My 7-year-old daughter, Lucy, often struggles to stay still. Over time, I’ve observed her classmates mastering the art of focus. They began by concentrating long enough to create drawings, then progressed to sitting attentively at desks for lessons. I’ve seen them manage schoolwork without tearing pages or leaving the table in tears, effortlessly following instructions from beginning to end. I found myself waiting for Lucy to catch up.
When she was 5, dinner time became a series of repetitive pleas. “Please sit down,” I would ask, then urge and beg. Yet, every time I glanced up from my meal, she was off again—twirling around the kitchen, attempting to feed her baby brother, or giving voices to her broccoli.
As she entered public kindergarten, what started as a minor inconvenience became increasingly apparent. Getting ready for school turned into a test of patience. “Put on your socks,” “brush your teeth,” and “eat your breakfast” were repeated endlessly until my husband and I were at our wits’ end, questioning what we were doing wrong. No matter how hard we tried to help her focus, we’d turn around only to find her engaged in a tea party, reading books, or spreading toothpaste everywhere.
These daily skirmishes often felt comical, but they were also incredibly challenging. If wine sales have been on the rise since 2010, I could probably take some responsibility for it.
Her distractibility was just as evident at school. The distractions were overwhelming for Lucy, making it difficult for her to simply hang up her backpack and enter the classroom. A friend passing by, an unfamiliar face, a mom in a purple hat, or the scent of popcorn could easily derail her. Regardless of our arrival time, I always ended up sitting on the floor of the hall, gently redirecting her while taking deep breaths. In preschool, they reassured me that her behavior was age-appropriate, but in kindergarten, the understanding faded.
Soon, my frustration transitioned into deeper concerns. At home, Lucy would lament about getting in trouble for fidgeting or chewing her hair in class. Parent-teacher conferences revealed she wasn’t meeting the standards, which I knew were perhaps unreasonably high for a kindergartner. It stung to see my bright child, who had been nurtured and read to daily, struggle in certain areas. I’d often excuse myself to the bathroom to dry my tears before rejoining the meeting, forcing a smile.
I frequently felt anger. Why couldn’t she sit still when other kids could? But then it dawned on me: it was beyond her control. Concentration is a genuine challenge for her. Lucy has ADHD, and sitting still long enough to eat, get dressed, or color a picture is still a struggle. Currently, most activities require her to work hard to remain still. While these challenges present obstacles in public school, I realized I don’t have to fight against them at home.
Although she struggles to focus on many things, when Lucy enters her imaginative world, she becomes incredibly engrossed. At 7, dance has captured her heart. Watching her perform with unbridled joy helps me understand her better. She rarely stops singing, dancing, or acting, and in those moments, she truly feels at home. Give her a prompt to create an elephant drawing, and she’ll take all day; ask her to embody an elephant, and you’re in for hours of entertainment.
Attention may not be Lucy’s forte, but that’s perfectly fine. She possesses countless other remarkable qualities. Once I stopped trying to mold her into a conventional shape and allowed her to break free from it, everything began to fall into place. Accepting Lucy for who she is has made our lives much easier, allowing us to encourage her to become the best version of herself. As a family, we’ve embraced this facet of her personality, viewing it as a blessing.
Instead of telling her she’s wrong, we opted for a year of homeschooling where her love for dance and adventure could thrive. Next year, she’ll attend a nontraditional school that offers flexibility and doesn’t penalize her for being herself. It’s a relief for Lucy to know she won’t feel like she’s perpetually in trouble for simply existing.
You can’t pick your child’s strengths, but you can choose how to perceive them. I hope Lucy continues to let her vibrant energy shine and explore her identity. Rather than battling against her, I’ll support her in embracing who she is. The cleanup might be overwhelming at times, but childhood is inherently chaotic, and you can’t fix what isn’t broken.
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In summary, my daughter’s ADHD is not a limitation but an invitation to celebrate her unique gifts. By accepting her for who she is, we can foster her strengths and create an environment where she can thrive.