For three long years, we hesitated to medicate my son, Alex, for his ADHD. Like many parents before us, we opted for the “let’s-try-everything-else-first” approach. This served a dual purpose: it acted as a shield against potential judgment from others who might see us as negligent parents. “Yes, we’re giving our child medication, but rest assured, we explored every other option before this.” It also allowed us to ease our own guilt about using medication since we genuinely did exhaust all other possibilities.
The moment of truth came during a parent-teacher conference. My husband and I sat across from Alex’s four teachers, who were clearly at their wits’ end. I could feel an overwhelming wave of helplessness wash over me, as if I were being engulfed by a monstrous “Please Help Us” sentiment. These educators were among the best in the state, yet Alex was only managing to complete about 40% of his assignments. His classroom behavior was chaotic, with materials scattered everywhere, and he often disrupted lessons. The teachers devoted so much time to redirecting him that it compromised the entire class’s learning experience. After that meeting, I returned home in tears. We needed to take action—our previous efforts weren’t yielding results.
On a Tuesday, Alex began taking 10 mg of Focalin, an ADHD medication. Within just 15 minutes, I noticed subtle changes. I asked him to put on his shoes, and to my astonishment, they were already on. When I told him to get into the car, he simply complied. During our drive to school, he gazed thoughtfully out the window. Concerned he might be turning into a zombie, I asked what was on his mind. He launched into an elaborate plan for his next Minecraft building project. Who was this articulate child?
When he came home that day, he neatly placed his shoes in the laundry room, unpacked his backpack, and eagerly started his homework. With his sister running around in chaos, he calmly requested her to be quiet so he could concentrate. It was a first for him. He completed his homework swiftly and rushed outside to play with friends.
The following day, I asked Alex to clear the papers from the kitchen table. When I turned around a minute later to remind him, I was shocked to find he had already done it. In that moment, I had a revelation: the struggle with his ADHD hadn’t just affected him. It had worn me down, too, as his primary caregiver. I had spent years worrying that the negative feedback Alex received at school would lead him to believe he was incapable. While that was a valid concern, I had overlooked how ADHD had impacted our entire family, especially me.
I realized that over time, I had learned to expect the worst from Alex. I had conditioned myself to think he wouldn’t follow simple requests without my constant oversight. I had become a mother who found herself annoyed by her own child. The troubling part? I hadn’t even realized it until now. This had become my normal.
On Thursday morning, after starting his medication, Alex worked on his multiplication flashcards during our drive to school. He independently organized them, reciting each one aloud and setting aside the ones he mastered. Then he told me, “Mom, time me for a minute. I need a break, then I’ll check if I remember.” A strange sense of recognition washed over me. He was using a study technique I had developed for myself as a child. At that moment, I felt a profound connection to him.
Later that day, while picking Alex up from chess club (which is honestly so cool), I ran into his reading and social studies teacher. She was practically vibrating with excitement as she shared how well Alex had been doing. “Look at this writing sample! Just look at how much he wrote and how neat it is. It reads like a science textbook!”
During our chat, Alex interrupted with a flood of questions about the fire alarm on the ceiling, displaying a genuine interest in learning. His teacher and I exchanged glances, both of us teary-eyed.
For years, I had seen myself as an impatient and reactive individual—a yeller, a snapper, someone who often felt overwhelmed by motherhood. But since Alex started his medication, I’ve realized that I actually have the patience I thought I lacked. The medication wears off around 6 or 7 PM, giving me a calm and attentive version of Alex for a few precious hours each day. When both of my children are behaving as expected, I find my own patience levels soar. I had simply forgotten who I was.
Lately, I’ve been grappling with a complex feeling: I like my son better when he’s medicated. He’s more organized, coherent, and easier to engage with. More importantly, I like myself better during those times—my frustration has diminished, and I’m able to think clearly. Yet, I wonder: is the medicated version of Alex still the true Alex? Did I medicate him to make life easier for myself? Am I helping him, or am I just seeking my own comfort?
Now that Alex has been on medication for six weeks, I have gained perspective. We don’t medicate on weekends, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find I’m more patient even without the medication. It seems that the structure of the week helps bolster my emotional resilience for the weekend. And for Alex? He now finds school enjoyable, feeling confident in his abilities. He tells me that learning makes him feel smart and that he appreciates the reduced pressure from his teachers.
I remind myself that the medication doesn’t change who Alex is; it simply removes the distractions and allows his true self to shine through. He was always a good person, even before the medication. It just helps him access his thoughts more clearly, enabling him to embrace who he was meant to be.
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In conclusion, the journey of managing ADHD is complex and personal. It involves not just the child but the entire family. Embracing medication was a pivotal step for us, allowing both Alex and me to thrive in our own ways, reminding us that support and understanding are vital in this journey.