October is ADHD Awareness Month, which means it’s time to talk about something that doesn’t get nearly enough airtime: what it’s actually like to parent when your brain operates like a pinball machine crossed with a popcorn maker. (With there only being one week left in the month, you can tell I’ve been procrastinating on this post.)

You know that parenting advice that says “just be consistent”? Cool, cool. Now imagine trying to be consistent when you genuinely cannot remember if you already gave your kid a snack, if you told them “five more minutes” five minutes ago or twenty minutes ago, or whether you packed their extra change of clothes for daycare today. Spoiler alert: you forgot what you were doing when you went to the fridge and didn’t give them their snack.

The Executive Function Trap

Here’s the thing they don’t tell us in those cheerful parenting books: ADHD isn’t really about attention. It’s about executive function, which is basically your brain’s CEO. And for those of us with ADHD, our CEO is… let’s say, unconventional. They’re brilliant and creative and can solve complex problems, but they also just started three new projects, forgot about two meetings, and are currently hyper-focused on researching whether octopuses dream.

When you’re parenting, this gets spicy.

You can spend three hours researching the best montessori-inspired, eco-friendly, developmentally appropriate wooden toys, create a color-coded spreadsheet of options, and then forget to feed yourself lunch. You can plan an elaborate scavenger hunt for your kid’s birthday but completely space on sending the invitations until the day before. You can remember that your child mentioned wanting a purple pencil case in passing six months ago, but forget that today is picture day until you’re pulling into the school parking lot and your kid is wearing a stained dinosaur shirt that they slept in and refused to take off.

The mental load of parenting is already immense. With ADHD, it’s like trying to juggle while riding a unicycle on a tightrope. In the rain. While someone asks you what’s for dinner.

The Emotional Amplifier

Let’s talk about emotional regulation, or as I like to call it, “feeling everything at volume eleven.”

ADHD doesn’t just affect focus and organization. It cranks up the emotional intensity dial. Your kid makes you a card? You’re weeping at the kitchen table. They refuse to put on shoes for the 47th time this week? You’re oscillating between rage and despair. They learn to ride a bike? You’re so proud you might literally explode with joy.

This emotional intensity can be exhausting. But here’s a secret: it’s also powerful.

Because when your kid comes to you with their big feelings, their meltdowns, their overwhelming frustration at a math problem or a friendship drama, you get it. Not intellectually. Viscerally. You know what it feels like when emotions are too big for your body. You understand the agony of trying really hard and still falling short. You can hold space for their chaos because you live in your own.

The Comparison Trap (aka Social Media is a Liar)

Scroll through any parenting corner of the internet and you’ll see them: the organized parents. The ones with meal prep Sundays and laminated chore charts. The ones whose kids’ lunches look like Pinterest boards. The ones who seem to have it all together.

And if you’re an ADHD parent, you’ll feel that familiar gut punch of shame. Because your meal prep is ordering pizza again. Your chore chart got started with enthusiasm three weeks ago and is now buried under a pile of unfolded laundry. And your kid’s lunch is, once again, a granola bar grabbed on the way out the door.

Here’s what you need to know: those parents are showing you their highlight reel. You’re comparing their best to your everyday. And more importantly, your kids don’t need Instagram-worthy lunches. They need you. Messy, imperfect, occasionally-forgetful you.

The Gifts You Don’t See Coming

Nobody tells you about the unexpected gifts of ADHD parenting. Let me illuminate a few:

Spontaneous joy. Neurotypical parents might stick to the schedule. You? You see the first snow of the year and declare it’s an impromptu hot chocolate and snow angel emergency. Tuesday afternoon? Perfect time for a living room dance party. The plan was vegetables for dinner, but sometimes the plan becomes breakfast-for-dinner because you got hyperfocused on building that elaborate block castle with your kid, and honestly? Those are the memories we’ll treasure.

Creative problem-solving. Your brain makes connections others don’t see. The baby gate broke? You’ve already engineered a solution using hair ties and a pool noodle. Kid’s sad about a canceled playdate? You’ve invented a new game involving flashlights and shadow puppets. You think outside the box because, frankly, your brain never knew there was a box to begin with.

Modeling authenticity. Your kids watch you struggle, and they also watch you keep trying. They see you forget things and apologize. They watch you find workarounds and accommodate your own needs. You’re teaching them that brains work differently, that making mistakes is human, and that asking for help isn’t weakness. These are lessons that will serve them their entire lives.

Hyperfocus bonding. When your attention locks onto something your kid loves? Magic happens. You’re not half-present while checking your phone. You’re building that Lego set with the intensity of an architect designing a skyscraper. You’re listening to their story about Minecraft with genuine fascination. When you’re in, you’re ALL in, and kids feel that.

