My Neurodiverse Kid Makes More Sense To Me Than My ‘Normal’ Kid

Last week, my daughter, who is 16 and in tenth grade, stood onstage at a school assembly, and introduced the Neurodiversity Club she co-founded. She talked about being diagnosed with ADHD and dyslexia, and her personal experiences with advocating for herself while navigating school, teachers, accommodations, tests, homework, and friends, when her brain processes things differently than most of her “normal” peers.

I sat in the audience next to my husband, trying not to ugly-cry as she read her speech, my hand shaking as I held my phone to record her. I couldn’t get over how effortlessly confident, articulate, funny, and open she was in sharing such personal experiences with hundreds of kids. I remembered how six years earlier, when she was first diagnosed, I worried about how, even if, she’d be able to keep up academically, and if her neurodivergence would affect how she fit in socially. Now here she was, confidently reframing her own narrative, and inspiring other kids to do the same.

My 13-year-old son, a neurotypical, super-athletic, gregarious seventh grader, was seated behind us with his friends. When I turned around to share my excitement with him (okay, I see now that was my bad!), he was mid eye roll. “What?” he shrugged defensively, running his hand through his gravity defying hair, and looking down at his feet. He’s a great kid and at the same time is also a teenager who, like most teenagers, is quick to be embarrassed by anything his parents do. I turned back around to face forward, and wondered if my son was envious of the attention his sister was receiving. We rarely miss any of his sports games. We try to engage him in conversation. Our attempts to connect are often met with embarrassment or annoyance.

So I wondered in that moment how my daughter — with her neurodivergent brain wiring — could make so much sense to me, could communicate with me so clearly and easily, while our neurotypical son— for whom things seem to come so easily — is often a mystery wrapped in sweatpants that are three sizes too big and have last week’s missing Invisalign in the pocket.

Do I understand my daughter more easily because she is a better communicator? Or because she is a girl? Or because I have simply taken more time to understand her given that I know her brain works differently? And if it’s the latter, am I a terrible mother who has not spent enough time/effort/empathy trying to understand my neurotypical son simply because things have come easier to him? And if so, how do I fix it? Is it too late? In my head, I’ve already cued up “The Cat’s In The Cradle” and have substituted “Mom” for “Dad.”

In spite of all these questions that constantly swirl in my head, I’ve come to realize this simple truth: The most important thing I’ve learned by having a neurodivergent daughter and a neurotypical son is that it feels absurd to label anyone as “normal.”

My husband and I joke that our son has a “great away game” because at school, on sports teams, and with his friends, he is friendly and polite… we’ve even heard, “delightful” and “chatty!” While I’m relieved to hear this, I wonder why he doesn’t bring a little more of that “away game” energy to his home team?

I’ve read that this “away game” behavior is “normal.” It means he knows we, his parents, will love him no matter what, that he feels safe to test his limits. And I’m grateful he knows our love is unconditional. It is! But also, it would be nice if he would occasionally have a conversation with us that wasn’t, like, right before bedtime (whatever “bedtime” means anymore), and wasn’t about buying something dangerous (an E-bike), or buying something intangible (a virtual weapon in a video game), or why showering is just something we, as humans, do.

After talking with other parents, I understand this is “normal” teen boy behavior, but having only raised a teen girl so far, it’s new to me. I’ve been a parent for sixteen years now, and while I know more than I did when I started, I feel every day is a new lesson, and the learning curve always feels steep.

So, maybe the “new normal” for our family is about having more empathy and making more space for everyone in our home team — for the communicators and the brooders, the dreamers and the eye-rollers, the gamers and the Tik-Tok-ers, the showerers and the showerers-under-duress, and everything in between at any given chaotic teen moment. And the new normal could also be about acceptance — of our kids as individuals (and not compared to each other!), of ourselves as parents still learning on the job, of all of our brains being wired a little differently from each other. And maybe that is the home team advantage after all: knowing that even though we’re wired differently, we’re still playing for the same team.

Jordan Roter is a screenwriter, TV writer, producer and author of the new novel MOMS LIKE US. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, kids, and their dog, Alfie.