In our household, ADHD is a part of our everyday life. My 7-year-old son, 5-year-old daughter, and I navigate the world with this condition, which often means forgetting my oldest’s backpack. There are days when it doesn’t even make it out of the house, and other days it’s left in the car. Occasionally, we manage to get it to school, but it’s often a frayed, well-loved Star Wars backpack that’s seen better days. Once he finishes his tasks, he crams his work inside and forgets it on the classroom floor.
I can sense the eye rolls from the other parents in our homeschooling group. They seem to have everything under control while my son and I feel like square wheels clashing in a well-oiled machine. Living with ADHD can feel incredibly isolating, especially when you’re the only parent who struggles to remember the essentials for school. I can only imagine how it feels for my son, being the kid who often gets left out or ridiculed for forgetting his backpack. It’s not him; it’s his condition. He deserves compassion and understanding from those around him.
Blaise, my son, doesn’t have many friends in his class. It’s tough to witness him sitting alone while others engage in activities, often because he’s too talkative or restless. He frequently borrows supplies because of our ongoing backpack mishaps, and when he finishes his assignments, he rushes to doodle, which is his true passion. He’s a unique kid—intelligent, a bit loud, and prone to speaking out of turn—which doesn’t always resonate well with his classmates.
As a result, we rarely receive invitations to birthday parties, and my circle of mom-friends is limited to a couple of kind souls. While they’re friendly enough, it’s challenging to determine if their kindness is genuine or simply out of politeness. Other parents acknowledge me but rarely attempt to build a connection. My constant phone usage, due to work and ADHD distractions, doesn’t help either, leaving me feeling even more isolated.
The playground scenarios can be particularly disheartening. When my kids fling pinecones, their peers label them “freaks,” declaring they don’t want to play with them. I hear whispers of “Oh great, here come Blaise and August,” which stings. The reality is, my children struggle with impulse control. It’s not that they’re deliberately disobedient; it’s simply the nature of ADHD.
It’s essential for others to understand that forgetting a backpack isn’t due to laziness or carelessness; it’s a symptom of a neurological disorder. I wish that someone would kindly remind Blaise to grab his backpack before leaving the classroom instead of being frustrated by his forgetfulness. If we faced different neurological challenges, I believe people would be more understanding and accommodating.
Why can’t society recognize that children with ADHD aren’t acting out of defiance? They have genuine struggles with impulse control, and we’re actively working on managing it. I don’t want to be seen as the distracted mom who can’t remember names; my brain disorder complicates simple interactions. We function differently, which often makes it hard for others to relate.
Unfortunately, this difference can lead to being labeled as the chaotic family. Without the context of ADHD, we might appear unsocial or aloof, but awareness and understanding could foster a more compassionate environment for us all. We truly need empathy, support, and the recognition that our ADHD family has its own unique value to contribute.
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In summary, as an ADHD family, we navigate life differently, and understanding from our community can make all the difference. We’re not just a quirky family; we’re a family deserving of acceptance and support.