I'm Sorry for What I Said Before My Meds Kicked In (and After They Wore Off) - ADHD Parenting Survival Guide: Mornings, Mayhem & Mild Regret

Ifyou’ve ever been screamed at by someone in their underwear while holding a capsule and a cup of water like it’s a sacred offering — congrats, you’re one of us. ADHD mornings aren’t for the weak. And neither are nights. The in-between? Slightly more civilized... depending on dosage.

Let me paint you a picture. Actually, let me paint you a whole damn mural.

Part One Morning Mayhem: A Slow-Motion Train Wreck

Kei doesn’t exactly "wake up" on school days. He rises from the depths like a groggy vampire who hates sunlight, sound, and your general presence. It takes about 15 minutes for him to come to. During this time, I usually stand there whispering sweet nothings like, "Rise and shine. Time for all little boys and girls to get up and get ready for school," while avoiding eye contact and sudden movement. (Sidebar: That little gem came from my mom, who used to say it in the calmest, most sing-song voice — like Mary Poppins if she’d had a Jersey accent and a diet coke addiction. And so, now I use it as a gentle warning before the eye of the storm.)

Then I begin the sacred ritual of presenting the ADHD meds. This kicks off the daily 13-minute game of NOPE:

• "No, I'm not taking that."

• "No, you can't make me take it."

• Runs away (naked, of course — because why wear clothes when you can streak through the kitchen?)

  
  

Eventually, after I corner him like a squirrel in the pantry, he agrees to take the capsule... usually with a suspicious side-eye and a dramatic sigh. Then comes The Dressing Gauntlet.

He won’t just put clothes on. That would be too pedestrian. No, I have to hand him each item individually as he barks wardrobe orders like a fashion-forward drill sergeant. Meanwhile, he hurls verbal glitter bombs:

• "I hate you."

• "You ruined my life."

• "I wish you never adopted me."

• "It's not fair. Why do I have to go to school? When I'm president, I'm going to make a law that kids don't have to go to school."

  (Bold of him to plan a legislative policy while wearing his underwear backwards and trying to convince me that deodorant is optional.)

• "I'm going to hit you." (He never does and never would, but the drama is Oscar-worthy.)

By the time he’s halfway through breakfast, the meds have kicked in and he morphs from feral raccoon to mildly apologetic teen. That’s when I get the daily redemption arc:

Me: "Is there anything you want to say?"

Kei: "I’m sorry for saying... [insert insult du jour]."

Then we use the car ride to school for a crash course in Impulse Control 101. Teachers get the best version of him — calm, focused, semi-regulated — thanks to the sweet, sweet magic of extended-release meds and an afternoon booster dose. Unless it’s a weekend.

Then I get to see the unfiltered version: fun, charismatic, and hyper-focused on boxing, drums, and all the things he loves. He’s fabulous. Probably because he's doing what he wants, not what he has to.

Impulse Control Tips for Fellow Chaos Navigators

• Don’t take it personally. Impulse ≠ intent.

• Try scripts: "What can we try next time when your brain feels out of control?"

• Give choices to create the illusion of power: "Take meds in the kitchen or bathroom?"

• Use visual timers or waiting tools to ride out the 40-minute activation window.

• Give their unmedicated alter ego a name and a warning label.. (see below)

Strike Force: Activated. Meds pending. Sanity questionable.

Why We Gave the Chaos a Name (Hello, Strike Force)

We created an alter ego for Kei’s unmedicated brain because I didn’t want him to see himself as the kid who’s “bad,” “mean,” or “always in trouble.” That stuff he blurts out when he’s dysregulated? That’s not the real Kei — that’s his alter ego. Kei’s chose the name Strike Force — sounds cool, but trust me, he’s more chaos than superhero. Kei is sweet, thoughtful, and cuddly. Strike Force wants to fight the air, outlaw school, and throw shade like it’s his job

By giving his impulsive, out-of-control moments a separate identity, it gives him space to say, “That wasn’t me, that was Strike Force.” It helps him reflect without shame, learn without self-blame, and take back control without feeling broken. Kei is kind, funny, and brilliant. Strike Force? He's a little chaotic, a little spicy, and absolutely banned from making major decisions.

It might sound silly, but it works for him. It creates a buffer between the behavior and the boy — and that buffer is often the difference between spiraling and self-awareness. Some people may disagree but we don't listen to them.

Midday Peace (aka The Golden Hour)

This is when he’s regulated. I’m only mildly traumatized and waiting for the impending doom of the "wear-off." We reflect, we high-five, and I pretend I didn’t cry into my coffee that very morning.

Part 2 Evening Escapades : Meds Are Gone, Sanity Is Optional

Shower time arrives. Or as Kei calls it, “Mom’s daily betrayal.” You’d think I asked him to soak in lava.

Then it’s time for the world-famous nightly lie:

Me: "Did you brush your teeth?"

Kei: "Yup."

Spoiler: He absolutely did not. I do the TSA tooth check — and sure enough, there’s a neon layer of Taki dust on his molars. Time to escort him back to the sink while pretending this isn’t a psychological thriller.

I give a generous 20-minute countdown until lights out. But once I say “Kei, bedtime,” you’d think I triggered a fire alarm.

• "It’s not bedtime!"

• "You didn’t tell me!"

• "Why are you doing this to me?"

• "I'm not talking to you!"

• "You lied to me!"

• Cue full meltdown with bonus tears and conspiracy theories.

  
  

I tell him to go to the bathroom. He willingly goes, but stands at the toilet for a full minute doing absolutely nothing — just to prove a point.

Kei: "See? I didn’t have to go."

Once he finally gets into bed, within 10 minutes I hear, "I’m thirsty," and my personal favorite, "I have to go to the bathroom." Ugh. So he gets back up, gets water, and then finally goes to the bathroom.

Nighttime Hacks That Sometimes Work

• Repetition is key. Front-load expectations multiple times.

• Use visual checklists to stay on track.

• Body doubling for hygiene routines — just be present, don’t even talk.

• Build in 10–20 minutes of chill decompression before bedtime.

• Leave a closed bottle of water next to their nightstand.

  
  

Final Thoughts from the Front Lines of ADHD Parenting

ADHD parenting is like Groundhog Day with plot twists. It’s exhausting, repetitive, and requires Jedi-level patience. But somewhere between the chaos and the capsules, there are real moments of connection. They don’t cancel out the hard stuff, but they keep you going.

And let's be honest, I’m not perfect. Far from it. I don’t always have endless patience. Some days, I lose my temper. I’m a hot-headed East Coast Italian-American with a big mouth and a bigger temper. Sometimes, in order to calm him down, I have to match his chaos with equal volume and energy just to break through the static. Parenting isn’t about sainthood — it’s about survival. Regret the yelling? Sure. But this is East Coast parenting—we run on volume, sarcasm, and vibes.

Just know you’re not alone. If you’re living the Meds On / Meds Off life — I see you. I salute you. And I’m probably standing next to you in the bathroom asking, “Did you actually brush?”

Stay neuro-jammin’. Kei’s witching hour just hit—send snacks and backup.

— Tara

Chief Chaos Coordinator, Capsule Chaser, and Taki Teeth Inspector

Strike Force Alter Ego | Youth Short Sleeve T-Shirt | ADHD Life

Wanna suit up your favorite little chaos gremlin in official Strike Force gear? Click HERE to grab the freshly dropped “Strike Force” Youth Tee and let the mayhem commence. Capes not included—but sarcasm is.