I needed to understand my son’s ADHD before I could really help him

When my son was in the second grade, his teacher was concerned about his behaviors in the classroom. Every day, my son would ask to either use the bathroom or to see the nurse instead of finishing his classwork. He would hide his incomplete work in his desk.

His teacher believed his behavior mirrored symptoms of — at the time — an undiagnosed inattentive-type ADHD. And having spent years helping her own son manage his ADHD, she was spot on.

My son was officially diagnosed in the third grade. For the most part, I thought I understood ADHD. It was a disorder diagnosed mostly in boys who were hyperactive and impulsive, and who blurted out answers in the classroom, right? Not so much.

There’s a quote by author Maya Angelou, and for me it’s pretty fitting for those who interact with ADHD kids: “I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better, I do better.” I quickly learned from my son that ADHD is not “one size fits all.” And it can look different in different people.

At first, I didn’t quite understand that my son’s brain didn’t work like mine. I didn’t understand that it was so much more difficult for him to complete his homework, or clean up his room, or even brush his teeth. I didn’t understand then how ADHD impacts executive function. So, I read books, joined online communities, and subscribed to newsletters with one goal in mind: I wanted to be a better parent for my ADHD son.

Not only did I educate myself about my son’s ADHD, but I also spent time explaining his behaviors to his teachers. My son was viewed as “lazy” and “unintelligent” by some of his teachers because they didn’t understand ADHD symptoms like disorganization, forgetfulness, and poor time management.

In both elementary and middle school, my son was denied placement in advanced math classes, despite having won a National Award for Excellence in Math, because his teachers believed the course load was too rigorous for a child with ADHD. Looking back, I wish I’d known how to explain how my son’s creative, problem-solving, challenge-seeking ADHD brain worked.

To be clear, not all of his teachers misunderstood him. And many of them sought to learn ways to help him and other kids like him with ADHD. For example, my son’s algebra teacher knew that tests made my son feel anxious and overwhelmed, so he would allow him extra time. His physics teacher would let him type answers to essay questions on his laptop because writing answers by hand was painstaking for him. Teachers like these understood that my son didn’t just need to “work faster” or “try harder.” Instead of just watching him fail, they discovered ways to help put him on a path to success.

But teachers weren’t the only ones who needed to understand ADHD. My son needed to understand it, too.

So, I started to set aside time to explain my son’s ADHD brain to him. I affirmed that he was smart, and that his behaviors weren’t intentional. I was honest and told him that he may have a harder time staying on track in the classroom, and that some kids may be put off by his quirky sense of humor. Our conversations weren’t always smooth, but I hoped they would make him feel more confident and less ashamed of his ADHD. Not too long ago he confirmed what I had hoped for by thanking me for loving and supporting him and his ADHD.

I’ve spent the past 10 years learning about my son’s ADHD. I even wrote a book with my son to share our experiences. It’s called Andrew’s Awesome Adventures With His ADHD Brain. I vowed to be a better parent raising an ADHD son, and I did just that.

My son is now 18 years old, and he’s away at college. I can no longer talk to his teachers on his behalf and explain his behaviors to them. But I’m confident that I’ve taught him enough to be able to do all that for himself.