I remember holding those tiny pills in my hand and feeling completely overwhelmed. I had fought against this moment for so long, but here I was, facing an entirely new struggle. With my son’s innocent and trusting face looking up at me, I uttered what felt like the most significant lie of my life: “This is safe. You’ll be fine, I promise.” Inside, I felt like a fraud, a terrible mother, and a failure.
That day, when I first gave my son medication for his ADHD, was one of the hardest experiences of my life. I had resisted for a long time, trying various natural methods to help him. I eliminated food dyes from his diet, invested in pricey “natural light” bulbs for our home, bought him a mini trampoline to burn off energy, and had him run laps around our living room between homework assignments. I read to him, showered him with love, and fought hard for his well-being.
My son was hesitant about taking the pills. With a severe nut allergy, he was always cautious about trying new foods. Anything unfamiliar was off-limits. Convincing him to swallow that pill was a struggle that ended in tears—on both sides—and required promises, threats, and ultimately, a bribe. I told him it was safe, but deep down, I knew I shouldn’t have made that promise. I had read the research on ADHD medications—the side effects terrified me. This research was relatively recent and not specific to my son. What if he was the one who experienced adverse effects? What if it disrupted his brain development at such a critical time? But I assured him I knew it would be okay, and because I was his mother—the one who loves him unconditionally—he believed me.
He took the pill that day, and for many days after. I became hyper-vigilant, looking for any changes in his mood, appetite, or sleep. He stopped eating lunch because he simply wasn’t hungry. Teachers reported he was calmer, but not more focused. He could sit still, but concentration was still a struggle. He was not disruptive, which was a relief, but I missed my vibrant, energetic child.
I only gave him the medication on school days. The transformation into a quieter, calmer version of himself was unsettling. I know that sounds strange, but my son is supposed to be lively and rambunctious, often pushing my patience to the limit. I couldn’t bear to see the changes in him, so I limited the medication to weekdays, avoiding weekends and summer breaks.
Five years passed, during which we tried various medications, each one promising to create the perfect solution. Then came middle school. He began expressing his dislike for the pills, stating, “I want to want to eat lunch. I don’t like how they make me feel.” I was forcing medication on a child who was pleading for me to stop.
Middle school brought a flurry of parent-teacher meetings to discuss his ongoing struggles with homework. The constant emails about how he was zoning out in class were overwhelming. I felt like I was breaking, and so was he. Our nightly battles over homework became draining, robbing us of joy in our relationship. His self-esteem hit rock bottom, and my patience wore thin. Yet, each morning, I handed him the pills and a lunchbox that would inevitably return untouched. He took them, avoiding eye contact, his silence speaking volumes.
My feelings of failure and guilt grew heavier with each visit to the specialist for his prescription refills. I hoped that time would bring changes, that perhaps a new medication would help. We tried four different options, each accompanied by its own set of distressing side effects. Every time we switched to a new medication, I felt another wave of guilt wash over me. “Are you sure this one is okay?” he would ask, still trusting me. I nodded, but the lies became easier to tell while the guilt became increasingly unbearable.
Eventually, things changed for us in many ways. He matured, and we discovered an alternative school that catered to his learning style and pace. The most significant change? He no longer takes those pills. I’ve shed my cloak of guilt, and this decision has been the best for both him and our family. I have the son I was meant to have—imperfectly perfect, just like the rest of us.
I share this to shed light on the difficult decisions that parents make regarding medication for their children. It’s not a choice made lightly or easily. We are not simply influenced by pharmaceutical companies or failing to try hard enough. Choosing to medicate is a complex and challenging decision. Some parents find it to be a life-changing choice, while others, like myself, discover that it may not be the ultimate solution. For some, it changes nothing, leaving them back where they started.
Let’s approach this topic with compassion and understanding, and hope that no one has to face the difficult decision of making promises to their child that they are unsure they can keep. If you’re interested in exploring more about home insemination, check out this post. And for those curious about artificial insemination options, this resource is a trusted option. Additionally, for comprehensive information on intrauterine insemination, this reference is excellent.
Summary:
This article recounts a mother’s challenging journey with her son’s ADHD medication, detailing her struggles, fears, and eventual decision to stop the medication. It highlights the emotional toll on both the mother and the child, emphasizing the complexity of such decisions and the need for understanding from others.