A New Season, A New Lens: Learning to Parent My ADHD Son

by Lauren Tarzia, M.S., CCC-SLP

Spring is the season of change. A shift from cold, heavy days into something warmer and lighter. And it reminds me of a time when I realized that everything I thought I knew about parenting wasn’t working for my child.

Since it’s my younger son’s birthday this month, I want to share my journey with him. Not the polished version. The real one. The messy, emotional, humbling one.

I always imagined myself as a prepared parent. I wasn’t scared of not being ready. I was an early childhood professional as a speech-language pathologist. I understood development, behavior, and interventions. I had the degrees, training, and experience.

And still, I didn’t understand my own child.

I had my first son at 35, and when he was just 9 months old, we decided to try for another baby. I got pregnant right away. It felt like it was meant to be. These two boys were supposed to be close in age, as if they would need each other.

When my younger son was born, everything felt perfect. He was beautiful. Calm. Observant. Smiley. The kind of baby you dream about. Even the hard parts, the colic and the sleepless nights, felt manageable.

I used to believe that my knowledge would prepare me for anything. Now I understand that no amount of training prepares you for the moment your child doesn’t fit what you were taught.

At first, it was developmental concerns. He wasn’t sitting independently at six months old. Crawling came late. Standing and walking took time and effort. As a professional, I knew there was a range. As a mother, I felt it in my gut.

By 15 months, I called early intervention. And that’s when the guilt hit me. Watching his tiny body struggle to stabilize… watching a therapist support him in ways I hadn’t… I started questioning everything.

Did I miss something?

Did I cause this?

Was I not enough?

I was also navigating postpartum depression, so my emotions ran high.

Then came preschool.

At two years old, he was thriving.

Social, engaged, happy.

At three… he completely changed...

Then, the phone calls started.

“He’s biting.”

“He’s hitting.”

My stomach would drop every time the phone rang.

My child? The one who was so sweet?

I remember the shame. The embarrassment. The quiet panic of wondering what other people were thinking, especially people who knew me professionally.

I did what I thought I was supposed to do. I gave strategies. Suggested supports. Adjusted environments. Moved classrooms.

Nothing worked.

And that was the beginning of the unraveling.

As things escalated, I found myself fighting. Fighting for evaluations. Fighting for services. Fighting to be heard.

At the same time, I was already advocating for my older son as we had just started the autism journey.

I was exhausted. Completely depleted. And quietly wondering…what am I missing?

We moved to a new school district hoping for better support. And for a moment, it worked. Kindergarten was a success. He had the right teachers, the right environment, and the right balance.

But at home? It was still so hard.

Meltdowns over everything, even transitions, getting dressed, and simple directions. Hitting. Yelling. His explosions felt completely out of proportion.

And this is the part that’s hard to admit:

I thought it was behavior.

I thought he needed discipline. Structure. Consequences.

I tried everything; sticker charts, rewards, punishments, taking things away, and even ignoring him.  

None of it worked. If anything, it made things worse.

I was so angry and frustrated.

I am not proud of some of those moments. But I share them because they are real, and because I know I am not the only parent who has been there.

First grade is when everything came to a head. The calls from school started again with those familiar concerns.

And then one moment I will never forget.

Someone asked me, “Have you ever thought about medication?”

My stomach dropped. Part of me felt defensive. Part of me felt judged. And a small, quiet part of me wondered…are they right?

That terrified me. Because I believed something very deeply at the time:

if I give him medication…am I giving up on him?

Looking back now, I can see what I couldn’t then. We weren’t supporting a child with unmet needs. We were all trying to fix him. Including me.

By the end of first grade, we moved forward with an evaluation. He was diagnosed with ADHD and anxiety. It wasn’t a surprise.  It was a relief. Coincidentally, I had just been diagnosed at 40, and for the first time, I understood how my brain worked. The diagnosis didn’t change who he was. It changed how I understood him and where to look for support.

The help I found didn’t come from my training or experience in schools. It came from other parents, who were living this in real time. It also came from voices like Dr. Ross Greene, who helped me see behavior not as something to control, but as a signal of what was happening underneath.

And then I saw it clearly.

