbing. Coupled with her endless energy, it was clear we were facing unique challenges.
Ultimately, we received a series of diagnoses. While some may view these as mere “labels,” to us, they confirmed what we had instinctively known. Our child is neurodiverse, and the medical professionals validated our understanding, which provided us immense relief. We finally had the information we needed to seek appropriate support and strategies to help her navigate the world. However, not everyone in our circle has been as accepting.
I’ll never forget the conversation I had with a friend—who also has an undiagnosed neurodiverse child—when I excitedly shared that we were starting therapy for my daughter. I detailed how the school would adjust her IEP to ensure she had access to the same learning experiences as her classmates, and I had compiled a list of accommodations like preferential seating and noise-canceling headphones. Her response shocked me: “The world won’t bend to her; you can’t expect everyone to make exceptions.”
I was taken aback. Accommodations are not exceptions; they are necessary adjustments to ensure a child receives equitable opportunities. I realized then that this friend would not be the supportive ally I had hoped for, especially considering her own child was struggling due to a lack of support.
The comments from some relatives were even more distressing. My in-laws would downplay my child’s needs, stating things like “All kids are active!” or “She just needs to focus.” One relative, a retired teacher, claimed she would never tolerate such behavior from a child, failing to understand that a sensory meltdown is not a matter of disrespect. Another suggested that a “good spanking” might correct her behavior, completely missing the point that our child’s challenges are not rooted in discipline.
Others offered misguided suggestions, like enrolling her in karate, as if physical activity alone could alter her brain chemistry. It’s vital to understand that conditions like ADHD are not the result of poor discipline, and they cannot be resolved through simple behavioral adjustments.
I’ve learned to address these conversations promptly. I welcome insights from those who approach the topic with understanding and empathy, but I’m not interested in unsolicited advice from individuals who lack knowledge about our situation. When they focus on my child’s perceived issues, they overlook the wonderful qualities that make her who she is.
I wish more family and friends would take the time to educate themselves about my child’s diagnoses. If they did, they’d realize that rigid parenting approaches simply won’t work for neurodiverse children. We’ve learned to adapt, drawing from professional guidance and experimenting with different strategies while prioritizing our connection with her.
It’s hard to understand why some refuse to accept the reality of disabilities, but we view the diagnoses as valuable insights. They provide us a foundation from which to understand and support our child. Disabilities are not deficits; they are aspects of her being that we learn from and adapt to. I cherish my child for who she is, rather than trying to force her into a mold that doesn’t fit.
Every decision we make as parents is informed by our understanding of her specific needs. It’s exhausting to feel like we’re constantly defending our parenting choices, especially when caring for a neurodiverse child presents its own challenges. We shouldn’t have to battle misconceptions from those closest to us.
I strive to educate our relatives and others in our lives, correcting their misunderstandings along the way. I refuse to let my child feel ashamed of her needs. We wholeheartedly accept her, and I trust that over time, our loved ones will come to do the same. Though I often want to shout, “You’re the one with the problem, not my child!” I know that’s not productive.
Our commitment to helping our daughter thrive takes precedence over any external opinions. We will continue to address inaccuracies without shame. Parenting her is a privilege, and I won’t allow naysayers to overshadow the joy we find in our journey.
This article was originally published on July 30, 2021.
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