You’re Living the Dream when…..
Parenting a Neurodiverse Child: The Ultimate Chaos Challenge
Final Thought: Welcome to the Wild Ride
Parenting a neurodiverse child is not for the faint of heart. (So, congratulations, you are gifted—accept it.)
In fact, it’s like trying to tame a unicorn while riding a unicycle on a tightrope over a pool of sharks.
But the payoff is worth it.
So buckle up, folks!
If i may further exaggerate, because i can
Parenting a neurodiverse child is like riding a rollercoaster blindfolded while eating a bowl of spaghetti. It’s messy, it’s crazy, and it’s the most rewarding thing you’ll ever do.
Point 6: Why We Do It Anyway
For all the exhaustion, chaos, and days where you question reality, but an adventure like no other.
- Their creativity is unmatched.
- Their view of the world is beautifully unique.
- Their ability to turn the smallest thing into magic is something we could all learn from.
- Their love is intense, hilarious, and endless.
Yes, it’s wild. Yes, it’s exhausting. Yes, you need more coffee.
But in the end? You wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Unless you’re one of my coached parents—those who have been, are, or are nearly there, mastering the art of appearing calm and collected, held together by a tight noose of calm determination. You’ve trained, you’ve listened, and you’re now navigating these unpredictable waters with a semblance of control (most of the time).
And when the storm passes? You stand tall—a superhero of serenity—or at least, you’re standing. And I’m right there with you, cheering you on, knowing that we’ve almost got this! (And mostly, we do.)
Point 5: The Random Moments That Break Your Brain
Parenting an ND child means constant surprises. Sometimes delightful. Sometimes… confusing.
- “I can’t wear this shirt today because it reminds me of the day before yesterday.”
- “I won’t eat apples today. They feel too… triangle-y.”
- “I need to jump 47 times before I can brush my teeth.”
- “I can’t answer that question. The air is too loud.”
You nod. You accept. You move on. This is your life now.
Unless you’re one of my coached parents, the Zen-like individuals who have almost, almost mastered the art of navigating these unpredictable moments with ease (or the illusion of it).
You’ve been trained to keep your cool, most of the time.
And then... just once… the child decides to stage an unplanned “walk-through” of chaos—prompting you to send me a frantic voice note, questioning everything you thought you’d mastered.
But don’t worry. We’re still in this together.
Point 4: Bedtime—A Cruel Joke
Bedtime is not bedtime. Bedtime is an elaborate, multi-act play where you are both the director and the victim.
The Stages of Bedtime:
- Act 1: Child is suddenly full of energy. “I’m not tired AT ALL!” (Performs gymnastics on the bed.)
- Act 2: Suddenly remembers 14 important things they must tell you immediately.
- Act 3: Requests a snack. And a drink. And another snack. You remind them they ate dinner. They argue this was a lifetime ago.
- Act 4: The final stall tactic—“But I need a hug! And another hug. And another one.” It’s a trap.
- Act 5: They’re finally in bed. You back away silently, like a ninja.
- Act 6: Just as you reach the couch— “MOM?!” Defeat. Absolute defeat.
Unless you’re one of my coached parents, whose child sleeps like a rock at 7 PM sharp, no matter the apocalypse. The bedtime struggle is no longer a reality in your life.
You’re one of my Zen parents, operating under controlled supervision by me at all times, with the honest reassurance that “You got this!”
And then... one day… the child decides to stage a rebellion, just for fun—prompting you to send me a frantic voice note demanding to revisit my commitment to helping you win this war.
Point 3: Homework—A Test of Your Sanity
If you’ve ever wondered what true despair looks like, it’s a parent trying to help their ND child with homework.
The Stages of Homework:
- Step 1: “Let’s start with an easy one!” (Child sighs deeply, as if about to climb Mount Everest.)
- Step 2: “What’s 3 + 3?” (Child suddenly forgets numbers exist.)
- Step 3: Child remembers numbers! But refuses to write them because “pencils feel weird today.”
- Step 4: You resort to interpretive dance to explain fractions.
- Step 5: “Fine, I’ll do one question, but ONLY if I get ice cream after.”
Eventually, the homework gets done. No one knows how. It remains a mystery of the universe.
Unless you’re one of my coached parents, whose child sits through homework like a scholar-in-training, completing it with efficiency, focus, and minimal existential debates about why letters exist in math.
And then… just one day… something triggers the great resistance.
Cue the desperate text: “It’s happening. The rebellion has begun. Fix it.”
Point 2: The Great Chase—Getting Out the Door
Theoretically, leaving the house should take 10 minutes. In reality? It’s a 45-minute, multi-step mission requiring military-grade strategy.
The Stages of Leaving the House:
- Step 1: Find their shoes. (One is under the couch, the other is somehow in the fridge.)
- Step 2: Convince them to wear shoes. (“But my feet don’t like feeling trapped!”)
- Step 3: The sudden need for a snack, even though breakfast just ended.
- Step 4: Bathroom trip. (“I don’t have to go!” Two minutes later: “I have to go.”)
- Step 5: They remember an “essential” toy they left in the exact opposite direction of the door.
- Step 6: You give up. Shoes are optional. We’re late.
Unless you’re one of my coached parents—the masters of departure efficiency, whose child is out the door in record time, snack packed, bladder emptied, fully dressed, and even carrying their own bag.
And then… one day… it all falls apart. Cue the frantic text: “We were ready. And then, he decided he needed to build a LEGO spaceship before leaving. Speak to him.”
Point 1: Morning Routines—A Battlefield with No Survivors
The mornings. That peaceful time when the sun rises, birds chirp, and parents of ND kids begin their daily hunger games.
The Stages of Morning Survival:
- Wake-Up Attempt #1: “Time to get up, sweetheart!” (Child remains motionless.)
- Wake-Up Attempt #2: Louder voice. Pat on the back. (Still motionless. Possibly playing dead.)
- Wake-Up Attempt #3: A bribe. “If you get up now, we’ll have pancakes!” (Child lifts one eyelid. Examines offer. Rolls back over.)
- Wake-Up Attempt #4: Accept defeat. Carry child out of bed like a sack of potatoes.
Finally, they’re up. But now comes the real battle: getting dressed.
- Option A: Clothes you picked. (Wrong. Always wrong.)
- Option B: Clothes they picked. (Which are somehow also wrong now.)
- Option C: A full meltdown over the “scratchiness” of a shirt they have worn 17 times before.
Eventually, they emerge—wearing mismatched socks, pajamas under their school uniform, and a winter hat in summer. Good enough. We’re moving on.
Unless you’re one of my coached parents, whose child wakes up calmly with their own alarm, switches it off in their own room after a good night’s sleep, gets dressed with the clothes they already chose and set aside the night before, and is ready for the day like a well-trained soldier.
And then... one morning… chaos returns—you send me a voice note filled with existential despair: “Everything was going fine… and then, he refused to leave the bed until I answered whether dinosaurs liked soup. WHY?!”
Final Words: The Joy in the Chaos
Yes, parenting a neurodiverse child is unpredictable. It’s full of curveballs, meltdowns, hilarious debates about why spoons are suspicious, and moments of absolute genius that take your breath away.
And while we might joke, deep down we know this:
We are raising incredible humans who see the world in a way most never will.
So, whether you’re deep in the trenches or one of my well-trained warriors of calm, know this:
- We’re in this together.
- We’re figuring it out.
- And yes, we’ve totally got this… mostly.
Enjoy ! Treat yourself
Thanks for Reading