It’s 7 a.m. on a school day, and I am dreading waking up my child. But of course, it must be done—so I tiptoe into his room and sit down on the side of his bed, allowing myself a moment before the day begins. He still looks like a little boy in these quiet moments—all rosy cheeks and tousled hair, his small body curled beneath a Lightning McQueen blanket, a raggedy stuffed dog flopped by his pillow.

I run my fingers softly through his hair and say, in my most gentle voice, “Good moooooorning, Alex*. Time to wake up.” And then, like always, my beloved nine-year-old son rolls his body away from me, his blue eyes shut tightly, and says, “SHUT UP.”

This is how our day begins.

This is me parenting my child with Oppositional Defiant Disorder, also known as ODD.

For those of you who don’t know, ODD is a diagnosis given to kids who exhibit “chronic aggression.” To outsiders, they’re the “mean kids.” The “tough kids.” The “spirited” kids. Clinically speaking, they’re the kids who often defy requests or rules, who deliberately annoy people, who blame others for their own bad behavior and who “may seem to feel most comfortable in the midst of a conflict,” according to this article.

For me, having a kid with ODD means that every walk to school is fraught with insults (toward me or his two younger siblings). It means every car ride ends with at least one child crying. It means every day I try my hardest to have patience but, inevitably, don’t. Because how can you not lose your cool when your nine-year-old just told his little brother that he “wished he wasn’t born”—all because he wouldn’t let him play with his yo-yo.

It means all the parenting techniques my well-wishing friends give me won’t help a child who doesn’t think like other children. It means I fail on a daily basis to make my child happy. It means (and this is the part that is the hardest to say out loud) that while I love my child with everything I’ve got—there are times when he’s hard to like.

“Living with a child who has these emotional issues can make life at home astonishingly challenging,” writes psychologist Seth Meyers in Psychology Today. “Daily life can feel relentlessly frustrating, chaotic and draining. At home, this child at, say, age 6, 10, 12, refuses almost all parental demands. They refuse to take a bath; they refuse to do homework; and they refuse to do chores.”

“Witnesses might understandably wonder, ‘How could you let your child talk like that?'” Meyers adds.The reality, however, for parents with this type of child is that they are trying to manage something that feels impossible.”

Much of the time, Alex operates like he’s a spring-loaded trap ready to snap. One tiny mishap may ignite a fire of emotions. One thing that doesn’t go his way can set off a spiral of bad behavior that is only undone by turning on the TV and letting him get lost in it. Yesterday, for instance, he slipped into a puddle after school and then spent the next 20 minutes calling us “idiots” and noncommittally bopping his brother and sister on the head like one those mean cats who swats at you every time you walk by and accidentally ruffle its fur.

The good news? It’s not all his fault. Brain scans of kids diagnosed with ODD suggest that they have subtle differences in the part of the brain responsible for reasoning, judgment and impulse control. And, according to the American Academy of Child & Adolescent Psychiatry, these kids may have trouble identifying and interpreting social cues and, consequently, “tend to see hostile intent in neutral situations.”

“These kids aren’t trying to be ‘brats’ or kids who ‘rule their parents’ lives,'” said author Whitney Cummings in this Psych Central article. “They’re just trying to cope with what their brain has given them as a priority. They feel the need to control their environments in order to feel safe.”

For Alex, it started early. Reeeeeallly early.

I remember going in for a 3D ultrasound when I was just 12 weeks pregnant. The kid hadn’t even been born yet and—I kid you not—he spent the whole ultrasound session tirelessly hitting his tiny hands against my uterine wall as if he were trying to punch his way out. At the time, I found this strangely adorable: Awww, look! How cute! He’s a fighter! But now I think that maybe he was restless from the beginning.

When he was born, he was colicky. He fought sleep and baths. He screamed during car and stroller rides. He didn’t like being held. He nursed fitfully. Around five months old, the colic went away, and we had year or so of relative normalcy: He smiled. He stood. He said “Mama” and “Dada.”

We cheered on his firsts. We delighted in his giggles. We loved his spirit. And then, just before he started walking, he started having these weird spasms where his whole body would shake in bursts. I rushed him to a neurologist, fearing the worst. After a thorough exam, the very kind doctor told me that it was just Alex’s temper. He “just doesn’t like being a baby.” The doctor wished me luck. Because, of course, the spasms went away, but the temper didn’t.

We took him to multiple therapists. We had weekly sessions where he drew pictures of his feelings and we talked about what was happening at home. And while he clearly loved being with us for that one-on-one time, it didn’t change the fact that he argued through every moment of every day. Conflict was simply his resting state.

