If you had asked me five years ago who I was, I’d probably have answered something like: “I’m a mom,” “I’m tired,” or “I used to wear real pants.” Back then, I didn’t realize motherhood wouldn’t just stretch me or challenge me—it would quietly, completely unmask me. Now, I’m raising three daughters. My oldest is 5, fiercely independent and deeply feeling. The 3-year-old is wild and brilliant, with ADHD that turns every day into an unpredictable symphony. My youngest is 4 months old and already demanding the world on her terms (as she should). None of them ask me to be perfect—they ask me to be present. And in doing so, they are slowly teaching me how to be myself. What my kids teach me about being myself didn’t come from parenting books or neurodivergent Instagram accounts. It came from everyday chaos and tiny, honest moments. So if you’re also a neurodivergent mom navigating motherhood with a full heart and a frazzled brain, I hope this feels like a warm hug.
1. They Don’t Hide Their Needs—and I Shouldn’t Either
My 3-year-old doesn’t hint when she’s dysregulated. She doesn’t tap politely on the door of my patience. She barrels through it, screaming about the texture of her socks or the injustice of her hair clip.
And she’s right. Her needs matter. And she makes sure they’re known.
Meanwhile, I’ve spent most of my adult life suppressing my needs—trying to be chill, easygoing, not too much. But my daughter is reminding me: advocating for what you need isn’t dramatic. It’s survival.
Now I’ve got noise-canceling earplugs next to my coffee mug and I take movement breaks with my baby strapped to my chest. I request help without apologizing. I build sensory-friendly routines into our day because meeting my needs isn’t optional—it’s essential.
2. They Model What Authenticity Really Looks Like
My 5-year-old currently believes she is a cat named Fluffernutter. She meows, hisses, and naps in cardboard boxes. And she does it with full confidence and zero shame.
Watching her reminds me that authenticity isn’t a buzzword. It’s being so fully yourself that you forget to care who’s watching.
And if Fluffernutter can attend the grocery store in cat ears and glitter tights, surely I can stop apologizing for being too loud, too forgetful, too me.
So, yes. I embrace my mismatched socks. Talk openly about my ADHD brain. I laugh at the wrong moments. And I’m done shrinking to fit into someone else’s idea of “normal.”
3. They Feel Fully—Without Shame
My daughters have no chill when it comes to emotions. If one of them is happy, she’s jumping on the couch screaming, “BEST DAY EVER!” If she’s upset, it’s wailing-level grief over a broken banana.
But here’s the thing—they feel it all. Without filters. Without fear. And they recover faster because of it.
As a neurodivergent adult, I’ve spent years learning how to manage emotional intensity. Watching them helps me remember that those big feelings aren’t wrong—they’re human.
I now let myself cry when I’m overwhelmed, laugh obnoxiously when something is funny, and actually feel instead of suppressing it. And when I do that, they see emotional regulation modeled in real time—not the Pinterest version, but the honest one.
If you’re navigating big feelings too, you might like:
🔗 ADHD Co-Regulation Strategies for Families
4. They Make Me Curious Again
The other day my 5-year-old asked, “Why does the moon look like it’s following us?” Then followed up with, “Also, why don’t birds have eyebrows?”
She wasn’t trying to be cute. She really wanted to know.
Their curiosity is wild and relentless—and contagious.
As a neurodivergent mom, I’ve always had a curious brain, but I used to suppress it. I thought asking “too many questions” made me annoying. My girls are undoing that belief. Now I ask my own questions again. I deep-dive into rabbit holes about child psychology and ADHD research. I try new routines and throw them out when they flop.
What my kids teach me about being myself is that curiosity is not a flaw. It’s how we grow, connect, and show up fully.
5. They Live Fully in the Moment
If you want to learn mindfulness, watch a toddler chase a butterfly in the backyard like it’s the last living thing on Earth.
My daughters are present in a way I rarely am. Being neurodivergent often means my mind is in twelve places at once—overthinking, overstimulated, overwhelmed. But my girls pull me back to now.
We lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling fan. Play “pretend nap” because it’s the only game I can play while lying down. We read the same interactive storybook 17 times in one sitting because it’s her current favorite.
And it’s in these moments—small, quiet, chaotic—that I feel most myself.
6. They Repeat What I Say About Myself
Once, after I called myself “a hot mess” for forgetting lunch again, my 3-year-old told her baby sister, “It’s okay. Mama’s just messy-brained today.”
Oof. Talk about a mirror.
That moment showed me how closely they watch me. How they absorb not just my words but my self-image.
Now I say things like:
💬 “I forgot, but I’m working on remembering.”
💬 “Today’s a hard day, and that’s okay.”
💬 “I’m not broken. I’m learning how to work with my brain.”
Because what my kids teach me about being myself is that I owe it to them—and to me—to speak with compassion.
7. They Know Rest Is Necessary
You know who naps like it’s her full-time job? My 4-month-old.
You know who crashes on the couch mid-tantrum and calls it “recharging”? My 3-year-old.
And you know who finally learned that sitting down during naptime doesn’t make her lazy? Me.
Rest is not weakness. My girls live this truth. And they’re giving me permission to reclaim it.
Now I curl up with my weighted throw blanket, diffuse some calming lavender oil, and actually rest while the baby naps. Not scroll. Or clean. Not “just do one more thing.”
Favorite Tools That Help Me Stay Grounded
- 🔗 Noise-Canceling Earplugs – Perfect for sensory overwhelm
- 🔗 Weighted Throw Blanket – My go-to for calming the chaos
- 🔗 ADHD-Friendly Planner for Moms – Helps me prioritize without panic
- 🔗 Interactive Storybooks for Kids – Keeps them engaged while I breathe
Related Posts You Might Like:
- 🔗 Quiet Time Routines for Kids With ADHD
- 🔗 The Invisible Load: What You Don’t See But I Always Carry
Final Thoughts
I used to think motherhood would shape me into some better, more put-together version of myself.
Instead, my daughters have gently unwrapped the parts of me I was hiding. They’ve invited me to unmask. To unlearn. To unbecome everything that wasn’t mine in the first place.
And so, when someone asks who I am now?
I say: I’m a mom of three wild, wonderful girls. I’m neurodivergent. I’m still learning. And thanks to them, I’m finally learning how to be fully myself.
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