Nobody Told Me The Hardest Part Would Be Forgetting Who I Was Before

It's 7.43am. You've been awake since 5.30. The packed lunch is made — two of them, actually, because the first one was wrong. I'm still not entirely clear what was wrong with it, but apparently the positioning of the Babybel was offensive.

Your child is wearing one shoe and telling you with complete conviction that they definitely don't have PE today, despite the PE kit in their hand.

You have not had a hot drink since Tuesday.

Here's what nobody tells you when you're in the thick of parenting an ADHD child.

They tell you about the diagnosis, the medication decisions, the school meetings, the waiting lists, the meltdowns, the forms, the phone calls that go unreturned for three weeks.

They do not tell you that somewhere in the middle of all of that, you quietly disappeared.

Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just gradually — in the way a good jumper goes bobbly. You don't notice it happening and then one day you look down and think, oh. When did that happen.

There's a specific kind of tiredness that comes with this that I don't think has been properly named yet. It's not just physical exhaustion. It's the cognitive load of holding everything at once. The hypervigilance. The constant monitoring. Is today going to be a good day or a hard one? It's a supply teacher. Right.

It's the emotional labour of fighting for your child in every meeting, every email, every polite-but-firm phone call. The performance of calm when you are, in fact, furious.

And underneath all of it — the guilt. The specific, merciless, ever-present guilt of wondering whether you're doing enough.

You know what I've never seen in an ADHD information leaflet?

A single sentence about you.

They cover the child. The strategies, the interventions, the diagnosis criteria. All important. But you — the person making the appointments, fighting the battles, crying in the car park after a grim parents' evening — you get nothing. "Seek support if needed", tucked at the bottom like a terms and conditions nobody reads.

I want to say something to you very directly.

You are not a support act in your own life.

The ADHD journey turns you into an expert in your child, a case manager, an advocate, a meltdown specialist. It makes you very good at thinking about someone else. And in the process, it quietly crowds out the question of what you actually need.

Not what your child needs. Not what would make the next CAMHS appointment go better.

What you need.

This is not a wellness post. I'm constitutionally incapable of ending with "so why not try a bubble bath." What I think most parents in this position actually need is to feel less alone in something genuinely isolating. To have someone say yes, that is as hard as it feels. And to carve out space — actual, non-negotiable space — to be a person, not just a parent.

A depleted parent is less effective in the school meeting. Has a shorter fuse at 5pm. Makes decisions from exhaustion rather than clarity. This isn't a guilt trip — it's the opposite. Taking time for yourself is, in the most practical and unsexy sense of the word, part of doing this job well.

And you deserve it anyway. Just as a person. You deserve it anyway.

Somewhere in the last few years, you put yourself down and forgot to pick yourself back up. That's not a character flaw. It's what this journey does to people who care deeply and are fighting hard.

You're doing something really hard.

You're also allowed to still exist as a person while you do it.

Janine I am the founder of ADHD in Practice — coaching and resources for UK parents navigating ADHD, the SEND system, and themselves.

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