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Title: ADHD and ADD: Social Aspects

When Others Don’t Understand Your Child



I can still remember the looks I’d get when my young son Josh would do something unexpected or inappropriate. We’d be out in a public place, and Josh would do what came naturally to him. Unfortunately, it wasn’t usually what other boys his age did, and it tended to draw attention to us in negative ways. Josh’s curiosity, combined with his impulsivity and immaturity, frequently led to situations that propelled us into uncomfortable interactions with friends, relatives, and even complete strangers.

When Josh was about four years old, we visited a science museum. Josh loved that place because it stimulated his creativity and allowed him to experiment with various exhibits to determine cause and effect. He often engaged in informal experiments on his own, but the science center had more materials and space than he had access to at home.

Josh was not bound by conventional methods of approaching tasks, and this was evident in the various areas of the science museum. At an exhibit on simple machinery, rather than just pull on the rope that ran over a pulley, Josh wanted to see what happened if he were lying prone on the ground while pulling the rope in different directions. Since I didn’t know the answer to his questions, and science is all about experimenting, I figured it would be okay to let Josh try it. I was careful to position myself so Josh wouldn’t get stepped on or accidentally trip anyone, and Josh plopped to the ground to try his experiments.

As Josh tried pulling the rope from various angles, he was so engaged in the task that he was oblivious to the reactions of those around us. Since I was at eye level with most of them, I saw the looks and startled expressions of those who saw Josh at work. The looks seemed to ask, “What is that boy doing?” and then “Aren’t you going to stop him?” followed by shakes of the head as it became clear I was both aware of my son’s activities and had given full consent.

Through the years, Josh’s quirks and oddities became familiar to me, and I understood his reactions even when they made no sense to others. I came to recognize when he was becoming agitated, and knew that it would result in both increased activity and decreased physical coordination. I knew that when Josh’s senses were overwhelmed, he would seek refuge under a table or merely crouch and squeeze himself into a ball to give himself deep pressure. When he was feeling put on the spot to respond verbally, Josh would exhibit expressive language difficulties and have trouble answering questions or describing the events that had just occurred.

Especially during the early years with Josh, many people went beyond just giving me strange looks, and offered their advice to me. Often this advice was unsolicited, and although given presumably to help me to solve the problem of my son’s behavior of the moment, the frequency of these suggestions made them painful to hear. I was not in denial of my son’s difficulties, but I felt as though I were continually held responsible for his behavior even though he was not acting in the ways I attempted to teach him at home. The assumption seemed to be that I was not doing my job as a mother, and if I just tried and worked harder at it I could turn Josh around. The implication that I didn’t care or was incapable of developing appropriate behaviors with my son hurt me deeply.

After Josh was diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), I was relieved and thought that others’ reactions would now be tempered by the fact that my son had an official and recognizable diagnosis. Some people did seem to better understand and accept Josh, but others refused to acknowledge that ADHD was even a legitimate disorder. I continued to get a disheartening amount of unsolicited advice and those looks of incredulity as Josh acted in strange ways that were not age-appropriate but that came naturally and made sense given his attention and sensory issues.

It would have been easy for me to become bitter for being blamed for my son’s difficulties and misunderstood by those around us in the midst of our very real struggles. I wanted people to like me and love and appreciate Josh as I did. I had to make a mental paradigm shift not to turn the painful comments and unfulfilled wishes into excuses for rejecting others as I felt my son had been rejected. This shift has helped me through the years, as I have refused to be victimized emotionally by others’ lack of understanding.

