I think a great way to get to know someone is by learning about their pet peeves.
Here are some of mine: Bad salsa (the kind you dip your tortilla chips into). When the Audible voice speaks too damn slowly. When a child is referenced according to a diagnosis, not to mention the fact that the medical industry still calls it a “Disorder”. That’s another blog post for another day.
Alrighty, let’s land on that third one.
I’m in a giant Facebook group roughly titled “Moms with ADHD Kids” and if it were up to me, we’d change that title.
My child isn’t ADHD.
To put it more precisely, because Mercury in Aries over here, my children aren’t ADHD.
Once upon a time, my children were diagnosed with ADHD. (Side note: I no longer subscribe to the idea of a diagnosis for my children).
And their “behavior” has been challenging, to say the least, but they are not ADHD.
Your child’s behavior might sometimes be disruptive to the peaceful flow you’d like to see in your home more often, but they’re not ADHD.
She’s not explosive.
He’s not problematic.
And the sooner we stop judging our children as these, the sooner we can create true confidence in our parenting and peace in our homes.
Are you viewing your child and his behavior through the lens of judgment, fear, worry, grief or resentment? So often we do (I SURE DID) and we don’t have the foggiest clue we’re doing it.
Are you viewing your child and her behavior through the lens of compassion and unconditional love? Those lenses are much easier to put on when you see yourself through them first.
I completely understand this is difficult in the moments they’re yelling (you’re yelling?) or crying or shutting way down or displaying the behaviors that send you into fear or anger. That’s why we need to unpack our own stuff (resentment, grief, loss, sadness, anger, etc.), ground the hell out of ourselves before entering an emotionally-charged moment with our children, especially the Manifestor children, and learn to parent with intention, and by design, not by the seat of our pants.
I understand the fear, the worry, and the stress. I’ve been there. More often than I care to remember.
That’s what a culture of “disorder” can do to a weary mama.
A culture where your heart-felt concern for your child turns into a medical disorder. An illness. A disease of some sort.
My children are 16 and 20 now. We’re on the other side of some hellish days, weeks, and months. Am I ever grateful for that.
I’m also grateful to myself to have demonstrated the courage to unpack my stuff. And grateful to my higher self and my inner child (Little Sabrina who experienced excruciating loss at age 5, 6 and beyond) for the courage to ask heart-wrenching questions that revealed incredibly healing answers.
If your children are young, I’m glad you’re here. If your children are not so young, I’m glad you’re here.
I’d be honored to become part of your village.
You are such a strong mom. Often, too strong. It’s time you let yourself be supported.