Mourning the Childhood You Imagined:
Navigating Parenthood with a Neurodiverse Child
Parenting is full of dreams. When we imagine having children, we think about the activities we’ll do together—sports practices, art classes, group outings, playdates at the park. We envision our kids thriving, laughing, and being embraced by the world. But when reality doesn’t match the dream, it’s a bittersweet process to mourn the childhood you once imagined for your child.
Watching friends take their neurotypical children to sports tournaments, music lessons, and summer camps can stir up a complicated mix of emotions. Jealousy sneaks in, even when you don’t want it to. You feel happy for your friends and their children, but there’s also a pang in your heart, a quiet voice that asks, Why not my child?
For a child with ADHD or ASD, the world doesn’t always fit. Camps, lessons, and sports often aren’t designed with neurodiverse kids in mind. The overstimulation, the structure, or the social demands can make participation a struggle. And when things don’t go well—when your child is asked to leave a lesson or a camp because they’re “too silly,” “too distracted,” or “too much”—it’s crushing.
There’s a sinking feeling when you hear those words. The frustration of knowing your child wants to be part of something but can’t regulate themselves enough to stay. The heartbreak of seeing their excitement turn to disappointment when they’re excluded. And then there’s the guilt that follows: Am I doing enough for him? Am I failing him somehow?
The hardest part, perhaps, is mourning the ideal of childhood you had in your mind. It’s not that you love your child any less—far from it. But letting go of that dream is a loss, and it’s okay to grieve it.
Yet, in mourning that dream, we begin to create a new one. The journey of raising a neurodiverse child may look different, but it can also be full of beauty. You start to seek out spaces where your child is celebrated for who they are, not judged for who they’re not. You find moments of connection and joy that others may overlook—a calm evening after a tough day, a shared laugh over something silly, a small but hard-earned success.
It’s also okay to feel frustrated by the lack of options for neurodiverse kids. There should be more support, more activities that meet them where they are, instead of expecting them to conform. Advocacy for these spaces is vital, and it’s exhausting when you’re already pouring so much into daily life.
If you’re walking this path, you’re not alone. It’s okay to grieve, to feel envious, and to wish things were different. But it’s also okay to take pride in the unique journey you’re on. Your child’s path may not look like anyone else’s, but it is theirs, and they will shine in their own way.
For now, give yourself grace. Celebrate the small victories. And remember: the dream you’re building with your child—though different from the one you imagined—is no less meaningful or filled with love.
#EnjoyYourSilly
Momma Vix