Some days I’m convinced I’m raising a tiny whirlwind in human form. Other days, I realise I might be one myself. Welcome to life in a neuro-spicy household, where nobody can find a school hat, someone is always humming for no reason, and the mental load feels like a full-time job you didn’t apply for.

Let me set the scene: we were constantly losing things. Not just the usual sock or water bottle. We’re talking school hats, jackets, lunchboxes, swimming bags, and once, a piece of a saxophone. That one was courtesy of our older son, the quiet and cautious one with haemophilia. He’s thoughtful, gentle… and also incredibly forgetful.

Meanwhile, our younger son is the diagnosed one. He’s a hyper, lovable maniac with zero impulse control. He once perfectly pulled off a forward flip into the pool without ever doing it before (and without any warning), just because he thought he’d give it a go. He’s also asked if I could open the door so he could jump off the balcony… you can imagine how that went.

🎵 The Background Noise That Never Stops

Noise is another constant companion in our house. Mindless humming, sound effects, or just general mouth noises that serve no purpose but to slowly erode my sanity. It finally hit me: I don’t cope well with noise or distractions. Wait… is this also ADHD?

🎯 The Hyperfocus Strikes Again

Our younger son will block out the entire world if he’s interested in something (he once spent days reenacting the moment Michael Jackson died… I wish I was joking). He’s also a human encyclopedia of AFL statistics. Not just his favourite team, the Brisbane Lions. Every. Single. Team.

Since his diagnosis, I’ve noticed the hyperfocus in myself as well. I’ll be mid-article, remember I need to pay a bill, go to check the bank account, spot the pantry… and next minute I’m knee-deep in a full kitchen makeover. Hours gone. Zero memory of how I got there. Sound familiar?

🩺 Getting Help

We started seeking help when our son was still under six. The signs had been there since birth. Full of energy, hated sleep, and used to help himself nod off by bashing his head against the wall… or his brother.

The final straw? He concussed himself playing backyard football.

Then came the anger outbursts, the growing anxiety (especially about getting sick, though that didn’t stop him from sucking on his fingers constantly), and mealtimes turned into full-blown hostage negotiations. He stopped eating foods he loved, and bedtime became a battle of wills. Our eldest didn’t feel safe anymore. Our two-year-old started copying everything. It was chaos.

He was masking well at school, which meant help was hard to access. We saw a GP, then eventually a paediatrician, and started trialling medication. So far? Not much luck. And it’s been… a lot.

🤯 Realising It Might Be Us, Too

What we didn’t expect was how much this process would open our eyes to ourselves. My husband and I started spotting all the signs in each other:

• Disorganisation
• Forgetfulness
• Time-blindness
• Noise sensitivity
• Hyperfocus
• Inability to cope with distractions

My husband realised he barely has any childhood memories, a classic sign. The more we learned about ADHD, the more it felt like looking in a mirror.

We’d love to go through the adult diagnosis process, but the reality? It’s expensive, time-consuming, and wildly inaccessible. Waitlists are long, fees are high, and specialists are few and far between. Just one more thing to juggle with everything else.

👦👦 Two Kids, Two Flavours of ADHD

Our two boys couldn’t be more different and yet both are textbook ADHD.

Our eldest (haemophilia, cautious, forgetful) is the one who lost the saxophone piece. Our youngest is the energiser bunny with no brakes. He’ll say or do the wildest thing in the blink of an eye. Parenting both is like playing chess while blindfolded… on a trampoline.

We’ve tried everything:

• Reward charts
• Singing instructions
• Supplements and diet changes
• Mid-argument distractions
• Parenting courses
• Letting them run wild outside (we’ve lost about 20 million balls in the process)

It’s a work in progress. A really hard work in progress. But it’s ours.

💛 What I Want You To Know

Be kind to yourself.

Take breaks.
Laugh when you can (especially at the saxophone incident).
And remember that the chaos might be overwhelming, but it’s also filled with love, determination, resilience, and the occasional moonwalk tribute.

The takeaway?
You’re not broken.
You’re not lazy.
You’re definitely not failing.

Whether it’s your kid, yourself, or both, you’re just a family learning to function in a world that wasn’t built with neurodivergence in mind.