We considered that he might be on the spectrum. We wondered if he was anxious or depressed. I even Googled “sociopathic symptoms in children,” because, I insisted, surely there was something wrong. Kids aren’t supposed to be this hard. Eight-year-olds aren’t supposed to wish their mommies were dead—their hands pulling pretend triggers in the air—all because they aren’t allowed a Laffy Taffy before dinner.

When finally a diagnosis came, I wasn’t sure what to feel. I had wanted an easy answer, a quick fix. Instead, I got a label that doesn’t really do much except say, “Yep, your kid is mean… and I know you’re exhausted… but now you’re going to have to work really hard to make this better.”

Because if ODD isn’t addressed when kids are young, it can evolve into “conduct disorder,” which is where the big troubles really start (these kids do things like set fires and commit crimes). Thankfully, intensive therapy and parent coaching can help turn kids around before they get there.

It’s going to be a long road. But we’ll be there for him every step of the way because we love him. And when it comes down to it, all we want is for him to be happy.

One of our therapists told us once that our children choose us for a reason. I think about that a lot. I think maybe Alex chose us so he could teach us patience. Understanding. Unconditional love. I know that somewhere inside all that defiance is a little boy who needs us. Who loves us. Who wants to be good. We just have to help him get out.

*Not his real name

Originally published Dec 2021.

RELATED LINKS
To the Mom Parenting a Child with Aggression Issues
The Truth About Parenting a Child with Severe Anxiety
My Child with ADHD Needs Kinder—Not Tougher—Parenting

Mia is a freelance writer and mother of three. She writes about her journey parenting children with Oppositional Defiant Disorder and other related conditions because she wants other parents to know they are NOT ALONE.

Five years ago I became a teacher; five years ago I also became the mother to a son in heaven. On August 12th, 2016, I came home from my first new teacher workday. It was exhilarating and exciting, and for the first time in a long time, I knew I was exactly where I should be. I had no idea that a few short hours later, I’d find myself in the hospital in preterm labor with our first child. That same day, we lost our son Jaxon at only 21 weeks.

I found myself wondering how on earth I was going to go back into that classroom and teach a room full of 28 kids when I had just lost my own. Nevertheless, I did it only four short days later. And now, looking back, I know that that choice completely changed my life. I knew that was exactly where I was meant to be.

Fast forward to April 2, 2017, I found myself in the same space. In preterm labor, this time with twin boys. That day, we lost our boys Everett and Bryant. Again, nearly immediately after, I threw myself back into my work. Now here we were, struggling with what to do next. We wanted to be parents more than anything, and we knew we had so much love to give. So in January 2018, after 7 long months of bed rest, we welcomed our angel on earth, Maddox. And we were smitten.

Being a teacher is often a double-edged sword. You’re educated on child development just enough to be hypercritical of not only your work but also the work within your own home, with your own kids. Maddox was a spitfire from the day he was born. So independent, but so kind-hearted and eager to explore the world. I can also tell you down to the minute when I realized that something wasn’t right.

I was sitting in the viewing area at his very first swim lesson. I had convinced my husband to get in the pool with him (more like I lost at rock, paper, scissors), so I struck up a conversation with the mom sitting next to me. Her daughter was in Maddox’s class, and we had discovered that they were only a few days apart. Maddox nearly doubled her in size, but she had something Maddox didn’t; eye contact, pointing, talking to her mom, waving, blowing kisses. She had effortless interaction, and meaningful engagement. There we sat behind the glass, her receiving waves and kisses, and me desperately trying to have Maddox even look at me.

That’s when I knew.

We are blessed with the most incredible pediatrician, turned family friend, and within minutes of this realization, I had sent her a text message.

“I think Maddox has autism.”

Although no one around me was on board at the time, they supported me, and they listened, and I could never put into words how grateful I am for that.

The following month, Maddox turned 18 months old. We had speech evaluations, occupational therapy evaluations, and physical therapy evaluations. It was determined that my 18-month-old was currently communicating at the level of a 3-to-6-month-old. His repetition had also worried them to the point of needing weekly occupational therapy sessions, as well as speech.

The next few months were a blur, I never stopped. I googled, I tried finding Facebook groups, anything I could do to find even a glimmer of hope. And that’s where this journey of autism becomes lonely. Before this, I had no idea how broad this spectrum truly is. No two journeys are the same, and there is no one-size-fits-all description.

This past winter, we had Maddox’s first preschool evaluation to have his IEP written. Even though I had gone through the diagnosis and all the therapies, and all of the sleepless nights I spent worrying, this was the hardest for me.

