Full disclosure: I was emotionally exhausted and wanted to capture this while it was still fresh, so I stream-of-consciousness dumped everything into ChatGPT and had it help organize my thoughts into a readable post. Usually I write the majority of my content myself and use “Chatty” more for editing, structure, brainstorming, and helping my ADHD brain untangle itself.
There are moments, as a parent of a struggling neurodivergent teen, where you suddenly realize your child has been growing the entire time…just not always in the ways society measures.
Kiddo had her first cardiac stress test today. Which sounds adorable if you phrase it like, “baby’s first stress test,” but apparently cardiology frowns upon that kind of humour.
She came home exhausted. Pale. Achy. Just completely wiped.
Earlier in the day I’d gently suggested maybe she crack open her math book for a bit. Later, when I went downstairs to check on her, there was still no math happening.
Instead, she looked at me with this sad little face and said, “Mom…am I a failure? I want to do school and math. I just can’t.”
And honestly? That sentence punched me directly in the soul.
Because I think a lot of neurodivergent kids eventually start confusing “I can’t right now” with “I am bad.”
And the truth is, this kid has been fighting through exhaustion, chronic nausea, dizzy spells, suspected POTS symptoms, executive dysfunction, anxiety, burnout…all while still trying to figure out who she is as a person.
So I told her there was no pressure. That she was sick. That struggling doesn’t make her a failure.
Then somehow, as conversations with teenagers do, we went from discussing math avoidance to tattoos.
Naturally.
She pulled up her tattoo board. We debated what I’d theoretically allow when she turns sixteen. I joked that my bf offered to take her for her first tattoo one day, which honestly feels both sweet and mildly illegal somehow.
At one point she showed me a dragon tattoo, and I said something about spirit animals.
Friends.
When I tell you this child immediately launched into a nuanced discussion about closed Indigenous spiritual practices, colonialism, cultural appropriation, and why my Gen-X “we’re all spiritually connected” worldview maybe wasn’t the progressive masterpiece I thought it was…
Humbled. Absolutely humbled.
At one point I found myself defending things I believed twenty years ago while my chronically ill teenager calmly cross-examined me from under a blanket nest.
We somehow ended up discussing Voodoo, Asatru, comparative religion, archetypes throughout human history, and whether belief systems are universal human attempts to create meaning out of chaos.
You know. Standard post-cardiac-stress-test mother-daughter bonding.
And here’s the thing: She won the debate. (Who am I kidding, she wins every debate!)
Not because I suddenly agreed with every point she made, but because she was thoughtful. Informed. Curious. Nuanced. Passionate.
And because midway through the conversation, when I made a facial expression she didn’t like, she calmly said: “I don’t like when you make that face. It feels condescending.”
No meltdown.
No screaming.
No escalation.
Just direct communication.
Then she told me she was proud of herself for setting a boundary calmly.
And I realized I was proud too.
Because when your kid is struggling with school, mental health, chronic illness, burnout, executive functioning, or just surviving day to day…it’s very easy to start measuring their worth by productivity.
Did they do math?
Did they clean their room?
Did they attend class?
Did they hand things in?
Did they function?
Meanwhile, your child is quietly becoming.
Becoming thoughtful.
Becoming articulate.
Becoming emotionally aware.
Becoming someone capable of critical thinking and self-reflection and ethical nuance.
Those things count too.
Sometimes I think parents like me get so focused on visible milestones that we miss the invisible ones happening right in front of us.
Tonight, my daughter didn’t do math.
But she also politely dismantled her Gen-X mother’s spiritual universalism after a cardiac stress test.
And honestly?
That feels like development too.
I’d love to hear about a moment recently where your child surprised you, connected with you, or reminded you who they’re becoming underneath the struggle.
BellaZinga.Blog 