This wasn’t defiance.

This wasn’t bad behavior.

This was a dysregulated, overwhelmed nervous system, like my own that I was just beginning to understand in myself.

I used to believe behavior was either something to be managed or reshaped. But it was me that needed to be reshaped.  I had to change how I responded, how I interpreted, and how I showed up.

I have heard the term “unlearning” what you know. That's exactly what this was.  It meant looking at what I was doing as the parent and letting go of my training, my instincts, and facing my own triggers and dysregulation along the way.

I started doing things differently.

When he melted down, I didn’t punish. I regulated.

When he struggled, I didn’t demand compliance. I supported.

I changed my tone. My words.

I brought less judgment and more curiosity, patience & presence. 

I became his safe place instead of his consequence.

And slowly… things got better.

He softened. He trusted me. He came to me.

However, the only places he was still struggling was everywhere else like school, camp, & birthday parties… Not home.

Here was the evidence that he was never the one to blame.

The environments were.

The expectations were.

The lack of understanding was.

When the next school year began, I was hopeful. I was excited to collaborate with his teachers and therapists. I shared what was working at home and advocated for what he needed: more structure, support for executive functioning, connection, trust, and a strengths-based approach.

Part of me thought maybe this would be the year things clicked.

But it didn’t. Things got harder.

The school was still trying to fit him into a system that wasn’t built for him. I kept hearing the same things:

“He doesn't want to do the work.”

“He’s attention seeking.”

“He’s too disruptive.”

“We can’t change everything for one child.”

And I remember thinking - you’re missing him.

Not his behavior.

HIM.

Once a child is seen through a behavioral lens, the response often becomes about control like compliance, reducing maladaptive behaviors, and positive change without causing problems. A pattern is set, and it can feel like there’s only one accepted way forward.  The focus shifts from supporting the child to removing the disruption.

But compliance isn’t the same as understanding. And it isn’t the same as helping a child thrive.

Kids get pulled from classrooms.

Punished.

Isolated.

Not because they are bad, but because the system doesn’t know how to support them.

At home, I felt pulled in two directions. I was trying to follow what I was being told while knowing it didn’t match what my child actually needed.

And my son?

He was overwhelmed in a way no one was fully seeing. His behavior seemed rude, defiant, and aggressive. These were misinterpreted as bad behavior.

If you’re reading this and it feels familiar, the behaviors, the calls from school, the feeling that nothing is working, it’s not because your child is choosing to make things hard.

It’s because something underneath isn’t being supported yet and they are not getting what they need. 

I always loved the iceberg example: what you see on the surface is the behavior but you don’t see all that's lurking under the ice.  For instance, a skill they need to be taught or develop more, an unmet need such as feelings of safety and connection, or something as simple as hunger or being tired.  These can cause their nervous system to go into distress mode. And what you see is the resulting behavior. 

No amount of punishment, pressure, or pretending it’s not happening will fix that.

And I want to say something that might be hard to hear.  Sometimes… it’s us.

Not in a blaming way but in an empowering way.

Because when we change how we show up, everything can change.

I wish someone had told me that sooner.

The good news? My son is doing much better now overall! After countless conversations and meetings, the school and I were able to create the right environment for him to be comfortable, happy, and successful in school.

The people supporting him became teachers and staff that had the right training and mindset to work with him. The classroom environment was set up to take away the barriers that were igniting his anxiety and stress at school.

He was available to learn.

But I know it’s not over. I will have to keep standing up for him and making sure his needs are met.

At least I know how to help him now and his current school team does too.

We have come a long way.

I pray that he will continue to be placed with educators who understand him & have his back.

For any parent or caregiver going through this right now, please hear this:

Do not give up on your child.

Do not hand them over to a system that doesn’t understand them and hope it works out.

If your child is not making progress behaviorally at school, they are not getting what they need.

Period.

Trust your instincts.

Keep advocating.

Keep learning.

Keep showing up.

And start here…The next time your child is struggling, don’t ask, “How do I stop this?”

Ask, “What do they need right now and how can I meet them there?”

Because your child doesn’t need to be fixed.

They need to be understood.

And sometimes… that understanding starts with us.