For three years, we hesitated to medicate our son, Alex, for his ADHD. Like many parents, we opted for the “try everything else first” strategy. This approach served two important purposes: it acted as a defense against anyone who might accuse us of being neglectful parents (“Yes, we’re giving him medication, but rest assured, we explored every possible option first.”) and it helped alleviate some of the guilt that comes with making such a significant decision.
The decisive moment in our consideration of medication came during a parent-teacher conference. My husband and I sat across from Alex’s four teachers, who bore the weight of their frustration with our son’s challenges. Despite being some of the best educators in the state, they had exhausted all techniques, yet Alex was only managing to complete about 40 percent of his assignments. His behavior in class was disruptive, with materials scattered around and a constant struggle to focus. The teachers spent so much time trying to engage him that the learning experience for the other children suffered. After that meeting, I went home in tears, realizing we needed to take action—our previous efforts simply weren’t enough.
On a Tuesday, Alex started on a 10 mg dose of Focalin. Almost immediately, I noticed subtle changes. When I asked him to put on his shoes, they were already on. He got into the car without hesitation, and during our drive, he sat quietly, thoughtfully gazing out the window. I worried he was becoming a zombie, but when I asked what was on his mind, he shared a detailed plan for a building design in Minecraft. Who was this articulate child?
That afternoon, Alex came home, neatly stowed his shoes in the laundry room, unpacked his backpack, and dove into his homework. When his younger sister was making noise, he calmly asked her to be quiet so he could concentrate. It was a moment I had never witnessed before. He finished his homework quickly and dashed outside to play with friends.
The following day, I requested that Alex clear the kitchen table. To my surprise, when I turned around a minute later, he had already done it. This realization struck me: ADHD had taken a toll on our entire family, especially me, as the primary caregiver. I had been so consumed with worry about how the negative feedback Alex received would affect his self-esteem that I overlooked the impact it had on my own well-being.
I had become conditioned to expect the worst from Alex—that he would never follow through without my constant reminders and oversight. I found myself shouting just to get his attention, believing that was the only way he would listen. In essence, I had become frustrated with my own child without even realizing it.
On Thursday morning, after starting medication, I observed Alex working on his multiplication flashcards in the car. He shuffled through them, reciting each one multiple times before setting aside those he had mastered. Then he announced, “Mom, let me know when a minute is up. I’m going to think about something else for a minute, then I’ll see if I can remember everything.” At that moment, I was struck by a wave of recognition; he reminded me of myself. I felt a newfound connection to my son.
Later, while picking him up from chess club, I encountered his reading and social studies teacher. She was overjoyed to share how well Alex had been doing. “Look at this writing sample!” she exclaimed, trembling with excitement. “His handwriting is incredible and the content reads like a science textbook!”
Alex, in his typical curious fashion, interrupted to ask about the fire alarm on the ceiling, firing off questions while maintaining eye contact with his teacher. We exchanged glances, both moved by his progress.
For years, I viewed myself as an impatient person, prone to snapping and frustration. However, since Alex began taking medication, I discovered that I could be more patient when he was calm and focused. The medication doesn’t wear off until the evening, allowing us to enjoy a few hours of tranquility each day. I realized that I had always had the capacity for patience; I had just forgotten it in the chaos.
This brings me to a bittersweet realization: I prefer my child when he’s medicated. He is clearer, more communicative, and organized. More importantly, I find I like myself better in those moments as well. I rarely raise my voice, and I can think without distraction. But it raises questions: Is this medicated version of Alex truly who he is? Have I inadvertently pushed him toward conformity to make my life easier?
After six weeks on medication, I’ve gained perspective. We’ve chosen not to medicate on weekends, and I’ve found that I’m more patient even during his off days. The structure of the medication during the week seems to fortify me emotionally, making me better equipped to handle challenges when they arise. Alex tells me he enjoys school now that he feels competent, and he loves learning because it makes him feel smart.
I remind myself that medication doesn’t change who Alex is; rather, it helps clear the mental clutter that distracts him, allowing him to access his true self. This understanding gives me comfort as we navigate this journey together.
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In conclusion, the journey of understanding ADHD and medication is complex, yet it has opened doors for both my son and our family. Medication isn’t a one-size-fits-all solution, but it can be a valuable tool in facilitating a better quality of life.