For the first time, I was on the other side of the table.

I suddenly found myself trying to flip the switch from teacher to mom. I wasn’t advocating for accommodations for my students anymore, I was doing it for my own child. And although I had always had the greatest empathy for the parents of my IEP students, this was different. Now, we had something even greater in common. In that moment, I came to understand them better than ever. I understood why they were so passionate, sometimes to a fault, about making their child’s educational experience the best it could possibly be.

I can’t tell you how scary it is to send your 3-year old into a building with adults that you don’t know and who don’t know you. But I can tell you that it’s even scarier when your child can’t talk to you about their day, and they can’t communicate with you in the same way that typically occurs at their age.

Maddox’s diagnosis may have turned our world upside down, but now we fight every single day to turn the world right-side-up for him.

And although I had grown used to being the teacher at that table, I was now fighting to become comfortable and aware of my new place, on the other side of the table.

 

This post originally appeared on Finding Cooper’s Voice.

My name is Jordan Lamping and I am the mother of an amazing three year old son named Maddox, who was diagnosed with autism just over a year ago. I'm also a teacher, and the creator of The Other Side of the Table blog. 

 

Words. They matter.

I spent the better part of my post-high school academic career studying the written and spoken word and how those words matter.

I also have three children who struggled to find their voices. They have worked through intensive speech therapy to be able to find and use words.

The power of a word is not lost on me.

I teach my kids to think before they speak. Is it kind? Is it truthful? Is it necessary? If they can’t answer all of those questions with a yes then maybe they should think about saying whatever it is before they do.

This is why it bothers me so much when people say, “They are only words.”

Words have power.

The way we talk to people isn’t a reflection of them as much as it is a reflection of ourselves. The way we talk to and about our children becomes their inner voice.

I’ve had this on my mind a lot for a few months now. It seems like in our current culture it has become a social norm to be a “keyboard warrior” online and to excuse really, really awful behavior because “they are only words.”

I really got to thinking about this last night after what turned into a heated social media discussion, if we can call it that, with someone I respected. I generally try not to engage and avoid hot button issues—especially when I know the other parties aren’t particularly receptive to different points of view. I know it was 100% it was my fault for kicking the proverbial bee’s nest, but it was most certainly not a respectful discussion on either side. I am not too proud to admit it wasn’t a good look for either of us.

Follow me as I dig a little deeper.

It isn’t just the written word that matters. It isn’t just what we see each other write online that matters. It’s true that social media has empowered a lot of us to say things that we wouldn’t necessarily say to someone’s face and we should think before we type, but we also need to think before we speak.

The power of a word.

There have been moments in my life where words have been really influential on me: The words contained in the acceptance letter to my dream college. My husband asking me to marry him. My Grandmother’s marriage advice. My Dad’s wedding toast to my husband and me. The first time my children told me they loved me. Any time someone told me “You can’t.”

I also can think of moments where words didn’t just have an impact on me, but also on my view of the world or someone in it.

Once, after the birth of a new baby, some relatives came to visit and meet him. One of them had been wanting a baby of her own and working their way through the options. She mentioned how she was slightly discouraged because another family they knew had received another foster placement while she was still longing for her first. Her husband responded with a remark about how that child had autism and that family was able to get another child because they were willing to “take whatever garbage was thrown at them.”

Now, it was a passing conversation and the people involved probably don’t remember it, but I do. Six months later as my oldest son received an autism diagnosis, it resurfaced in my mind. It took up space and it lives there. Every interaction this person has with my child, his words come to mind.

A few summers back a new family moved into our neighborhood. My girls were thrilled to have more kids their age to play with. It was great at first. They played frequently and I was all for it until I started to hear the way these children were speaking. They were being mean to my girls and thinking they were funny.

Their words weren’t welcome and it was tough to navigate, but my girls learned they needed to speak up for themselves, but also to believe in themselves and they were worthy and capable of great things.

Around the time of my first son’s ASD diagnosis I reached out to the few mamas I knew with children on the spectrum. I was lost and looking for guidance. Out of them, most were encouraging, offered support, and gave some advice. One, however, told me to get over it and not make it about myself. She had nothing to offer and I would figure it out just as she had.

That stung and put a wall in our friendship. I often think about her words when I am sharing my perspective on our life with the spectrum. I hope should another mama ever come to me looking for a lifeline as I had been that I remember her counsel and offer better.

These are only a few examples of the power of words, but they were impactful enough to bear mention. They were said in passing and have an echo that remains.

