Parenting Neurodivergent Children: Lessons From A Psychologist

I am a psychologist. I am also a solo parent of three neurodivergent children.

For a long time, I assumed those two facts would neatly complement each other. I had the training, language, the tools. Surely that would make this easier.

It didn’t. In many ways, it made it harder.

My professional background is in mental health, not neurodiversity. I was trained in methods that largely assume a neurotypical way of thinking, so I was trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.

I knew how to work with anxiety, low mood and negative thought patterns. What I didn’t know, not really, was how profoundly different the inner worlds of neurodivergent children can be. Most of what I thought would help, didn’t.

I found myself despairing at the energy it took to repeat myself 10 times while trying to meet the opposing needs of two children with ADHD (attention deficit hyperactivity disorder) and one with ASD (autism spectrum disorder).

What soothes one child dysregulates another. What motivates one overwhelms the next. My home was a veritable cauldron of emotions. Many of them mine.

Sticker charts and rewards had little impact. Negative consequences were met with big emotions. My explanations triggered zoning out, eye rolling or shame on their part that left me feeling guilty.

I had to confront an uncomfortable truth: there is no formula. No book or podcast that quite held the answer. No single ‘right way’. In my work I would help patients recognise that we cannot control the world around us – only our interpretation of it.

Yet this was a stark reminder that I was failing to swallow my own medicine. I felt I was double failing – as a parent and psychologist.

The biggest shift had to come from me. From my mindset. I had to change my standards and my expectations. Of them, and of myself.

Curiosity was needed. Not control. Behaviour is communication, especially when children lack the words, the regulation or the energy to explain what’s wrong.

When my child was melting down, refusing, exploding or shutting down, the question wasn’t “How do I stop or prevent this?” but “What aren’t they getting that they need?”

Safety? Predictability? Sensory relief? Connection? Understanding?

That question changed everything.

I had to be willing to trial things, be more patient, see what worked and accept that many strategies wouldn’t. Asking questions could make things worse, so often I would do something and see if they joined in.

I removed noise, offered food or cuddles, gave space, removed uncertainty, and created ways to move or release tension. It’s amazing how roaring like a lion, pushing away the wall, singing what your needs are (opera style) or having below waist pillow fights can do for breaking the spiral of intense emotion.

It didn’t always help. I also had to accept something that many parents struggle with: I cannot fix everything. I cannot always be responsible for my child’s happiness. Some things I can change. Others I can only adapt around. And some things I must accept, even when I wish they were different.

That acceptance didn’t come naturally. I often feel like a disastrous parent. There are days (many) when I lose patience, miss signals or get it wrong entirely.

Being a psychologist doesn’t make me immune to exhaustion or self-doubt. If anything, it made the gap between what I know and what I can do when I’m exhausted at 7:30pm on a Tuesday painfully obvious.

Learning to be kind to myself has been as important as learning how to adapt to support my children.

This journey is also why I started Hero Cards. I needed something practical to address the negative thinking and emotional overwhelm that so many children experience, but are never explicitly taught how to navigate. I certainly wasn’t.

The tools that have helped me most in my own life are the cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) skills I learned during my training: noticing thoughts, naming feelings, finding alternatives, reframing the negative, being kinder to ourselves.

I wanted children to able to access these earlier, before problems set in.

Parenting neurodivergent children has taught me to keep an open mind, trial, adapt what I can support, and accept what I can’t.

I’m still learning. Every day. And maybe that’s the point.

Dr Emmie Fulton is a psychologist who has worked in the NHS, universities and public health departments. She is also the founder of Hero Cards – Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) based tools for kids to support helpful thinking and coping with life’s challenges.