I realized my child was different long before we received a formal diagnosis. Her behavior—like repeatedly crashing into the sofa, falling hard and laughing, or touching every item within reach at the store—was a clear indication. She thrived on sensory stimulation, yet even minor sounds could send her into a meltdown, where she would cover her ears and sob. And let’s not forget her endless energy; she can literally bounce off walls.
When we finally got the list of diagnoses, what some might call “labels” felt to us like validation of what we had always known. Our child is neurodiverse, and receiving that confirmation from doctors was a relief. It opened the door to getting the support she needed to thrive. However, some relatives and friends have been less than supportive, refusing to acknowledge these diagnoses and pushing against our reality.
I vividly remember sharing my excitement with a close friend who also has an undiagnosed neurodiverse child about starting therapies for my daughter. I discussed how the school would modify her IEP to ensure she had equal access to learning opportunities. I had prepared a list of accommodations, including preferential seating and access to fidget toys and noise-canceling headphones. I was eager to move forward.
But my friend’s response shocked me: “The world won’t bend to her, you know. You can’t expect everyone to just make exceptions all the time.” I was astonished. Accommodations aren’t exceptions; they are necessary adjustments to help my child have the same opportunities as her peers. I was taken aback, especially since her own child was struggling in school due to a lack of support and diagnosis. It became clear that she wouldn’t be a source of encouragement.
The hurtful remarks from some relatives were even worse. My in-laws would dismissively say, “All kids are active!” or “She just needs to focus.” One relative, a retired teacher, claimed she wouldn’t tolerate such behavior from a child—completely missing the point that a sensory meltdown over clothing isn’t disrespectful behavior. Another suggested a “good spanking” would solve the problem, implying my child just needed stricter discipline.
Other friends offered unhelpful advice, like enrolling my daughter in karate, as if physical activity alone could change her brain chemistry. I had to remind them that conditions like ADHD are not the result of poor discipline; they cannot be cured through stricter parenting methods.
I’ve learned to quickly steer clear of conversations with people who lack empathy and understanding. If someone speaks from a place of experience, I’m open to their insights. But unsolicited advice from those who simply want to lecture us is unwelcome. They often focus on my child’s challenges and overlook her unique strengths and beauty.
I wish more family members and friends would take the time to educate themselves about my child’s diagnoses. If they did, they would understand that insisting a neurodiverse child “just do as I say” is ineffective. We’ve adopted a flexible approach to parenting, learning from experts and embracing connection with our child.
I can’t fathom why some people deny these realities; perhaps they are hindered by the stigma surrounding disabilities. For us, these diagnoses were enlightening—they provided a foundation for understanding our child. Moreover, disabilities are not problems to be fixed; there’s nothing wrong with my child. These additional needs are aspects of her identity to adapt to and learn from. I embrace her for who she is rather than trying to change her.
Every decision we make as parents is informed by our understanding of our child’s needs and unique circumstances. It’s exhausting to constantly defend our parenting choices, especially when raising a neurodiverse child is already challenging. We find ourselves battling misconceptions from those closest to us.
I strive to educate our relatives and correct any misunderstandings. I will not let my child feel ashamed of her needs. We fully accept her, and we hope that, in time, our loved ones will come to do the same. While I advocate fiercely for my child, I sometimes want to shout, “You’re the problem, not her!” Of course, that wouldn’t be constructive, but it might feel good to vent.
Ultimately, our commitment to supporting our child’s success takes precedence over anyone else’s unsolicited opinions. We will continue to correct misconceptions, without embarrassment. Parenting my child is a privilege, and I refuse to allow negativity to overshadow the joy we find in our journey together.
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Summary
Navigating the challenges of parenting a neurodiverse child can be exhausting, especially when faced with dismissive comments from family and friends. Despite obtaining a formal diagnosis, some relatives struggle to understand or accept the reality of my child’s needs, often offering unsolicited advice that misses the mark. I’ve learned to prioritize education and acceptance while advocating for my child’s unique strengths. Ultimately, my commitment to her well-being takes precedence over any negativity.
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