Lately, this world doesn’t seem built for kindness. To have a soft heart or to admit your hurt almost instantly is met with more insult or a suggestion to “toughen up.” I don’t agree with that, but I am also not saying that we should all walk around in bubble wrap with fragile egos and tiptoe around people. But maybe, speak less and think more before you do.

Is it kind? Is it truthful? Is it necessary? If our answer is no to any of these questions, then maybe we need to rethink our words.

The old childhood rhyme “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” comes to mind. Maybe words can’t break a bone or cause visible damage, but words do in fact matter. Words can break and words can damage.

Words have power.

It’s up to you whether or not you use your words for good.

Choose your words wisely.

 

This post originally appeared on How Many Monkeys Are Jumping On the Bed?.

Marisa McLeod lives in Waterville, Ohio, with her husband and four kids. She's a Golden Girls, Disney, and organizational junkie. She can usually be found sipping coffee (or wine), watching reality television, or Pinterest-dreaming her next adventure. You can follow along with her on her blog How Many Monkeys Jumping on the Bed, Facebook, or on Instagram.

Autism Spectrum Disorder became a constant companion in our life one April day a few years back. I think back to that day and realize how naive I was and how unprepared for the journey I was. I wish I could go back to myself on that day with my tear-filled eyes and fill myself in on a little of what I’ve learned so far.

1. It is going to be OKAY.
It will be okay…whatever your version of okay looks like. It may be filled with therapies and mountains to climb and hard at times or it may be smoother with fewer interventions needed. However it looks, you will adapt and you will learn and you will grow. And you will be okay.

We’ve managed to find our stride and what works for us. And is it how I originally pictured life? No. But it is okay and we’re doing alright.

2. Self, please know that your child has not changed.
The world might look and feel a little different right now and that is okay, but your baby is still your baby. Both of my boys are on the spectrum and both of my boys are still the same happy, loving, and adventurous boys they were before a doctor ever uttered the diagnosis that felt like it changed everything. It really took me a minute or two to get that through my head, but it was a valuable lesson to grasp.

3. My child has autism, but it does not define him.
Autism is a part of my boys. It is simply one facet that makes up their whole. It doesn’t define them. They have autism. Autism does not have them. They are smart because they are smart. They are funny because they are funny. They are kind, loving, and stars in my universe because they are them and not because of or in spite of any diagnosis.

4. If you have met one person on the spectrum, you have truly only met one person on the spectrum.
Yes, there are some shared characteristics. Yes, there are common ways in which autism manifests itself in people. But, just like you or me or the person next door, all people on the spectrum are unique too. My two boys are very different and their autism looks very different as well. They are unique. Just because your cousin’s neighbor’s sister’s friend has a child with autism doesn’t mean you know my child or what they need.

5. Subject Matter Expert: My Kids
Just because I am a mother with two boys on the spectrum doesn’t mean I am a subject matter expert on autism. Shoot, I am far from it. What I am an expert on is my boys. I know what works for them. We’ve worked hard to make progress and to find the right diet of therapies. I know what makes my boys laugh or cry and I know when a situation is too much for them. Generally, I can see a meltdown coming from a mile away.

Autism looks different in both of my boys. What works for one doesn’t necessarily work for the other. We’re figuring it all out as we go. But you know what, we’re all going to be okay.

“Don’t give up! I believe in you all. A person’s a person, no matter how small!” — Dr. Seuss

This post originally appeared on How Many Monkeys Are Jumping On the Bed?.

Marisa McLeod lives in Waterville, Ohio, with her husband and four kids. She's a Golden Girls, Disney, and organizational junkie. She can usually be found sipping coffee (or wine), watching reality television, or Pinterest-dreaming her next adventure. You can follow along with her on her blog How Many Monkeys Jumping on the Bed, Facebook, or on Instagram.

How are you doing with your New Year Resolutions? Each new year, many mommas make big promises to themselves: Lose those pandemic pounds, find more “ME” time, find a new job. But when the second week of February strikes, like clockwork, most Americans will have already broken their promise—80 percent of Americans! And yet, we fall for it year after year, building ourselves up to accomplish our goal, only to have it backfire and make us feel guilty for trying at all.

What most people don’t realize is this: We create a feeling of guilt often sets the tone for the rest of the year. So, what if, instead, we shifted our focus on setting intentions that make us feel good rather than setting goals that make us feel guilty?

What if we focused on how we want to feel this year rather than putting so much pressure on losing weight?

After all, we were put on this earth to live the human experience, and a huge part of that human experience is to feel!

But there’s another, more critical reason why setting intentions is so valuable.

