How to be a safe person to a Neurodivergent child.

 

   The Bad Speller's Dictionary

                                                         

Most people who have taken the time to learn about ADHD quickly realize that children with ADHD receive a disproportionate amount of correction and negative feedback throughout their lives. It would be easy to assume these interactions come from people who refuse to understand ADHD or simply lack patience. However, many of them come from people who genuinely want to help.

I recently lost my grandmother, who was my forever best friend. Although she may not physically be here anymore, the lessons she taught me and the love she gave me are so immense that no amount of time without her will allow them to fade.

As I mourn her loss, I have spent a great deal of time reflecting on what made her love so powerful and so easy to access. The only way I have figured out how to explain it is through a story.

Many of the adults in my life cared deeply for me. I honestly believe they loved me—but often for who I could become rather than for who I was.

Years later, the father of a close friend put it into words when he admitted:

"I used to sleep in the car when you slept over because you were just too much. But you turned into an incredible adult."

I wish I could say he was the only person who felt that way, but he was not. There were plenty of adults in my life who believed that by pointing out my flaws and reminding me of my potential, they were supporting me.

My grandmother was different.

I was nine years old when she gave me a dictionary.

It was the late 1990s, and she was working at the Hartwick College library. Usually when my siblings and I visited, she had Beanie Babies waiting for us from the college bookstore. This time was different.

I had recently confided in her how much I hated spelling and wished people would stop worrying about it so much. We talked about how much I loved learning but how little I enjoyed school. Most of it felt painfully boring to me. The parts I found interesting were often the shortest parts of the day, and my excitement about them frequently got me into trouble.

She listened the way she always did.

She didn't tell me to try harder.

She didn't explain why spelling mattered.

She simply listened.

At the time, I was a terrible speller. As a teacher, I now understand spelling in ways I never did as a child, but back then it felt like one more thing I was constantly getting wrong.

To help, adults often gave me a small orange dictionary called The Bad Speller's Dictionary.

The dictionary was functional and helpful. However, my grandmother understood something many people missed.

A tool designed to help me spell better didn't need to remind me that I was bad.

Before she gave me the dictionary, she meticulously covered every reference to the word "bad."

She used black electrical tape and marker on the cover. She found white tape to cover it inside the book. By the time she handed it to me, every reminder that I was a "bad speller" had disappeared.

The funny thing is that I had already been given this dictionary several times before.

When she handed it to me, I froze.

I told her:

"I already have this dictionary. You didn't have to cover up 'bad.'"

She looked a little sad.

I laughed awkwardly and replied:

"I know I'm a bad speller."

That moment has stayed with me for decades.

It serves as a reminder of how much time and energy she dedicated to guiding me without ever needing to point out my need for guidance. She found ways to help me grow without making me feel broken. She supported me without centering my deficits.

Looking back, I realize her support was rarely found in grand gestures.

It was in the questions she asked instead of the lectures she could have given.

It was in her ability to notice what was working while everyone else seemed focused on what wasn't.

When I was getting rowdy, she brought me outside or found a space where my energy made sense. When I was excited, she was excited too. When I was hurting, she listened. When I struggled, she offered guidance without shame.

Long before I understood ADHD, rejection sensitivity, or neurodivergence, she had already figured out something many people still struggle to learn:

People grow best when they feel accepted first.

My grandmother's voice was soft and sincere. In all the years I knew her, I can remember only one time she raised it. She rarely became agitated. She had a way of making people feel heard without making them feel judged.

The success of my grandmother's life was not measured by awards, titles, or accomplishments, though there were many.

It was measured by the joy she brought people.

She helped me plan my wedding. She bathed my first child in the sink each morning when I became a mother. She celebrated my successes and sat with me through some of my darkest moments.

She never told me how I should feel. She simply shared how she had navigated similar struggles and reminded me that sometimes the only way through pain is to feel it.

We talked almost every morning from the time I left for college until the end of her life.

One of our favorite stories to revisit was the story of the dictionary.

The week before she passed away, I found it in her basement and brought it to the nursing home. We laughed about it one more time. I reminded her of the black tape and the covered-up words. I reminded her how much that small act of kindness had meant to me.

Then I told her something I had been trying not to say out loud.

I told her I wasn't sure what I was going to do without her.

I wasn't sure what I was going to do without the only person who could say my name without my body tensing up in fear of what was about to be said.

For a child who grew up hearing what needed to be fixed, Marjorie Rose Rowley spent a lifetime showing me that I never needed to earn being loved.

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If you have a child with ADHD in your life and want to become a safe person for them, take notes from my grandmother.

• Ask questions instead of casting judgment.

• Lean into their interests.

• Create opportunities for them to be successful.

• Help them without making them feel broken.

And above all, make sure they know your love does not depend on who they might become someday.

Love them for who they are today.