As I held those tiny pills in my palm, I felt my heart shatter. I had lost one battle and found myself in a new fight. Looking into my son’s innocent eyes, I spoke a painful untruth: “This is safe. You’ll be fine. I promise.” Inside, I was screaming, “Liar! Terrible mother! You’ve failed!”
The day I made the decision to medicate my son for his ADHD stands out as one of the hardest moments of my life. After many months of resistance, I finally relented. I had pursued every “natural” method I could find. I limited his intake of food coloring, invested in costly “natural light” bulbs for our kitchen, and even bought a mini trampoline for him to expend energy. We incorporated running laps around the living room into his homework routine, and I showered him with love, support, and advocacy.
My son was hesitant about taking the medication. With a severe nut allergy, he had developed a cautious attitude towards trying anything new—even food. The struggle to get him to swallow that pill was monumental, filled with tears (from both of us), promises, threats, and ultimately a bribe.
I had assured him it was safe, but deep down, I knew I shouldn’t have made that promise. I had read the research, learned about the potential side effects, and it filled me with dread. The studies were relatively recent and not conducted on my child. What if he was the one child who experienced a negative reaction? What if these medications disrupted his brain’s development during such a critical time? Yet, I assured him I was right, leveraging my role as his mother—his protector and biggest advocate. He swallowed the pill that day and continued to do so in the days that followed.
I became vigilant, watching for any changes in his mood, appetite, or sleep patterns. He stopped eating lunch, claiming he simply wasn’t hungry. Teachers reported he was calmer but still unable to focus. He could sit still, yet concentration remained elusive. Most importantly, he was no longer disruptive.
I chose not to give him the medication on weekends. It may sound irrational, but I missed my son’s lively spirit. He was supposed to be wild and energetic, not subdued. That vibrant, chaotic boy who sometimes drove me to the brink of exhaustion was vanishing. Instead, I had a quiet child who was losing weight, prompting his doctor to recommend we find ways to boost his calorie intake. I couldn’t bear to witness these changes, so I reserved the medication for weekdays, avoiding it during weekends and summer break.
For five years, I continued the routine, switching medications periodically in hopes of finding the perfect fit. Then middle school arrived, and my son began to voice his objections to the pills more frequently. “I want to want to eat lunch. I don’t like how they make me feel,” he would say.
I was now forcing him to take medication, while he pleaded with me to stop. Middle school brought a flurry of parent-teacher meetings, as he struggled to complete assignments. Daily emails about his lack of focus and daydreaming were overwhelming. Our evening homework battles were exhausting and stripped our relationship of joy. His self-esteem plummeted, while my patience wore thin. Each morning, I handed him the pills and a lunchbox that would inevitably return home untouched. He swallowed them without looking at me, his compliance echoing more loudly than any defiance he could muster.
The shame and feeling of failure weighed heavily on me. Each visit to the specialist for a prescription refill felt crushing, as I struggled to reconcile my choices. I held onto hope that a new medication might yield better results. We tried four different options, each accompanied by its own set of distressing side effects. Each new prescription felt like another burden of guilt—“Is this one really safe?” he would inquire, still trusting me. I nodded, finding it easier to lie while the guilt grew increasingly unbearable.
Eventually, circumstances changed. My son matured, and we discovered an alternative school that accommodated his learning style and pace. The most significant change, however, was that he no longer took those pills. I lifted the weight of guilt off my shoulders. This decision turned out to be the best for both him and our family. I embraced the son I was meant to have—perfect in his imperfections, just like all of us.
I share this story to shed light on the struggles parents face when considering medication for their children. It’s not a decision made lightly or easily, nor is it a result of being influenced by pharmaceutical companies or a lack of effort. Choosing to medicate is a complex, nerve-wracking decision. For some families, it may be the best choice; for others, like mine, it offered some relief but didn’t transform our situation as we had hoped. There are those for whom it changes nothing, leaving them right back at square one.
I urge you to approach these parents with kindness and understanding. Please don’t judge them too harshly; many face the daunting task of making promises to their children that they aren’t sure they can keep.
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In summary, the journey to find the right path for my son was fraught with challenges and emotional turmoil. However, stepping away from medication ultimately fostered a healthier relationship and allowed him to thrive in his own unique way.
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