My children are often labeled as the ‘problematic’ ones. You know the type—those who dominate the playground with their loud laughter and high-flying swings. When it’s time to go, they let out cries that echo across the park. Sometimes they run away, and one of them is prone to throwing dramatic tantrums that seem too old for their age, all while surrounded by their friends. They might even hit their siblings occasionally. They don’t follow the rules of play equipment; they climb up slides, navigate tunnels from the outside, and dangle from high places as if defying gravity. If sticks are around, they carry them, fight with them, and organize them into makeshift armies. Pine cones? They become projectiles. Logs? Instant fort-building materials, precariously balanced and at risk of collapse with just a breath.
They’re curious explorers, often uncovering dead creatures in their adventures. They interrupt conversations, whine for snacks, and sometimes take more cookies than they should. Other parents often wish they could avoid the playground when my kids are around. I can see the judgment in their eyes as I drag one of my weeping children to the car, and I can feel their silent accusations: these kids are unruly, and it’s my fault. They wouldn’t act this way if I just… [insert extreme punishment here].
But here’s the truth: my kids aren’t the ‘bad’ kids. They are neurodiverse, each with varying degrees of ADHD. The world isn’t built for children like them, which means their behavior—loud voices, tantrums, and a need for sensory experiences—often comes off as problematic. Because they require ample exercise, they thrive on outdoor activities, and yes, they can climb higher than most children. My oldest, as a diver, was even instructed by his coach to perform challenging hanging stretches that left other kids in awe.
Children with ADHD frequently display behavior that doesn’t align with their age. They might whine, throw fits, or interrupt others. They look like the ‘bad’ kids when they’re simply behaving as their needs dictate.
We embrace a free-range parenting style. At home, they’re free to play with sticks and create armies in the backyard. They build forts and dig holes, and while I apologize if it disrupts your perfect playground, I won’t apologize for letting my kids explore. They need that freedom, and it allows them to learn collaboratively and creatively.
Since they are homeschooled, they view every child as a potential friend and often invite younger kids to join their adventures. But while they are mindful of safety, others often miss that point, too busy labeling them as the ‘bad kids.’
Naturally, when children misbehave, fingers point to the parents. My children’s actions reflect on my husband and me, reinforcing the notion that we are ‘bad’ parents. I often choose understanding over punishment—when my child throws a tantrum, I prefer to kneel down, talk, and wrap my arms around them until they settle, rather than resorting to harsh discipline. When they improperly use playground equipment, I calmly suggest, “Hey, sweetie, could you please not climb the slide? It might encourage little ones to do the same.”
I don’t impose strict prohibitions or rigid rules. I believe it’s fine for my kids to climb; they are capable and safe. However, I’ll intervene if it upsets other parents or puts younger children at risk. Being gentle doesn’t always work in the eyes of those who see my kids as troublemakers.
When it comes to emotional regulation, punishment is ineffective. How can I punish them for their feelings? We focus on constructive communication—using words instead of actions, taking deep breaths, and expressing needs.
As for the sticks and forts? If other parents seem particularly bothered, I’ll gently redirect my kids, but I won’t shame them for their creativity. “So-and-so feels uncomfortable with sticks, so let’s choose another game,” I might say. I refuse to make my kids feel guilty for exploring. Consistency is crucial for neurodiverse children. I respect others’ feelings but will not impose guilt or confusion around acceptable behavior.
Yes, my kids might continue to appear as the ‘bad’ ones unless society adjusts its mindset to accommodate neurodiversity and different parenting approaches. Unfortunately, that change isn’t on the horizon.
So the next time you see a parent struggling with a tantruming child who seems too old for such behavior, or a kid who is loud and climbing high, perhaps pause your instinct to blame the parent. Consider instead how you might lend a helping hand. We mothers of neurodiverse children would truly appreciate it.
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In summary, parenting neurodiverse children can be a challenging journey, often misunderstood by others. It’s essential to approach these situations with empathy and a willingness to support rather than judge.
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