I have been on quite a journey over the last decade. It’s been more than an expedition for knowledge and understanding. More than a fight for acceptance and equality in education. More than a complicated sculpting of the image of my son’s truth. This special brand of parenthood is also very much a journey about myself.

All I saw around me were moms who are just like me, and nothing like me at all. Women who seemed to know a joy I couldn’t uncover. I built walls, fashioned armor, and isolated myself in a futile attempt at self-preservation. I came to believe that I’d never be a “real mom.” I believed that dark, lonely place was my motherhood fate — that it was the reality for those of us raising different kids.

I longed for an “ordinary” motherhood. In my dreams, family gatherings were easy and enjoyable, Little League games sparked pride, game nights at home were filled with laughter and togetherness. Waking each morning was back to reality, and solely an exercise in overcoming dread.

It was a tormenting, painful existence. I wondered why I didn’t deserve a “normal” motherhood.

A Year of Change

In the last year or so, I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching. I realized that I felt inconsequential, ineffectual, and bitter. The why-me bug I had fought hard to sequester was biting again, and biting hard. I was down. I felted defeated. I recognized that I was just going through the motions each day — pushing myself off the edge of the bed, faking optimism to get my son going, sitting at home working and hoping my phone didn’t ring, slogging through homework battles and cooking dinner, getting lost in TV dramas to turn off my anxious brain, and climbing into bed with dread, only to do it all over again the next day. It felt like my own personal Groundhog Day. Outside of showing up and faking a smile for my kids, I felt I had no purpose.

I concluded that I imply wasn’t meant to have a life of joy.  The happiness fairy had passed over our family. We were doomed to be ordinary. I wasn’t depressed, but any semblance of joy, optimism, and hope had been nearly extinguished.

I’m not sure when the epiphany came, but there was a definite spark. I recognized that I had fallen deep into the pit again, and I was truly unhappy about being unhappy.

Anyone can turn ordinary into extraordinary with a spark of aspiration. I reminded myself that I have the power as much as anyone else. Extraordinary isn’t having what other people have. Extraordinary is what I do with what I have. It’s within me. It’s within each of us. It’s accepting our reality. It’s making lemonade. It’s the magic we add to our own ordinary.

With that spark to be more, and create more for myself (and my family), I began immersing myself in the culture of acceptance, authenticity, mindfulness, and creating one’s own destiny. I read books and listened to podcasts on the power of our thoughts. I began sharing these insights with my own podcast audience and coaching clients. I even created a brand-new online course all about how to get your mind right for parenting kids with ADHD, and how the right mindset changes everything.

I’m a Survivor

You have the power to create your own extraordinary, too. You totally have the power. It’s what you do with what you have that defines your fate. Are you a victim or are you a survivor, a warrior? I choose to be a survivor, and to thrive.

Now, I’m putting out the call. Are you a warrior? Will you join me in fighting for peace, joy, and contentment for yourself?

This #WarriorMamaTribe is rewriting the narrative of what it means to be the mom of a child with ADHD/HFA. Are you in? Will you join us?