Parenting a Child Who Learns Differently

There's a moment, as a mother, when you realise your child experiences the world differently to the way you expected — and that the path you imagined isn't the one you're on. For us, that child is my son Jordan. And learning to parent the child I have, rather than the one a textbook describes, has been one of the hardest, most humbling, most beautiful journeys of my life.

Jordan lives with ADHD, and he is also dyslexic. For a long time, the world mostly handed us the difficult parts of that story first — the reports, the meetings, the comparisons, the well-meaning advice. It's easy, in those early days, to start seeing your child as a list of challenges to be managed. But that has never been the truth of who he is.

He isn't behind. He isn't broken. He simply learns in a different language to the one school was built to speak.

Because here's what I've come to know about my boy: Jordan is bright, funny, deeply feeling and wildly creative. He notices things the rest of us walk straight past. He asks questions that stop me in my tracks. The same mind that finds a worksheet impossible can build, imagine and connect in ways that genuinely astonish me. His difference isn't a deficit — it's a different operating system, and once I stopped trying to force him to run mine, so much changed for both of us.

What learning differently has taught me

I won't pretend I have it all worked out — I don't, and I'm wary of anyone who claims to. But a few things have become true for our family, and if you're walking a similar road, maybe they'll mean something to you too.

Your child is not a problem to be fixed. The goal was never to make Jordan "normal." It was to help him feel safe, understood, and confident in who he is — and to find the tools and environments where he can actually thrive.

You will have to become their advocate. Systems are busy and stretched, and no one will fight for your child the way you will. Ask the questions. Push for the assessments. Find the teachers and therapists who *see* him. You are allowed to be the squeaky wheel; that's love in action.

Progress isn't linear, and comparison is poison. There are wonderful weeks and there are hard ones. Measuring him against other children — or against who he was last term — only steals the joy from how far he's actually come.

Look after the whole child. So much of our journey has been about the things around the diagnosis: routine, sleep, movement, nutrition, time in nature, and feeling genuinely safe and loved at home. When those foundations are steady, everything else has a better chance.

And look after yourself, mama. This road can be lonely and exhausting. You are allowed to grieve the expectations you let go of, and you are allowed to be proud of how fiercely you show up. Both can be true.

To the parent who needed to read this

If you're in the thick of it right now — the reports, the worry, the wondering if you're getting any of it right — I want you to hear this: you are not alone, and your child is not less. Different is not lesser. Some of the most extraordinary minds in the world learned exactly the way ours do.

I'm sharing our story not because we've "arrived," but because I remember how much I needed to hear another mom say it out loud in those early days. So consider this me saying it to you: keep going. Keep advocating. Keep seeing the whole, brilliant child in front of you. They are so lucky to have you in their corner.

With love,
Shan 🤍

If you'd ever like to chat about any of this, my inbox is always open — you can reach me here.