Nov 11

Dear dads of neurodiverse children...

I see you.

You’re there, standing at the edge of chaos and calm. Watching your child cling to their mum when you reach out for a hug, or seeing their anxiety spike the moment you say, “I’ll take them to school today.” You smile, stay patient, and tell yourself not to take it personally but it still stings.

I’m writing this as both a parent and a therapist. In our house, I’m what I call the primary parent. I’ve been the one who tracks the meltdowns before they happen, who reads the tiny shifts in mood before anyone else notices. When our first child was born, I stopped work for a while to retrain and because she was poorly. That time together was precious. But it also set the pattern for what came next.

As she grew and as we learned more about her neurodiversity I became her auxiliary aid. The person who helped her make sense of the world and feel safe in it. When I’d leave the house, even just for a yoga class, it could trigger panic. Tears, scratching at the door, that deep fear that Mum was gone.

My husband is a wonderful dad, loving, kind, often more patient than I am, but he wasn’t her auxiliary aid. The emotional safety she felt was linked to me though time and circumstance. So when I left, even for a short time, the world felt unsafe to her even though she was in fact very safe.

Over time, things improved. Slowly, after years of careful prep and consistency, she could accept that Daddy might take her to school. But it wasn’t easy. Those mornings needed a whole day of reminders and emotional scaffolding.

For him, though, the rejection was real. To walk out the door with a crying child, one who loves you deeply but can’t yet show it in the way you expect is a heavy thing.

When freedom feels like loneliness

There’s a misconception that fathers of neurodiverse children have it easier, that because many mums take on the bigger share of appointments, therapies, and logistics, dads somehow get more freedom.

But freedom can come with loneliness.

In clinic, I meet dads who ache for connection with their child but feel like they’re standing outside a closed circle. They’d do anything to help but don’t always know where to begin. For some, work becomes the safe place, the space where they still feel competent and valued. Yet even there, the pressure to stay late or join a drink after work fades under the weight of home life.

The research says it all, parents of children with ADHD are twice as likely to experience divorce by the time their child is eight. The stress isn’t one-sided. It sits between partners, in the long evenings where connection gets replaced by logistics and exhaustion, and intimacy feels like one more item on an endless list.

As psychologist Abraham Maslow described, we all have basic human needs, safety, belonging, self-esteem. There is a subtle difference I see in my clinic, for many parents of neurodiverse children, those needs quietly slide down the list. Whilst mums wrestle to keep everyone else’s oxygen mask on, whilst theirs slipped off years ago, the Dads, have the oxygen mask on, but there just isn’t enough oxygen to go around!

Why it feels personal (but isn’t)

When a child is neurodiverse, whether that’s ADHD, autism, or heightened anxiety, predictability is everything. It’s not about who loves them more. It’s about who feels safe to their nervous system. Often that’s the parent who has been most present in emotional storms, not because the other parent didn’t want to be, but because one of you had to keep the world spinning.

It’s easy for that pattern to stick. The child learns that one person equals the predictable support. And so change, like a different parent doing school drop-off, can feel like a threat.
But here’s what I want you to know: this is not rejection. It’s regulation. It’s not your child, it’s their nervous system choosing familiarity, not choosing against you.
So Dads, we see your struggles too. We may sometimes be jealous of your freedom, but we know it is not always by choice. Stay close, even when you’re not the anchor. We want you nearby, and sometimes, just being nearby, listening or observing, shows your child that love doesn’t disappear when things get hard.

Your own rituals matter. Build small moments of connection that belong only to you and your child, a special song in the car, a silly handshake, a calm walk after dinner and take care of yourself, too. 

Connection needs energy. Rest, talk, seek support especially from other dads who get it.
And if you’re feeling isolated or unsure, please remember: none of this is failure. It’s love in a complicated form.

For more on helping support your neurodiverse child, why not try the taster of our twigged Toolkit for ADHD for free today.
gee eltringham

The founder

I started twigged out of both personal urgency and professional insight.
As The Toolkit Therapist and parent to a neurodivergent child, I experienced first hand the overwhelm and isolation families often face after a diagnosis.
Frustrated by the lack of practical, empathetic support, I set out to create what I couldn’t find: simple, evidence-based tools that make everyday life easier.
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