A Little Life List: Parenting a Child With ADHD

Overwhelmed? Despairing? Guilty? Stumped? You're not alone.

Little Life Lists are for the complicated, unruly things life throws at us. I encourage you to write your own, too. With coffee. xoxo

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It’s gorgeous outside. Sun silky in the trees, sky blue as a dream, a light breeze.

But…

This summer, as the weather invites me to relax, my son with ADHD constantly needs something. In one minute, maybe two, he’ll ask for something, interrupt me in some way—sometimes violently, sometimes as sweet as the honey on toast he had for breakfast.

This is a piece about what parenting a child with ADHD has taught me so it can help you. Or someone you know.

In this space, I invite you to linger with me. Take a moment to pause. This piece has flowers through it. Like confetti.

Heads up: it isn’t advice. It’s not a '“try medication, a counsellor, a parenting tool” tip or life hack, or any of the excellent and often useful suggestions I’ve read.

Because I’m guessing you’ve read them all, too. You’re a reader—like me—and you love words. You look for solutions—and then try what you can, as is possible, in the day-to-day wild of life and possibly parenting other children, like we are. Every Neurodivergence is different, as I understand it, which means that treatment and support are entirely individual. And individual to a family, too.

What works for me and him may or may not work for you.

Guilt:

Like a small creature, it creeps in. My youngest son’s hamster crawled into bed with my daughter in the middle of the night. She woke up realising a little ball of fur was in her sheets. She ran down the hallway holding the family pet. In horror.

That story makes me laugh, a lot, but guilt isn’t a creature like that.

Instead, it’s shadowy; disappearing when I try to look at it.

There’s a lot of back-and-forth in the world of ADHD parenting—Dr. Gabor Maté in Scattered Minds explores childhood trauma and how he believes it’s a root cause of the disorder, which can make parents feel like it’s all their fault. I’m not convinced he’s casting blame exactly, but the chime of anxiety that I could be doing better for my son gets loud when I read Mate’s work.

Parenting a child with ADHD is hard. I know my son doesn’t mean to shout and scream and forget things and demand things and interrupt constantly and need something from me that I can’t give. When he asks me a hundred times to come and say goodnight—again. When he wakes me, or refuses to eat (which I know will make him feel worse) or is afraid of the constant whirr of his mind, I know I should be kind.

Supportive.

And yet each of those behaviours can be maddening.

I get mad. Make mistakes.

But what am I guilty of, really? Doing my best? I don’t have any better.

Shame:

I’ve worked with this one. A lot. Now when it rises, I wait for it to pass, but there were a lot of years when my son was screaming at me, or attacking me, and the meerkat stare of strangers incited shame like a riot.

Worse: adults intervene with judgement—a head shake, a sly comment, outright ‘feedback’. Once, in Winners, a huge shop here in Saskatoon, my son had a tantrum so fierce that he hauled himself up onto the counter screaming, throwing candy bars because I wouldn’t buy him one. I was with four other children (three of them mine), and I can still feel the way the other adults in the room treated us. They had so much to say.

For sure, my son’s behaviour was out of control. But everyone else there that day made it so much harder.

I have to remind myself that most other adults don’t know.

One of my best friends said recently: “It’s not that bad, is it?” She was talking about the day-to-day with my son. He’d thrown a chair at me the day before, so the hard legs smashed into my back and bruised me.

Everyone has advice for me.

I welcome it. I appreciate the kindness when it comes, because while some adults are brutal with their judgement, often people are just trying to help.

Yet, the advice I’m given overwhelms me because most of it doesn’t work: at least not quickly (which leads to the question: work to do what? Change my son? Why?")

When shame rises, I’ve learned to let the feeling pass through, like I’m some sort of Buddha.

I’m not. I’ve just had to learn to regulate.

Or everything is worse.

Have you ever been terrible at something?

Until the last few years, I was terrible at regulating my emotions, which I’ve since learned is normal for ADHD. ADHD is genetic and like a lot of mums/moms, I came to my own ADHD diagnosis because of my son’s. I saw in him, as I began to pay attention, so many of my own challenges.

My son’s busy brain is like mine.

(We’ve come to realise that he may not be the only one of our children with it and we’re following up to support them too.)

