In the Fall of 2022, I stood barefoot on my deck, phone in my ear, brown leaves gathered around my feet, listening to my daughter’s fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Barlow.
“I think there’s something going on with Ella,” she said gently.
My stomach dropped, as I’d had my own suspicions for years. I’d often seen her staring blankly at the lengthy math equations, unsure of what to do. She frequently doodled in the column of her spiral notebook and complained that she didn’t know how to do her assignments.
I flashed back to the draining late nights we’d spent sitting at the dining table, sorting through her homework assignments, which became a long list of unchecked boxes on her iPad to-do list. Her grades had been rapidly declining, going from B’s to C’s and D’s. No one knew how to fix or how to help her. Whatever “it” was, I’d felt helpless for so long, wanting to repair the invisible problem she’d been battling in silence behind swollen, tired eyes.
“She’s been distracted in class. I’m not a doctor, but you may want to consider having her evaluated.”
Until that moment, for the last six years, I’d felt as though it would always be this way. That my daughter would never be like me and enjoy going to school, or writing, or doing math, and that she’d always have a hard time keeping up. It had become our dark reality. I was desperate for change, for her to not feel so lost and worn down. It had taken a toll on me, too.
This conversation was an unexpected gift from a caring and observant teacher. She was able to recognize behaviors that she also saw in students who’d been diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder (ADHD). It had occurred to me that Ella might have an issue, but I didn’t even consider it could be ADHD.
Before Mrs. Barlow, Ella’s other teachers had reassured me she was “fine,” that she needed to practice the lessons more often, that it was “nothing.” What I didn’t know then was that most girls with ADD present without the hyperactivity part. Their inattentive behaviors and challenges often go unnoticed because they don’t resemble those of the stereotypical hyperactive ADHD boy. This makes them more difficult to diagnose, and often results in later diagnoses for adolescent girls.
According to a study released this year, the rate of children being diagnosed with ADHD increased by 1 million between 2016 and 2022. Melissa Danielson, a statistician with the CDC’s National Center on Birth Defects and Developmental Disabilities, and lead author of that study, noted that ADHD in girls often looks like “daydreaming,” being unable to focus or being hyper-focused on the wrong tasks.
After finishing my call with Ella’s teacher, I left a message for our pediatrician, and a few hours later she called me with instructions. “You need to fill out a Vanderbilt questionnaire, a form that will give us guidance about her behaviors,” she said in a monotone, as though she’d given the instructions hundreds of times.
My husband, Ryan, and I printed and filled out the document separately, to be sure not to influence one another. Then, days later, the doctor called to give me the results.
“It’s not a black-and-white answer. She’s in the middle; she’s showing signs of distractibility, difficulty following instructions and some other processing concerns, but in other areas she’s fine.”
She continued, “I know you want a definitive direction, but she’ll need to undergo a formal assessment. I’ll send you a list of providers that offer it.”
I knew what it meant: more waiting, more unknowns.
Over the course of the next week, I must have called more than 50 providers, leaving brief messages on their voicemails, detailing the outcome of the form we’d filled out and what I was looking for. When they did answer, I begged their administrative staff for an opening, explaining how long it had taken us to get to this point. Even when I spoke to a few doctors directly, they all said the same thing. “We’re booking about six months out.” Another said, “It’s around April of next year for the next opening.”
Finally, I found a doctor to do the testing over winter break. In the months leading up to the testing, the dynamic between Ella and I shifted.
Before, I’d often blamed her when she didn’t like school and couldn’t focus. It started every morning after breakfast. She’d slam her door and holler, “I don’t want to go! I hate school.” After a few minutes, I’d sit down on her bed, my hand on her shoulder in a half-hug, trying to reassure her. “Everything will be OK.” Then, she’d slump to the floor, wiping her face, and then we’d go. It was a constant cycle of arguments, every morning and every night.
Now, as we inched toward clarity, and I realized there might be a reason she had been acting this way that wasn’t her choice or her fault, I was more easily able to empathize with her. My frustration and impatience turned to quiet listening as she searched for answers in her schoolwork. Even if the test came back and she did not have ADHD, I felt like there had, at least, been a breakthrough for me.