The Guilt Monster

Let’s address the elephant in the room: the guilt.

Oh, the guilt. It’s constant and it’s vicious. You forgot the field trip permission slip again. You were late to pickup (eek!). You lost your patience and yelled when you promised yourself you wouldn’t. You forgot to move the Elf on the Shelf for the tenth night in a row. You spaced on your kid’s presentation at school that they’d been excited about for weeks.

The guilt tells you that you’re failing. That your kids deserve better. That if you just tried harder, focused more, cared enough, you’d be able to be the parent you want to be.

Here’s what the guilt doesn’t tell you: you are trying. Harder than most people can fathom. You’re parenting with a neurodevelopmental condition that affects executive function, working memory, emotional regulation, and time perception. You’re doing the hardest job in the world with a brain that works against you in very specific ways.

And your kids? They’re okay. More than okay. They’re learning resilience and flexibility. They’re learning that love isn’t about perfection. They’re learning that their parent is human.

Strategies That Actually Help (No Toxic Positivity Here)

I’m not going to tell you to “just use a planner” or “try being more mindful.” But here are some things that might actually make life a bit easier:

Embrace external brains. Alarms for everything. School pickup? Alarm. Medication time? Alarm. “Leave for soccer practice NOW”? Alarm. Your phone is your external brain. Use it shamelessly.

Lower the bar. Seriously. Tank tops are shirts. Breakfast can be a granola bar in the car. A “yes” day can be letting them have extra screen time while you decompress. Done is better than perfect.

Automate the automatable. Subscribe and save for staples. Use grocery delivery. Sign up for those meal kit services if they help. Let technology do the remembering for you.

Find your people. Other ADHD parents get it in a way no one else can. Online communities, local support groups, or even just that one friend who also forgets library books. You need people who understand that “I forgot” isn’t code for “I didn’t care.”

Apologize and repair. You will mess up. You will forget things, lose your cool, miss events. When you do, acknowledge it. Apologize genuinely. Show your kids how to make repairs. This teaches them more than perfection ever could.

Protect your hyperfocus. When you find something that works, something you can lock into with your kid, ride that wave. If you’ve both hyperfocused on baking together, make it a weekly thing. Those pockets of connection matter more than all the dropped balls.

The Permission We’re Waiting For

We’re waiting for someone to tell us it’s okay that we’re not the parent we imagined we’d be. So here it is:

It’s okay.

It’s okay that we’re inconsistent sometimes. It’s okay that we forget things. It’s okay that we get overwhelmed and need to tap out. It’s okay that our house is messier than we’d like, that we rely on convenience foods more than we planned, that we sometimes zone out.

We are not bad parents because we have ADHD. We’re parents who have ADHD, and those are very different things.

Our kids don’t need us to be neurotypical. They need us to be present (when we can), loving (which we are), and trying (which we’re doing every single day, even when it doesn’t feel like enough).

The Plot Twist

Here’s the thing that’s taken me years to realize: ADHD isn’t just affecting my parenting. My parenting is happening through my ADHD. My spontaneity, creativity, emotional depth, ability to pivot, enthusiasm for my kids’ interests, unconventional problem-solving—these aren’t happening despite my ADHD. These are expressions of it.

Yes, ADHD makes parenting harder in a thousand specific, frustrating ways. But it also makes you the specific, unique parent your kids have. They’re learning from your brain just as much as you’re struggling with it.

They’re learning that different isn’t less. They’re learning flexibility and creativity. They’re learning that people can mess up and still be loved. They’re learning that brains work in wonderfully diverse ways.

And honestly? In a world that too often values conformity and perfectionism, those might be the most important lessons of all.

This ADHD Awareness Month

This October, as we mark ADHD Awareness Month, I want you to know: you’re not alone. There are millions of us out here, frantically setting alarms, fighting with our brains, drowning in guilt, and still showing up every day for our kids.

We’re the parents who cry in the school parking lot after forgetting pajama day again. We’re the ones who stay up too late researching something our kid mentioned in passing. We’re the ones who feel everything too much and forget too much and try too much and never feel like we’re enough.

But we are enough.

Our kids will remember the impromptu adventures. The way we truly listened when they talked about their obsessions. The authenticity we modeled. The love that was always there, even when a snack wasn’t.

They’ll remember we tried. And tried. And kept trying.

And that, more than any color-coded chore chart or perfect attendance record, is what will matter.

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To every ADHD parent reading this: I see you. I see how hard you’re trying. I see the invisible load you’re carrying. And I’m here to tell you that you’re doing better than you think. Our kids are lucky to have us.

Happy ADHD Awareness Month. May your alarms go off at the right time, may you find the permission slip before the field trip, and may you remember to give yourself the grace you so freely give everyone else.