In honor of D turning 13

The Parenting Vision I Started With

I wasn’t one of those kids who always dreamed of motherhood. But when I met my husband, I knew I wanted to build a life with him—and kids became part of that vision. I imagined baseball games (Jon and I met playing softball, so of course our kids would be naturals), family adventures, and all the magic you see on social media.

But that version of parenting? That wasn’t our story.

And I know I’m not alone in that. So many of us step into parenting with big dreams and expectations, only to realize the journey is far messier—and far more humbling—than we ever imagined.

Raising a Neurodivergent Child: The Diagnosis Journey

Instead, I got D. Brilliant, sensitive, neurodivergent D—who has taught me more about what it means to be present and patient than I ever thought possible.

His official diagnoses—Autism Spectrum Disorder (Level 1), severe ADHD, anxiety, and major depressive disorder—only tell part of the story. There have been sleep issues, digestive challenges, hallucinations, suicidal thoughts, and more doctor visits than I can count.

We’ve had to throw out the idea of “normal” and completely redefine what success and joy look like for our family.

And I know many of you reading this have faced your own unexpected twists in the road—whether it’s a diagnosis, a behavior you can’t explain, or simply the gut feeling that your child isn’t following the path you were told they “should.” Sometimes parenting just doesn’t fit inside the neat little boxes we were sold.

Letting Go of What I Thought Parenting Would Look Like

It’s been quite a journey—with plenty of beautiful memories—but also moments that looked nothing like the life I thought we’d be living.

Like the Imagine Dragons concert where Jon spent the entire night walking the halls with D so Red and I could enjoy the show. Or the Rockies game where his Nintendo Switch was the only saving grace that allowed all of us to be there together. I used to make two or three dinners every night because stimulants crushed his appetite and he simply wouldn’t eat.

We even tried team sports, but nothing stuck. And eventually the truth became this: when D’s not having a good time, none of us are.

If you’ve ever canceled plans, left events early, or skipped them entirely because it was just too much—I get it. You’re not being dramatic. You’re trying to survive a reality most people don’t see.

So we stopped pushing for the version of life we thought we’d have—and started figuring out how to support the one we were actually living.

When Screens Become Survival

It hasn’t been easy.

Screens became a crutch. Friendships were hard. School became a trigger. We’ve had to pull back from the world to protect our peace—and honestly, to protect ourselves.

This part is hard to say out loud, but I know I’m not the only one: there were (and still are) times we just couldn’t do the things other families were doing. It wasn’t that we didn’t want to—it’s that we physically and emotionally couldn’t.

We went from “How do we fix this?” to “How do we live with this, and still find joy?”

And maybe you’ve asked yourself that too.

If you’re juggling parenting with your own challenges—like perimenopause, burnout, or hormone chaos—I share more about that here in this post.

Redefining Success and Embracing What Is

And now, D is turning 13. Thirteen.

I’m so damn proud of the kid he’s becoming. He’s not the child I once imagined raising—but he is, without question, the one I was meant to raise. A deep, thoughtful, beautifully complex soul who’s challenged me, changed me, and expanded every definition I had of what it means to be a parent.

He’s taught me what strength really looks like—and all he asks in return is the space to be fully, unapologetically himself.

He’s taught me more about unconditional love than any parenting book ever could. And while our life doesn’t look like the filtered version I used to picture—baseball games, team photos, “easy” school drop-offs—we’re living a life that’s real.

A life filled with grit, compassion, tough conversations, and tiny wins that feel enormous.

We’re doing it our way. And that counts.

And I know many of you are doing it your way too. Quietly adapting, reshaping, showing up day after day for kids who don’t always fit into typical molds. It might not look like success from the outside—but it’s strength in its rawest, most resilient form.

To Every Parent Walking This Path

To every parent who’s had to rewrite the story they thought they were living:

I see you.

I know how isolating it can feel to watch other families seemingly thrive while you’re just trying to survive the morning.

I know the guilt, the second-guessing, the constant calculating of what might help your child feel just a little bit better today.

I know the heartbreak of wanting to share something joyful on social media but not having the filtered photos to go with it.

And the ache of watching your child struggle in spaces where other kids seem to shine.

You’re not doing it wrong. You’re not behind. You’re not failing.

You’re simply parenting a child who needs something different—and doing that requires a strength most people never have to develop.

So if you’re loving your child fiercely, even through exhaustion and heartbreak and chaos…

If you’re making it work in the quiet corners where no one else sees…

If you’re redefining what family, success, and joy look like…

You’re doing better than you think. 

And you are absolutely not alone. 

If you’re looking for community or support, CHADD is a great resource for families navigating ADHD and related challenges.

Can you relate to this journey?

Drop a comment below or send me a message—I’d love to hear your story.

Sometimes knowing someone else gets it is the first step to not feeling so alone. 💬