If you’re a mum reading this with a niggling gut feeling that something’s not quite right with your child, this is for you.
I’ve been there. I am there. What started as small differences with my daughter in preschool. Not smiling on cue, clinging to one friend, not responding to her name. Grew into years-long battle to get her the support I knew she needed. We’ve faced the shrugs, the “she’s just shy” comments, the paperwork that didn’t line up, and the complete emotional burnout that comes with constantly advocating for a child who’s struggling to be understood.
This blog isn’t a fix-it guide. It’s a hug, a nod, a “me too” for the mums out there in the trenches! Especially if you’re doing it as an ADHD mum yourself. You’re not overthinking it. You’re not being dramatic. You’re seeing your child. Keep going.
The Early Signs No One Seemed to See
I first noticed something was different when my daughter was in preschool. We even had her hearing tested because she didn’t respond to her name. At first, we thought maybe it was glue ear. She also wasn’t a smiley child, not in the way people expect toddlers to be. Then we moved her to a new nursery, and it was like she just shut down. She became anxious, avoided crowds, stopped speaking up. Her little sister ended up doing most of the talking for her. Her hands were constantly in her mouth. My gut said, something deeper is going on.
Brushed Off, Again and Again
When we brought our concerns to the GP, we were met with “It’s probably an ear infection.” Drops were given. Wax was blamed. But it didn’t feel like something temporary, this was ongoing, and it wasn’t shifting. The school wasn’t much different. “She’s just shy.” That old classic. But we knew better. She fixated on one child at a time. She didn’t play with groups. She didn’t speak up for herself. We weren’t anxious, we were being honest.
A Meltdown That Changed Everything
The real turning point came during a picnic at the park. A bee flew too close. Freya had been stung before, so we understood a little fear… but her reaction was huge. Full-blown meltdown. No words. Couldn’t be grounded. Couldn’t be comforted. I had to take her to the car while trying to stay calm myself. When we moved to another park later, one with no bees, she suddenly relaxed. It was like watching two completely different children. That was the moment I knew: This isn’t just fear. This is overwhelm. Sensory overload. Something neurological is happening here.
The CAMHS Loop and Piecing It All Together
We pushed for CAMHS support and started documenting everything, tics that showed up during COVID, intense impulsivity, and struggles with control. Around the same time, I was diagnosed with ADHD as an adult, and suddenly things started clicking. I recognised behaviours in her that I remembered from my own childhood. It was like staring into my past.
Luckily, because it was during COVID, we didn’t need school backing at first to get CAMHS involved. And thank goodness for that, because…
When School Misses the Point
School didn’t take it seriously. Not because they were cruel. I truly believe they just saw me as an over-anxious mum. Freya was doing okay academically, and because they were giving her things like headphones and quiet space, they thought it was “enough.” But for me, a child needing headphones in class is not just a quirk. That’s a red flag.
In Year 4, the school’s paperwork didn’t match mine, so CAMHS refused our referral. It wasn’t until Year 5, when everything escalated and the school couldn’t manage her behaviour anymore, that they finally understood. But by then, we were already behind.
The Impact on Me as an ADHD Mum
This journey has taken everything out of me. And I don’t say that for sympathy, I say it for honesty. For five years, I’ve had to leave my child screaming and crying at the school gates. I’ve seen her headbutting walls, telling me she feels unsafe. I’ve built a calm zone at home for her, created routines, and fought every battle alone when it felt like nobody else would.
I had to give up work. The daily stress, the emotional toll of seeing her suffer and still having to function, was just too much. I became her researcher, her advocate, her therapist, her everything. I’ve filled out her EHCP paperwork. I’ve chased referrals. I’ve called mental health services, and I’ve pushed the school to act. I’ve done all of it on fumes. And now, we wait for the CDC referral, 25 weeks long. while managing this transition to secondary school. It’s too little, too late. But I fought for it, and I’ll keep fighting.
If You’re Just Starting This Journey…
It’s hard. It’s so hard. And the system is not built for girls. We know this now. Girls mask, they internalise, they tick quietly in the background, and that’s why they slip through the net.
But please, if you’ve got that gut feeling… don’t ignore it. Keep pushing. Keep writing things down. Keep collecting evidence. You will get there. It just takes time, and energy you never knew you had.
Let your child know you’re fighting for them. Not to “label” them or put them in a box, but to help them understand their own brain, their own wiring, and give them the tools to navigate life. Let them know they are not failing! They’re just not being supported properly (yet).
And please, find support for you, too. Whether it’s a local parent group, an online community, or just someone who’ll have a cuppa with you and let you rant! it matters. I go to a parent group and it’s been a game-changer. Just to be listened to. Just to not feel alone.
You’ve got this, mum. Even when it doesn’t feel like it. Even when you’re shattered. You know your child better than anyone, and that is your superpower.
The Messy Mum Virtual Assistant 