When You're the Safe Place: What No One Tells You About Parenting a Child with ADHD

There’s this moment I remember clearly—it wasn’t a particularly “big” day, just one of those normal chaotic mornings. My son was melting down over his shoelaces (again), the baby was crying, and I could feel the heat rising in my chest. I hadn’t even had coffee yet. And in the middle of the noise, the crying, and the chaos, he screamed something ugly at me—something he didn’t mean. Something I knew came from deep frustration and overwhelm.

But it still stung.

I’ve learned over the years (and especially through writing Positive Parenting for Children with ADHD) that moments like this don’t make me a bad parent.

They mean I’m the safe place.

The Safe Place Isn’t the Quiet Place

If you're parenting a child with ADHD, chances are you’ve been there. Your child might hold it together all day at school, only to unleash all the big feelings the moment they walk through your front door. You might get the tears, the yelling, the refusal to do homework, the tantrums over dinner, or the pure defiance that makes you want to lock yourself in a closet with a bag of chocolate chips.

It’s not personal—it’s actually deeply human.

Children with ADHD are often in a constant state of sensory overload, social confusion, or emotional overexertion. They mask their struggles to make it through environments that aren’t built for their brains. But when they get to you—the person they trust most—the mask comes off.

And that, my friend, is love. Exhausting, messy, beautiful love.

It Still Hurts Though—And That’s Okay to Say

Let’s be honest: being the “safe place” doesn’t always feel good. Sometimes it feels like being the emotional punching bag. And while we intellectually know our kids don’t mean it, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t leave a mark.

In my Pocket Guide to Keeping Your Sanity While Raising Feral Kids, I talk about this weird parenting space we find ourselves in—where we’re trying to stay calm and regulated for the little humans who absolutely cannot... while quietly wondering if we’re doing any of it right.

It’s okay to name that. It’s okay to say you’re tired, to feel burnt out, to not want to be the “safe container” every single day. That doesn’t make you weak—it makes you real.

The Reframe That Shifted Everything for Me

What changed the game for me wasn’t a parenting hack or some perfect script. It was this simple reframe:

“He saves the hardest parts of himself for me because I’ve shown him it’s safe to be fully seen.”

That realization made it easier to step back in, even when I felt like I was falling apart.

Being your child’s safe place means they feel secure enough to show you the parts they’re still figuring out. The meltdowns? The defiance? The crashing emotions? That’s not failure. That’s trust.

And guess what? You don’t have to respond perfectly to honor that trust. You just have to keep showing up. (And yes, sometimes that looks like taking a break to cry in your minivan. That counts.)

How to Keep Going When You’re the Anchor

If you’re deep in the trenches, here are a few reminders pulled from both my own story and the parenting framework I share in my book:

• Regulation before resolution: You can’t teach, guide, or discipline until both you and your child are calm. Breathe first.

• Rupture and repair is more important than perfection: You’re going to lose it sometimes. The magic is in coming back, saying, “I’m sorry,” and modeling how to reconnect.

• Celebrate the tiny wins: You stayed calm during one of the four meltdowns today? Win. Your kid made it through a meal without flipping a chair? Win.

• You matter too: Burnout isn’t a badge of honor. It’s a warning light. You’re allowed to take care of yourself, too. In fact, you have to.

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You’re Not Just Surviving. You’re Building Something Beautiful.

It’s easy to feel like everything is spiraling—especially when you’re the person holding it all together. But please know this: every time you pause instead of yell, every time you offer compassion when you feel like crumbling, every time you choose connection over control—you’re planting seeds.

Seeds of trust. Of safety. Of resilience.

You’re not failing. You’re just parenting a child whose nervous system is louder than most.

And you, dear parent, are doing hard, holy work.

Let’s keep this conversation going.Have you experienced being the “safe place”? How do you recharge when it gets heavy? Drop a comment below or share this with another parent who needs a reminder that they’re not alone.

If you want more support, encouragement, and practical tools, grab a copy of Positive Parenting for Children with ADHD or follow along here at The Resilient Parent Collective. We’re in this together.