My son is my mirror—as all children are—and I’ve learned more about myself by trying to parent him. I was brought up with raised voice and rules that couldn’t be broken.

Those don’t work for kids with ADHD.

My parents yelled at me when I drove them bananas—I grew up yelling right back.

Living the intensity of my feelings—a storm waiting to happen—is the same for my son. So, when I follow a pattern of yelling and issuing rules, our world becomes chaos. Which means that when I lose it, it makes everything worse:

I still lose it. (Guilt. Shame. There they are, again!) We all lose it, sometimes.

Interruption:

The interruptions thing I mentioned at the start? That’s normal for him. He needs my attention

all

the

time

in a way that’s so deep, I’ve never reached the bottom. If I ever get to the bottom, I believe secretly that I’ll find a hole, where I’ll witness my love pour through. Perhaps I made that hole accidentally through my parenting.

Or, perhaps that hole is what ADHD is like for him.

I recognize it, because I have that same hole in me. Although I’ve learned to fill it with my writing life—coming to the page helps me stay calm and helps me manage my symptoms. But with his constant interruptions through the summer it’s hard to consistently write, which makes it harder for me to stay calm or regulated. I’ve learned that I can’t fill that hole for him: it’s scary to acknowledge my limitations. That the best I have isn’t enough.

Stumped.

When I teach writing, I teach that we don’t know. That building a writing life means sitting with not knowing: not knowing the end, not even knowing the path.

Until, suddenly, you write a sentence and you know. Something resonates inside and the words feel right. A path opens through a dark forest, a light shines and you follow.

When I get over the fear, I’m okay with all I don’t know.

Most of the time.

Just now, he sat with me. “I’d like to do some writing,” I told him. “Without interruption.” He climbed on my chair. Tried to get me to buy him something from Amazon. I’ve read that this could be his love language—gifts—but I wasn’t about to buy him anything in that moment.

I didn’t buy the plastic whatever it was.

Instead, I did all the things that sometimes work and, in this instance, he calmed down. Which means I’m writing with him across the room from me. Writing this for you. And in these words, which I’ve taken more than two weeks to share as they’ve been hard to find (and did I mention the interruptions!) I’ve discovered calm and vulnerability.

In the moments of this journey there’s beauty.

Someone said to me recently: “You’re so patient. You’re so intentional and calm.”

“I’m not,” I replied.

She looked utterly puzzled. “Then you’re a bloody good actor.”

I didn’t have time to tell her—my son called me on my phone, which he does over and over when I go anywhere—but I wanted to say, “Oh, I’m not acting. Not even a bit. I’m just changed by parenting my son. I barely recognize this version of me, but I love hearing that I have become intentional and calm. He taught me that.”

So, here it is, my Little Life List for parenting a child with ADHD. Remember, this is only me sharing what it’s like for me. I’m doing this because, whatever it’s like for you, I want you to know you’re not alone.

Here’s my Little Life List:

1. Parenting a child with ADHD brings up a range of emotions: all are valid.

2. You’re less alone on this journey than it feels. I’m walking this path with you.

He leaned against me this morning and said, “I don’t feel good, Mom.” I knew to sit with him. I didn’t need to fix it or change him—we faced how hard it is together and that was enough.

I send this with love—please share it with someone who might find these words useful or reassuring. I hope it’s helpful for you.

xoxo

Alice

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If you’re new here, my name is Alice Kuipers and I’m a writer, mother and dog-owner transplanted twenty years ago to the Canadian prairies from England. I’ve published fourteen books in 36 countries and my writing has been described as: “For storytellers and story lovers,” by Kirkus Reviews; ‘Gorgeous, heart-ripping, important,” by VOYA; and “Intense and wonderful” by Bif Naked.

Join me for a coffee break.

Xoxo

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Read more: I’ve been enjoying

Jennifer Lauck

and her ten-week challenge. I wrote about this last week and have tried to stick with my schedule despite interruptions!

I adored God of the Woods by Liz Moore. I probably told you that already on Notes. Follow me there for more flowers and pauses in your day.

I have lots of books and resources that have helped me parent my son with ADHD and I can share them with you if you would like any suggestions. Drop me a message below. Share any advice you have, too, or great reads to guide me. I always love learning.

And if you enjoyed this Little Life List, you might like this one, too:

xoxox