You see, part of the human experience is also living through the highs and lows of life, and collectively, we are living through one of the lowest lows most of us will ever experience in our lifetime. Setting intentions helps us feel our feelings of trauma, depression, and anxiety. And when we do, we open doors to healing, growing, and even finding our authentic power, which is accessing the wisdom we already have within us, and then in turn, trusting that wisdom. When we don’t allow ourselves to feel or process these “messy” emotions, we set ourselves up for even greater emotional turmoil in the future. In the same way that we laugh or smile when we are joyful, we need to find safe ways to process those “messy” feelings, such as crying, screaming, or talking it out.

Trust me, I know how easy it can be to ignore or bury these messy emotional critters. When I was just 11-years-old, I witnessed the sudden death of my father to a heart attack. I remember fumbling with the phone, trying to dial 9-1-1 but failing the first time, and then running to get the neighbors for help. In the days and years that followed, I couldn’t help but think that  if I had just dialed 9-1-1 faster or gotten to the neighbors for help sooner, my father would be alive today and this nightmare wouldn’t be my reality.

For years, I buried my trauma, guilt, and grief deep within me where no one could find them, including me. I didn’t tell anyone that my father had died because it was too painful to address on the surface. What was easier was shutting my pain deep within. The years went by, and I stumbled into my 20s and 30s as a shell of myself, showing up as the successful, workhorse journalist on the outside who could mask any pain with the flash of a smile.

I truly became a master at hiding my grief, until suddenly, it caught up with me in the most unexpected of ways: through my own body.

I became bedridden thanks to a debilitating mystery illness (little did I know this was the catalyst of my eventual Lyme Disease diagnosis) coupled with post-partum depression. There I was, the “strong” Superwoman I had pretended to be, unable to care for my three young children and unable to do my job. I had never felt more like a failure.

But it was then in that state of hopelessness that I realized my body was trying to tell me something; it was time to heal, not just physically, but from the inside out, and it was there that I made the decision to set intentions for how I want to feel rather than do. Little did I know that this decision would lead me to the healing and growth that I had been searching for my entire life, and awaken my authentic power.

So, as we continue into 2022, I encourage you to set intentions that set you up to live in your authentic power.

If you don’t know where to start, try these three steps:

1. Set intentions for the week, month, and year. This is all about baby steps! Grab a journal, and perhaps a friend, and take some time to write down how you want to feel today. Sit and meditate with how you want to feel instead of what you want to be doing. Remember, we are human beings, not human doings! Start by asking yourself, how do I want to feel going into today? This week? This month? Starting small will lead to big transformations, I promise.

2. Define your support community. One problem in our society is that people don’t feel safe to truly express how they are feeling. Think about your family, friends, and mentors, and write down who you trust and feel safe to openly share what is on your heart and mind. Or you can try finding an existing like-minded community to express yourself, such as a church, a yoga studio, and more. Share and declare your intentions with the ones you feel safest with! I have found that by verbalizing my intentions keeps me accountable for how I want to feel.

3. Find techniques to achieve your intentions. Some practices I recommend include breathwork, meditation, empathy, sacred writing, art, nature, movement, and spirituality. You can also try my FEEL Framework that I created as a way to use my authentic power to face your feelings: Focus on your emotions, Enter within the emotion, Experience the emotion, and finally, Listen, Learn, and Love it back!

For more on my FEEL Framework and more insight on honoring your emotions this year, check out my new book, Authentic Power: Give Yourself Permission to Feel, where I interview over 20 healing luminaries and share more of my personal story.

Ashley Bernardi is an award-winning podcaster, author, and founder of Nardi Media, a full service media relations firm. She is a former news producer with credits including CBS News, Bloomberg TV, and The Washington Post, and is is author of the highly acclaimed new book Authentic Power: Give Yourself Permission to Feel.

May 29, 2019 will be a day I remember forever. We had to get up extra early due to river flooding and the possibility of the highway closing. We were afraid we would have to take back roads to get to Children’s for Graham’s Autism Evaluation. Luckily the highway was open so our traveling was very easy.

We arrived super early at the clinic. We sat in the car and watched movies and listened to music waiting for time to go check-in. My feelings were everywhere, I thought I was prepared for what the outcome would be. I mean I was the one who pushed to get Graham tested. For me to get that “official” diagnosis. To have it official for those who doubted my mother instinct. For those who I felt were questioning me or interrogating me. To have it official so I could tell them to shut up. I didn’t think of it as once we had a diagnosis, my son would be “labeled” for life.

