A Day in the Life of an ADHD Mum

Morning: The Light Switch

Why is it that when you wake up in the morning, your shoulders already feel tight before you’ve even got out of bed? It’s like a light switch for ADHD mums that doesn’t go out until you’re finally

asleep.

From the moment you open your eyes, your brain is already scanning — the school run, work, meals, remembering appointments, defending your child’s needs, keeping the peace with siblings. And that’s before you’ve even had a cup of tea.

Your day begins with trying — desperately — to get your ADHD child through the same morning tasks they face every day. You hope today will be different, without the arguments or tears. You try changing your wording, adjusting your tone, taking a new approach. Deep down you’re hoping, maybe today I’ll get it right.

The School Run Struggle

You might make it to school on time — but then it starts. The judging eyes of other parents when your child refuses to go into the “blue room” because they want the “red room.”

You smile, trying to look calm, lowering your voice so you don’t seem harsh. It’s not working — you knew it wouldn’t. So you take your child aside, away from the audience, and calm them the only way you know how: with a hug and a chocolate finger.

It works, but the guilt stays. You walk out of the classroom with a smile plastered on your face while inside you feel like a failure. You can almost hear the whispers — the “difficult” parent, the “challenging” child. And yet, there’s relief too. Relief that for a couple of hours, you don’t have to fight the battles. Then guilt again, for even feeling that.

Home and Overwhelm

Back home, you put the kettle on. Just 10 minutes to myself, you tell yourself. The TV goes on, the phone comes out… and suddenly an hour has passed.

The guilt rushes in — you should have been doing something. Overwhelm floods you as the endless list of tasks comes crashing back. So you grab a piece of paper to write it all down — but then you think, actually, if I just hoover and put the toys away, that’ll make the biggest difference.

You hoover. Then glance at the clock. Lunch time. You stop — because everyone has lunch, right?

Suddenly, you remember the dentist appointment you need to book. The phone’s in the kitchen, so you’ll do it when you take your plate in. You never do.

With only 1 hour and 45 minutes before pick-up, you rush around cleaning the kitchen, bathroom, putting the washing on, hoovering the stairs. Realising you’ve no rice for tea, you dash to Tesco before school pick-up — because shopping with your child is the last thing you want to face. Guilt follows, for even feeling that.

You get in the car, remember the dentist again, but the engine’s already running. Later, you tell yourself.

The Playground Meltdown

Standing in the playground, you watch other mums chatting and laughing. Anxiety builds in your chest as you dread the moment the kids come out, knowing the teacher might call you over.

When they do, you half-listen, already preparing to defend your child in your mind. You smile, nod, walk away, thinking: What does he know anyway?

And then it starts — your child’s meltdown. Your heart races as you try to guide them, but your words bounce off like rubber bullets. You remind yourself, This is ADHD, this is their brain trying to cope, this isn’t about me. But the judgmental stares of other parents pierce through, making it feel like a personal attack.

You breathe, maybe offer a hug, maybe a chocolate finger. Nothing works. So you move quickly through the playground, heading for the car — your safe space, where you can finally exhale. Relief comes, but so does guilt. The same questions swirl again: Did I handle that right? Could I have done more? They never settle, because your nervous system won’t let them.

The Final Battle: Bedtime

Finally, bedtime arrives, and your shoulders tense as you prepare for the last fight of the day. You hope — maybe tonight they’ll be so tired they’ll fall asleep straight away. No chance.

Two more hours of arguing: “I’m not tired.” “Why are you still awake?” “If I have to go to bed, so should you.” “I can go to bed when I like.” Back and forth, until finally, after the seventh trip back to their room, they’re asleep.

For the next couple of hours, there’s calm. But calm doesn’t mean peace — it means staring into space, wondering where the day went. Overwhelmed, drained, invisible. Feeling not listened to, not valued, not loved. Feeling not enough. Exhausted.

You cling to those quiet hours, wishing they’d last longer, because you know tomorrow will be the same all over again.

And then it hits you: I didn’t phone the dentist. I’ll do it tomorrow.

Oh I wish

The Reality

This is what it means to parent an ADHD child while carrying your own ADHD traits. Every day is a tightrope walk between your child’s needs, your own brain, and the world’s expectations.

It’s relentless. It’s exhausting. And yet, you keep going.