I was diagnosed with ADHD a few months before going back to work after my second maternity leave. At the time, my daughters were just three years old and ten months.
When I got the diagnosis, it felt like everything suddenly clicked into place. All the things I’d quietly struggled with for years weren’t just personal failings; they were ADHD. And I wasn’t broken. I just didn’t know how my brain actually worked.
But more than relief, the diagnosis gave me clarity of purpose: If either of my daughters ever feels like I did, I want them to have tools, support, and self-understanding early - not years of internal shame.
Not long after my diagnosis, my mom dropped off a binder full of old report cards. I sat on the floor flipping through them. With ADHD in mind, they read completely differently.
“Audrey would have received an A if she had only handed in the project.”
“Audrey is easily distracted by her friends and needs to stay on task.”
“Audrey is a confident speaker and passionate about topics that interest her, but struggles when it comes to tests”
I remember loving school - especially plays, speeches, and anything creative. But I also remember the pit in my stomach before tests. The last-minute scrambles. The mental exhaustion from trying to keep up. I wasn’t lazy or careless. I just didn’t know what I needed, and neither did anyone else.
Getting diagnosed with ADHD as a parent is... a lot. You’re managing meltdowns and making lunches while also trying to unlearn decades of shame and figure out new ways to function.
I’m still in it. I’m still learning. But I’ve already made some changes that I hope add up to something my girls will carry with them. Even if they don’t have ADHD, I want them to grow up in a house where it's safe to be who they are, and where struggling doesn’t mean you're failing.
We talk about how everyone’s brain works a little differently, and that’s okay. Some people need more quiet, more breaks, or more reminders. Some people need to move, or rest, or pause and come back. I say things like, “My brain feels scrambled,” or “I’m feeling overstimulated and need a few quiet minutes.” And together, we are reading books like In My Heart by Jo Witek to help name our emotions from the day.
I try to normalize it all - not in a performative way, just as part of how we move through the day. I want my girls to grow up believing that having needs isn’t bad or something to apologize for; it’s just human.
I’ve tried so many of the “perfect routines” people post online, but they just don’t work for my brain - so I’ve stopped forcing it.
Now, it’s about reducing friction wherever I can:
Little things that make life smoother are a big win for me.
I forget things. I overcommit. I sometimes hit my limit and realize it too late. But I’m learning to ask for help and reset without guilt.
Sometimes that means tagging my husband in on a task I thought I could handle. Sometimes it means canceling a playdate. Sometimes it’s pizza for dinner…again. And I’m working on not apologizing for those choices.
What I want my girls to remember is this:
You can be capable and still need support.
You can be loving and still need rest.
You can be strong and still ask for help.
If either of my daughters ever struggles to focus, forgets something important, or feels like they’re falling behind, I don’t want them to jump straight to shame. I want them to feel seen and supported. I want them to know their worth doesn’t depend on performance, and that struggling isn’t the same as failing.
I’m doing this so they never have to wonder if they’re too much or not enough. So they grow up seeing what it looks like to understand yourself and meet that understanding with compassion.
If you’re figuring this out while raising kids, I see you. It’s a lot. But the work you’re doing - getting to know yourself, changing your inner voice, showing up differently…it matters.
Every time you pause, reframe, speak up, or give yourself grace, you’re planting something your kids will grow up standing on.
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