We enter the clinic to check in then waited till they called us back. I hear “Graham Mills” and my heart started pounding. They took his measurements, then we followed them to a room with toys and a chair where they would perform his evaluation. He clung to me, terrified. It took so much for them to get the slightest interaction out of him. We were asked question after question. They also looked at his Speech, Occupational, Physical, and Developmental evaluations from his developmental preschool.

As they finished we were taken to an exam room while they calculated the evaluation. We sat and we waited and waited until the psychologist and speech pathologist finally reappeared. Confirming what my maternal instinct was telling me. My son was in fact autistic. They handed us a stack full of handouts. I sat there trying to understand everything they were giving us. I wondered what level he fell on the spectrum? I had heard of levels 1, 2, and 3. What level was my son? They seemed so confused when I asked that question. The only thing they could tell me was the test shows he is severely autistic and is considered nonverbal. They then left the room and we waited for our Developmental Pediatrician to come and speak with us. When she entered the room she handed us even more pamphlets. Also suggesting we sign him up for ABA therapy. It was then time to leave.

As we got to the car all I could do was sit and cry, saying “I wasn’t crazy”. So many family members who we reached out to for support but instead were asked question after question. Asking us why we thought he was autistic or what does the doctor see that leads them to believe he’s on the spectrum.

I then wondered would my child ever become verbal? Would I ever get to hear “I love you mommy”? I was a mess and just ready to get home. I wanted to process everything in the privacy of my own home.

Finally home and as we get inside I thought ok now time to call family and update on what we were informed. But every phone call it was like I was hearing it for the first time, my son was just diagnosed with autism. I then tried to read through the pamphlets given to us full of “resources” to see what else I needed to do. After that, I was done! I put everything away and just cuddled my son.

The next day I got up and started registering for all the websites we were given to “help” us. Requesting the free materials they had to send us. I then called about ABA therapy. They explained he would be put on a waitlist and we would have to wait for a spot to open. It usually takes six months or longer. Once a spot opened they would send a therapist to our house 20-30 hours a week. This would be in addition to attending school Monday through Friday. He was only two! My mind started thinking, when would he just get to be a kid?! When would we have family time just us three? So we decided not to apply for ABA therapy. We just continued with all the services we were already receiving for the time being, taking one day at a time.

This post originally appeared on Guiding Graham’s Way.

I'm a wife and a mom. I have a three year old son. I spend my time advocating for special needs children, bringing awareness and acceptance to all. My son was diagnosed with severe autism at age two. He is my life. 

Our family has a history with ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) that goes back to the late 70s. My brother was the first person in the family that was labeled in this way. I use the word labeled as opposed to diagnosed because there was no treatment. My brother was not prescribed medication and my parents were not prompted to see a therapist, or purchase any books, or anything else that was helpful. My parents were told that it was a discipline problem.

Fast forward to sometime in late 1994. My two-year-old daughter went to bed one night as a sweet little girl and woke up the next morning a different kid.  I’m quite aware of how crazy that sounds and, perhaps, the change was not that fast. I think the important thing is that it felt that fast. I was a single working mother, so my daughter had to attend daycare/preschool. I thought this might be exactly what she needed, but the problems started almost immediately. Daycare providers would complain that she wouldn’t take a nap. It’s hard to talk about but twice I was called about a daycare teacher putting their hands on my daughter. I looked forward to her school years because I was under the impression that public schools would be more trained at handling a child like my daughter.

In 1998, she finally entered kindergarten, and, to my dismay, it was rough. We lived in a small town and nearly every day at pick up I was greeted by a teacher that could not cope. The unfortunate part was that she never requested that we sit down and come up with solutions. Instead, she was demanding and insistent that I take care of my daughter’s behavior in the classroom from home. I was dumbfounded and saddened by this. Little did I know, this would be the theme of her educational years.

There were only three teachers over the years of her education that tried to be helpful. We moved halfway through her kindergarten year. It was after we moved that her new kindergarten teacher and I spoke about ADHD. The teacher sent me home with some materials to read and, to me, ADHD was undeniable. I took my daughter to her pediatrician. The doctor agreed that she had ADHD and prescribed Ritalin for her. Yes, the Ritalin helped a great deal. What didn’t help were the teachers that would call and admonish me on the days that the medication was forgotten. Over the next twelve years, I battled teachers and counselors for accommodations, help, or just some compassion. There was very little of that over the years.

I’ve thought a lot about those years. Between the ages of 6 and 18, there were more and more “symptoms” that popped up. I questioned whether my child’s only problem was ADHD. The problems increased astronomically after the age of 13 and at 16 I took her to therapy/counseling. This wasn’t her first visit.  She had been in and out of counseling for years, but this was the first time that I had brought up some of the more disturbing behaviors concerning food and social cues. I was never prompted to do psychological testing. At no point over the years was I ever prompted to get an official psychological diagnosis. So, you can imagine how hard it hit me when my daughter was given an additional diagnosis of Asperger’s at the age of 27.

