The momma who never knew

Embarking on this journey, I feel compelled to share my story. It's vital for me to be candid about my life, as it lays the foundation for my passion to be heard. Please know that my intention is not to hurt anyone's feelings, but to simply be honest.

Growing up in a southern family, I was raised far from tradition. In my hometown, the unspoken rule was to be seen and not heard, to conform to societal norms of what constituted "normal." However, my reality was far from typical. I was raised in a household marked by a drug-addicted father, frequently absent, and an emotionally immature mother. As a result, I often found myself assuming the role of the parent in both relationships. Reflecting now, I recognize that both my parents likely grappled with untreated and unmanaged ADHD, exacerbating their own personal traumas.

My childhood was a landscape marred by neglect and emotional, mental, and at times, physical abuse. Forgetfulness, disorganization in both mind and space, and struggles with emotional regulation were constants in my life. These challenges fostered feelings of inadequacy, a penchant for people-pleasing, self-loathing, and abysmally low self-esteem. It's difficult to encapsulate the entirety of my experiences in just a few words; suffice it to say, my journey could fill volumes.

I rarely felt seen for who I truly was; rather, I wore a mask, desperately trying to convince others of my "normalcy." Walking on eggshells became second nature, a coping mechanism in a household marked by explosive tempers and emotional turbulence. I internalized everything, turning negative emotions inward, longing to be heard, listened to, and valued for more than just what I could offer.

Enter my husband, whom I met in high school. Diagnosed with ADHD himself, he became a pivotal figure in my life, not in the clichéd knight-in-shining-armor sense, but as a companion in healing. Together, albeit slowly and with numerous stumbling blocks, we navigated the complexities of our relationship. We married young, with all the naivety that entails, and soon welcomed our first child.

I subscribed to the notion that life followed a predetermined script: boy meets girl, they marry, start a family, and live happily ever after. Reality, however, was far messier. Faced with the stark realization that my expectations were unrealistic and my coping mechanisms flawed, I grappled with feelings of inadequacy, perpetually trying to keep up appearances in a world of "perfect wives."

The turning point came in a moment of despair, exhaustion, and emotional turmoil. Alone with my children while my husband was deployed, I found myself at a breaking point. The echoes of my own childhood trauma reverberated as my 18-month-old son wailed inconsolably, and my daughter looked at me with tear-filled eyes, uttering words that cut me to the core: "I hate you." In a moment of rage, I lashed out, repeating the cycle of abuse I had endured.

That moment served as a catalyst for change, a reckoning with the patterns of dysfunction that had defined my life. It was a pledge to break the cycle, to nurture my children in ways I had never been nurtured. Through therapy, self-help books, and introspection, I embarked on a journey of self-discovery and healing.

Years later, as we sought to understand my son's ADHD diagnosis, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Recognizing my own struggles mirrored those of my son, I delved into research, discovering a wealth of misinformation surrounding ADHD in women. Suddenly, everything clicked into place; there was nothing inherently "wrong" with me, just a different way of processing the world.

By sharing my story, I hope to shed light on the complexities of ADHD and its impact on individuals and families. Abuse is never acceptable, but understanding its roots can foster empathy and healing and to know it was never your fault. For those raising children with ADHD, it's a reminder that they are special, unique individuals who defy conventional norms. They don't fit in the box—and that's perfectly okay.

With love,

Sam