I was absolutely in love with my baby, but I was full of fear, too. What if I messed him up? What if I wasn’t calm enough, good enough, strong enough? I watched other people hold him, people with steady energy and grounded bodies, and they could calm him when I couldn’t. My own body was too tense, too wound up. I blamed myself.
The transition from young woman to mother with undiagnosed ADHD was earth-shattering. Not because I didn’t want it — but because the weight of responsibility landed all at once. There’s no onboarding for motherhood. It’s all heart and hormones and instincts and a thousand invisible pressures. I felt every one of them.
But here’s what I didn’t know then: I would find my own way. And it wouldn’t be perfect — it didn’t need to be. My baby had love. He had warmth. He had shelter, food, and care. And that was enough.
ADHD or not, I believe many mothers feel this way. We worry. We overthink. We wonder if we’re doing it right. But perfection was never the requirement. Presence, even messy presence, matters more.
And babies? They’re surprisingly good at letting us know what they need. Their signals are loud. Their rhythms are raw and real. You don’t have to be a baby-whisperer to hear them — you just have to show up, even in your own imperfect way.
Motherhood with ADHD is beautiful. It’s brutal. It’s life-altering and all-consuming. It’s never being alone again — not in your house, not in your heart. It’s a kind of love that breaks you open and knits you back together.
If you're a new mom with ADHD — or wondering what ADHD looks like in motherhood — I’ll tell you what I wish someone told me:
You don’t have to do it all. You won’t.
Your child needs you, not a perfectly tidy home.
Let the dishes wait. Let the floor be dusty. Let something give — and let it not be you.
Maybe you are alone in this. Maybe it's harder than anyone sees. But even then — it's often easier to show up for your child than for yourself. And that counts.
You’re not failing. You’re doing the work. And being a mother with ADHD isn't the end of the journey — it's the beginning of a deeper kind of strength.
Enjoy the moments when you can. Breathe through the ones you can’t. And when in doubt: love, feed, hold, and try again tomorrow.