My daughter is a grown woman now with a husband and two children. She has been taking ADD medication as an adult and helps tremendously. At the time that she was diagnosed we were never told that medication could be a lifetime endeavor. I never found ADD/ADHD support groups and I always felt as though I was dealing with it alone. I’m sure she felt the same way. Those years created a person that will always speak with passion and compassion about ADD/ADHD. The path that I was pointed towards should never be the path taken.

So, if one morning you wake up with a child that is world’s different than they were the day before…breathe. ADD/ADHD is not an easy road and your life will never be the same. I am urging you to do things differently than I did. Much like “When you know better, you do better,” I am passing on a different adage, “When you know better you let everyone else know.” Back then I read a lot of books and magazine articles. They were all about behavioral issues and how to solve them. The topic was always the child. This isn’t a bad idea, and I would still recommend it. But here’s what I would do differently now.

Maybe you’ve heard that “patience is a virtue.” I can tell you, without a doubt, that it is and when you have a child with ADD/ADHD you will find yourself running very short on patience. Take care of yourself. Practice yoga.  Go to the park and join those folks doing Tai Chi. Meditate. Normalize imperfection.  Please do not ever be afraid of taking time for yourself. Even flight attendants tell us to put our own oxygen on before helping others. And after you have taken care of your own oxygen mask, take your child to a psychologist. Your entire family deserves to know what you are dealing with. A psychological diagnosis, as opposed to just visiting your family doctor or a pediatrician, could change you and your child’s lives. And lastly, find yourself a support group. There seems to be a group for just about everything on Facebook these days and, more than likely, there is one out there that would be a good fit for your situation. From one parent to another, you’ve got this!!

I am a single mom of three beautiful daughters ages 29, 20, and 15.  At 50, I am recently divorced and making a career change.  I'm trying to put my BA and my MA to use finally!  My life hasn't always been easy but I feel good about the future!

According to the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG), it’s not uncommon for women to get the “baby blues” in the first 8–10 weeks after delivering. Mothers with the “baby blues” will often contact their care providers one or two weeks after giving birth complaining of sadness and difficulty taking care of their newborn. Some express guilt over feeling they’re not being a good parent. Some may be having trouble breastfeeding their babies. These “baby blues,” ACOG claims, resolve on their own. If depression continues after 8–10 weeks, however, it is called postpartum depression.

Postpartum depression poses a serious risk to new mother’s lives. When left untreated, they may even develop postpartum psychosis, in which the mother’s life and those of her children are then at risk.

Approximately one in seven women experiences postpartum depression in the first year after birth. You are certainly not alone if you are struggling with this experience. The very good news to be aware of is that postpartum depression is absolutely treatable.

This well-known, challenging condition so many new mothers battle also has a well-worn path to remediation. You do not need to suffer in silence or “tough it out.” In fact, it is much more dangerous to do so. If you think you may be suffering from postpartum depression, contact your doctor right away and begin the three-step process detailed below.

How to Beat Postpartum Depression

1. Secure a Diagnosis 
The first step in treatment is diagnosis. In the more than 6,000 births I’ve facilitated, none of my patients came to bodily harm due to postpartum depression or psychosis because I implemented checkups within the first two weeks—not six, as insurance companies deem necessary. In the absence of a proactive postpartum checkup plan from your doctor, however, it is crucial that you set up a plan yourself. Talk to your care providers, your partner, and trusted loved ones and create a checkup system for your first six weeks after birth, and throughout the first year.

Your spouse can be a valuable resource for women suffering from postpartum depression. Spouses can often recognize the signs of depression before the mother does.

And if you are reading this after giving birth and already in the midst of your struggle, call your doctor and any support people in your life now. Having a plan beforehand is wonderful, but it is not too late to get the help you need and start feeling better, for yourself and for your new baby.

2. Commit to Counseling
Work with your obstetrician to connect with a psychiatrist right away. In my experience, postpartum depression can be greatly mitigated by simple and timely access to care for the problem.

If you do not have a preexisting relationship with a psychiatrist and have not established one through your doctor before the birth, you can still start now. It may take time to get in for your first psychiatric appointment, however, so be prepared for your OBGYN to connect you with an appropriate postpartum counselor in the meantime.