In order to view situations in a healthy way, I accepted that many people just don’t “get it” when it comes to my son. I acknowledge that even I don’t always comprehend why he acts or reacts the way he does, and I know him better than anyone else does. How could I expect others to fully understand Josh, especially if they don’t know him well? I decided to stop expecting others to grasp Josh’s differences, and then when someone did I was pleasantly surprised.
I took this a step farther by deciding that it was all right that others didn’t understand Josh’s behaviors, and probably those individuals he had long-term relationships with would come to appreciate him more over time. These were the relationships that we would invest in, and we would not spend time worrying excessively over casual contacts. These folks probably had little personal experience with children with differences, and couldn’t be expected to speak with wisdom on a topic they knew little or nothing about.
I also decided to have the attitude that I would give people the benefit of a doubt and assume they were genuinely trying to be helpful and not hurtful. Sure, it didn’t always seem to be the case, and some comments could have been made in more kind and tactful ways. But I tried to hear each person out without being defensive, assuming they had a legitimate idea to share with me. It kept me feeling calmer and more receptive to input, and I was able to be more objective about what was said. I didn’t just accept every suggestion I was given, but I gave each idea my consideration.

I realized that sometimes my own discomfort with Josh’s actions seemed to invite comments by others. I’m sure I revealed my emotions through my facial expressions and comments to Josh, and it seemed to open the door for others to begin making comments to me. I came to understand the importance of affirming my alliance with Josh, and identifying myself proudly with him, or the negative remarks would start to flow.

Josh was different than most others his age, but I was his mom and I loved him. When I let others see my strong stance and affection for Josh, they were less likely to make negative remarks and more inclined to see some of his positive characteristics. Those negative remarks were such confidence killers for me, and I had to consciously make positive statements within earshot of others both to battle the discomfort I felt from the scrutiny and to discourage negative input from observers.

When other people made comments that were hurtful, well intentioned or not, I made a concerted effort not to let those comments penetrate to my heart. I deliberately refused to let those remarks become part of how I viewed my son or myself. I was not taking an opinion poll to determine how Josh and I were doing, and I reminded myself frequently that I had to care more about Josh than about others’ opinions of us. I could not let anyone detract me from seeing the many wonderful qualities that Josh had just because his differences were so much more obvious.

I also realized that I could let some peoples’ opinions weigh in more heavily than others. Those people who obviously cared about Josh, offered encouragement, and had seen him in different settings over a period of time offered more valid input than those who had spent little time around Josh or had no personal involvement with him. I valued and sought out insight from these relationships, and was grateful for the suggestions.

Some people seemed to truly care about Josh, but were baffled as to how to relate to him. Their bewilderment didn’t faze me, as long as their caring was evident. For these people, I gladly educated them in ways to help and support my son. I was glad for the willingness and openness to learn, and it didn’t matter that they didn’t initially know what to do. The fact that they were caring and compassionate made all the difference.

For people who clearly didn’t understand how to work with Josh, and didn’t show signs of interest in learning, I spent little time trying to persuade them to change their minds. When comments were made in ignorance, I nodded noncommittally to indicate that I heard what was said, but did not engage in further conversation. I learned not to spend a lot of time defending and explaining Josh to everyone who noticed him. It simply wasn’t strategic to become involved in debates with people who were not going to be spending much time with Josh. If Josh overhead a negative remark, I affirmed him and reminded him of his value as a unique individual.

I determined to spend my energy enjoying Josh and finding strategies to help him, which left little room for bitterness, feeling judged, or agonizing over how misunderstood he and I frequently were outside of our own home. After years (Josh is almost 15 years old now!) of practicing this approach with others, Josh has developed a solid and accurate view of himself. He continues to have differences, and is unique in his approach to life. He has never learned to be just like others his age, and I appreciate and value that more and more as he gets older.

In the past few years, I have begun hearing positive remarks from other adults who like and appreciate the qualities they see in Josh. After all those years of advocating for Josh and staunchly supporting him as he learned life skills, it is rewarding to see the investment pay off without carrying around a burden of unforgiveness and negativity that could easily have developed. Even when no one seemed to understand Josh, at least he knew I was on his side and liked what I saw in him. We didn’t let the opinions of others shake us loose from the belief that everyone has value and worth that aren’t contingent on what we do but rather on who we are. It is freeing to have this perspective and to refuse to give in to the heartache and disappointment that sometimes accompanies having a child with differences and special challenges.

Copyright 2002, Melinda L. Boring, Heads Up!

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