I started to notice something when my daughter was about three years old.
When Tantrums Started Feeling Different
There were certainly ordinary preschool tantrums. But sometimes her reaction seemed completely out of proportion to what had happened.
Once she reached that point, reasoning with her didn’t seem to help. She seemed overwhelmed rather than simply angry that she wasn’t getting what she wanted.
Sometimes those moments became physical. That was one of the things that made me wonder whether what we were seeing was more than typical three- or four-year-old behavior.
At the time, I didn’t understand the difference between a tantrum and a meltdown. I only knew that sometimes it didn’t feel like she was choosing to continue.
It felt like she couldn’t find her way back out of it.
The Unpredictability Was One of the Hardest Parts
One day I could ask her to put on her shoes so we could leave the house, and she’d do it without a problem.
The next day, I could make the exact same request in the exact same way, and it might lead to a long meltdown.
I couldn’t figure out which requests or activities would trigger an outburst.
I also started thinking ahead before ordinary outings. A trip to a store or a meal at a restaurant wasn’t always simple.
I found myself wondering what might trigger an outburst, whether we’d have to leave, or whether I’d be able to help her through it if she became overwhelmed.
There Were Smaller Signs, Too
When we were out in stores, she would talk to me constantly—full conversations the entire time she sat in the cart facing me.
She’s always been curious and engaged, noticing everything and wanting to connect.
People noticed, too. They’d smile and say things like, “I had one just like that,” or “One of mine never stopped talking either.”
At first, I took comfort in it.
Maybe this really was typical.
But eventually I noticed something about those comments.
It was almost always one child.
“One of my kids was just like that.”
“I have four kids, and one of them did that too.”
Not all of them. Just one.
It was a tiny observation, but it stayed with me.
Her Attention Didn’t Look the Way I Expected
I also started noticing something interesting about her attention.
When something fascinated her, she could focus so completely that she sometimes didn’t seem to hear me. She soaked up facts about things she loved—especially animals—and remembered them.
But I could ask her to go upstairs and get her socks, and she’d come back a few minutes later carrying something completely different.
“Where are your socks?”
She’d forgotten.
At the time, those two things seemed almost contradictory to me. How could a child focus so intensely on one thing and completely lose track of something else?
I didn’t have a framework for what I was seeing.
I only have one child, and I didn’t grow up in a world where ADHD, anxiety, and children’s mental health were openly discussed. I didn’t have language for any of this.
I just knew something wasn’t quite lining up.
I Started Asking Other People What They Saw
Because I didn’t have much to compare her behavior to, I started asking questions.
I involved her preschool teachers and asked what they noticed during the week.
This was during the pandemic, when the children were still wearing masks. I remember her teacher telling me that even though she couldn’t see my daughter’s whole face, she could sometimes see the “angry eyebrows.” She could tell when she was becoming agitated.
That feedback mattered because I wasn’t just trying to understand what happened at home anymore. I wanted to know what other adults who spent time with her were seeing, too.
Eventually, We Asked for Help
We talked with her pediatrician, who recommended behavioral therapy.
She began spending an hour each week learning breathing techniques and other coping tools.
At home, we tried fidgets, calming corners—anything that might help.
I remember reaching out to friends, friends of friends, even people I barely knew, trying to find someone who could help me understand what I was seeing.
Eventually, we returned to her pediatrician.
She was five and in preschool when, after further evaluation, she was diagnosed with ADHD and anxiety.
That was the beginning of an entirely new part of our journey—learning more about ADHD, finding the right supports, and slowly beginning to understand some of the things that had confused me for years.
Looking Back
Looking back, none of these things by itself told me my daughter had ADHD.
A preschooler who talks constantly doesn’t necessarily have ADHD. Neither does a child who has tantrums, forgets her socks, or becomes upset in a restaurant.
For me, it was the bigger picture that kept nagging at me.
The intensity of some of her reactions. How difficult it could be for her to calm once she was overwhelmed. The unpredictability. The differences in her attention. And the feeling that everyday life was becoming harder for all of us.
I’m glad I kept asking questions—not because my instincts gave me a diagnosis, but because they told me it was worth asking for help understanding what we were seeing.
If you’re wondering about your own child, you don’t have to figure out the answer yourself.
You can write down what you’re noticing. Ask teachers, caregivers, or other adults who spend time with your child what they’re seeing. And bring those observations to your child’s pediatrician or another qualified professional.
Sometimes the first step isn’t knowing what’s going on.
It’s simply recognizing that you have questions worth asking.
You Might Want to Read Next
- Why Mornings Are So Hard for My ADHD Child (And What Actually Helps)
- When Homework Becomes a Battle for My Child With ADHD: When Do I Stop Pushing?
- How Parenting My Neurodivergent Child Changed the Way I Move Through the World
I’d love to stay connected. I share honest stories and real-life strategies for parenting through ADHD, adoption, and the messy middle of everyday life.
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