3. Be Open to Medication
When “baby blues” become postpartum depression, the priority must be helping you break free from this debilitating and dangerous state. Medication is a reliable way to achieve this. Once postpartum depression is diagnosed, treatment involves counseling and taking serotonin and norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor (SNRI) medications. SNRI medications motivate and promote happiness and comfort. Moms are not only less depressed, but also begin to feel like taking care of their new baby.

Getting well and breaking the cycle of depression must be a priority. If you are in the midst of postpartum depression now, share your feelings with your spouse or a support person. Your OBGYN should be an excellent resource for you to tap into right away for listening to you and helping you get the care you need. Your physician can get you connected with a counselor and, ultimately, a psychiatrist.

If you are breastfeeding and need to take medications for postpartum depression or anxiety, both you and your physician should discuss the risks and make the decision together about what medications to take. Research shows very little of the medication for postpartum depression or anxiety will get into your breast milk, but you and your physician should make this decision together.

And if you need to speak with someone immediately and cannot reach your physician or support person, don’t hesitate to use your local community hotlines for depression.

Again, postpartum depression is a treatable condition. Discussion of postpartum depression with your physician should be part of your birth plan. You absolutely can make it through this challenging time and begin feeling like yourself again—and actually enjoy having time with your new baby.

RELATED:
What You Need to Know about Postpartum
Is it Postpartum Depression or Just ‘Baby Blues’?
To the Mothers who Struggle With Postpartum Depression

Dr. Alan Lindemann
Tinybeans Voices Contributor

An obstetrician and maternal mortality expert, “Rural Doc” Alan Lindemann, M.D. teaches women and families how to create the outcomes they want for their own health and pregnancy. In nearly 40 years of practice, he has delivered around 6,000 babies and achieved a maternal mortality rate of zero! Visit LindemannMD.com

In short, I’d say it’s for awareness and education. To make it more common and comfortable for people to see others with differences whether it’s in appearance, speech or behaviors.

I guess because we are so immersed in autism 24/7, I forget sometimes that there are people who don’t know anyone personally with it and it may feel foreign and possibly uncomfortable.

That’s okay! I get it. Before we had Alex, I think I would probably feel uncomfortable if I was standing at a bus stop and someone started jumping and flapping and making unusual sounds. It’s different. But I would love it if this could be put out into the world so people are made aware of it so it’s not scary. People could just be like “Oh, ok maybe this person is different. Let me give them some space or smile at them or whatever.”

Anything new takes time to get used to and feel comfortable with.

What’s not okay is bullying or derogatory language. It still feels like a little gut punch when I hear people say the ‘R’ word. You can come up with any excuse you want, but the fact of the matter is that it is used as an insult. It’s never used to describe something amazing. My Alex also has a diagnosis of intellectual disability and knowing that the ‘R’ word is often used to describe people like my son makes it sting even more.

This is why representation matters.

TV, media, us just being out and about in the community. Not just Alex and our family, but all the families who live with autism.

I feel there needs to be more representation of our kind of autism. We need to put faces to the word for there to be a human connection. People need to teach their kids to be accepting and be kind to people who are different.

The reason I’m writing this right now is that even though it’s 2021, I still see and hear stories of abuse and mistreatment.

Can I tell you how much preparation (both physically and emotionally) and courage it takes for some of us to just take our kids out of the house because we know the stares and judgment we’ll get just for being different? I can tell you how much it would mean to me as a mom, if someone would just show me a little smile, like “Hey, I see you. You’re not invisible. Welcome.” It would melt my heart, I tell ya. That’s all we want. Humanity.

Through our page, I hope that people will see Alex, first and foremost, as a human being who, despite his differences and challenges, also has gifts and a smile that’ll warm your heart, and that he deserves to be treated with the same respect and kindness that everyone deserves. If you feel brave to say “Hi” and he doesn’t respond, don’t take it personally. He can’t always speak, but he hears you and so do I, and it means so much that you tried.

If you see someone out who is having a meltdown, stimming physically or verbally, not responding? Don’t judge. Don’t insult. Don’t hurt or take advantage of. Remember: Different, not less. Just. Be. Kind. I promise you, it feels so much better than the alternative.

Remember, these people are someone’s child, brother, sister, auntie, uncle. They are a person with feelings and emotions just like you. Treat others how you would want yourself and your own kids to be treated.

This post originally appeared on The Autism Ride Facebook.
Feature image: AndyvKatz via iStock 

Hi! My name is Laura and I'm a mom of two beautiful kids in Vancouver, Canada. I write a blog on Facebook called The Autism Ride, all about the ups and downs in life with our teenaged son on the spectrum.