Before I even became a therapist, I was suspicious my youngest had ADHD. My son has always been a mover, a climber, a big-feelings kind of kid who talks to strangers like they’re his future besties. He’s sweet and funny and obsessed with cats (despite being allergic to them). And I love everything about who he is.
But let me tell you something that no amount of graduate-level training prepared me for: parenting an ADHD child while being a therapist (and a teacher… and a grad student… and a human) is like knowing all the answers to the test, but still failing it because the exam is on fire, your pencil broke, and someone keeps shouting “He’d listen if you spanked him!” from the back of the room.
I have so many tools in my back pocket. I can validate feelings, co-regulate, scaffold tasks, redirect, make scavenger hunts for the grocery store, use “first/then” language, and frame every redirection as a gentle invitation rather than a command. I know the strategies. I teach the strategies.
But there is a wide and treacherous gap between what we know and what we can manage when we’re late for school, haven’t slept, and the baby wipes are nowhere to be found.
Therapist Brain, Parent Body
When my son was just three, I started diving into research on ADHD in preschoolers – not just for the presentation that was due, but because I was trying to survive bedtime. I was constantly wondering if this wasn’t just “typical” behaviour, and I was craving clarity, but I also really, really didn’t want to pathologize his amazing brain just to validate myself.
That’s the impossible tension. When you’re a parent and a professional, it’s hard to admit you need support. We’re the ones people come to for help. What does it mean when we are the ones crying in the car?
There was a particularly rough patch where I kept thinking: If I can’t handle this, what business do I have helping anyone else? Cue the imposter syndrome, guilt, and the brutal realization that knowing things doesn’t mean you’re immune to the struggle.
The Hardest Part? Worrying About Other People’s Opinions
The hardest part is not the behaviour, it’s holding myself together while people judge me for parenting a child they don’t understand.
Because I am doing it right. And it’s still hard.
If you’ve ever walked your child out of a public place like a parade marshal in a slow-motion meltdown, with the entire food court watching, you know.
If you’ve ever wanted to shout, “I’m not ignoring this, I’m giving him space to regulate!” you really know.
You’re Not Doing It Wrong. It’s Just Hard.
If I’ve learned anything, it’s this: parenting a neurodivergent child is not a measure of your competency. It’s a measure of your commitment. And holy hell, you are committed.
You are showing up.
You are learning.
You are staying.
Even when you occasionally need to hide in the car with an iced coffee and blast your 00s punk-rock to survive the day.
You are not alone in this.
Even now, I write social media posts to help other parents navigate transitions, while actively managing my own kid’s post-swimming-lesson breakdown in the locker room. That’s just life. We are parenting while living. Teaching while learning. Holding space for tiny humans with enormous emotions while trying not to crumble ourselves.
If You’re in the Thick of It, Hear This:
Take a minute. Breathe. Remind yourself that you are doing it.
Not perfectly. Not Pinterest-ready. But still beautifully.
This is hard, but you can do hard things. You are not “failing” because your child still melts down. You are not “bad at parenting” because you need support. You’re not supposed to do this alone, and you don’t have to.
Also, remember: your kid will roll their eyes when you teach them a coping skill but come home from school raving about how Miss Laura taught them to “smell the flowers and blow out the candles”, and that’s okay too. It’s not about ego. It’s about village.
Need support? At Rise Wellness Collective, we know parenting wasn’t meant to be a solo sport. Whether you’re raising a neurodivergent child or just trying to stay sane in a world full of opinions, we’re here to walk with you.
You’ve got this. And we’ve got you.
You can waitlist here to work with Stephanie.
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