If you’ve ever met my son, you know he is full of life — bursting with energy, ideas, curiosity, and love. He is bright, bold, and beautifully complex. He is also neurodivergent, living each day with severe ADHD and Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD). Our journey hasn’t always been easy, but it’s real, and it’s ours — full of learning curves, unexpected joy, and a deeper understanding of what it truly means to love and advocate for your child.
At six years old, my son is imaginative, deeply sensitive, and full of unexpected insights. Neurodivergent—a term that, for our family, has become not just a diagnosis, but a lens through which we better understand and celebrate the unique ways he interacts with the world.
Diagnosed with sensory processing disorder (SPD), my son faces behavioral challenges that often make typical environments—like school or public outings—difficult for him. Loud noises can send him into a spiral. Bright lights, unexpected textures, or even too many voices at once can feel overwhelming, sometimes triggering meltdowns or withdrawal. His reactions might seem intense to outsiders, but to him, they are a natural response to a world that often feels too loud, too fast, and too unpredictable.
ADHD, for my son, isn’t just about being “hyper” or “distracted.” It’s a constant mental sprint — one where focus is fleeting, emotions are intensified, and impulsivity sometimes gets ahead of intention. Combine that with sensory processing disorder, and the world can often feel too bright, too loud, too tight, or too much. Something as simple as a tag in a shirt or the echo of a noisy gym can send his nervous system into overdrive. But oh, how he feels the world so deeply.
There are days filled with challenges — where transitions are tough, where meltdowns erupt without warning, and where I can see him struggling in a world that isn’t always built with his needs in mind. And yet, there are moments of pure magic. Moments where his imagination paints entire worlds, where his laughter is so contagious you forget the chaos, where his hugs remind me how deeply he loves, even if expressing it looks a little different.
He has taught me more about patience, resilience, and unconditional love than I ever thought possible. I've learned to celebrate small victories that others might overlook — like brushing teeth without a meltdown, getting through a school day without a call home, or finding socks that don’t “feel weird.”
Being his parent means being his advocate, interpreter, coach, and biggest cheerleader. It means navigating IEP meetings, researching therapies, trying new strategies (and sometimes watching them fail), and constantly growing with him. It also means reminding myself to breathe, to be gentle with my own heart, and to honor this version of motherhood that I never expected, but am so grateful for. As his parent, I’ve had to become both an advocate and a student—constantly learning how to support him in ways that honor his needs without stifling his potential. That means creating safe, predictable spaces. It means communicating in ways that build trust rather than enforce control. And above all, it means meeting him where he is, not where others think he should be.
Behavioral challenges are a part of our daily life, and they don’t always have easy answers. There are hard days—days where frustration, sadness, or exhaustion creep in. But those are also the days that teach us the most about resilience, empathy, and the need to look beyond surface behaviors to understand what a child is truly trying to communicate.
Despite the challenges, my son's mind is a beautiful place. He builds intricate imaginary worlds. He remembers obscure facts about animals or video games. He asks thoughtful questions that leave us marveling at the depth of his perspective. He is, in every way, a reminder that different doesn’t mean less—it means seeing the world through a lens that challenges norms and reveals beauty in unexpected places.
Raising a neurodivergent child has changed the way I view parenting, education, and even society. We are still early in our journey, and we have a lot to learn—but one thing is clear: My son doesn’t need to be “fixed.” He needs to be understood. And if we can shift the world around him to be more inclusive, compassionate, and flexible, he—and kids like him—can thrive.
If you have a child like mine — I see you. If you know a child like mine — I invite you to see their brilliance, not just their behaviors. And if you are someone like my son — I hope you know just how deeply valuable and worthy you are, exactly as you are. Our story is just one of many. But if sharing it helps another parent feel seen, or encourages a teacher to pause before labeling a child as “difficult,” then it’s worth telling.
Because every child deserves to be known—not just for their struggles, but for their spark.
One last thing,
If you’re a teacher, coach, neighbor, or fellow parent: your compassion can change everything. Sometimes, what a child with ADHD or SPD needs most is patience, flexibility, and someone who sees their strengths before their struggles.
Let’s create communities — in our schools, our playdates, our public spaces — that welcome neurodivergent children as they are. Let’s build awareness and empathy so our kids can grow up feeling accepted, supported, and celebrated.
Thank you for taking the time to read this
