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I don’t always pick the healthiest foods, or respond to my son’s ADHD tantrums with the kindest words. But I’m not an impostor—I’m doing the best I can to be a powerful ally for my child.

I often feel like an impostor. As a wife, a mother, a writer, a teacher, a Christian, I feel like I am waiting for someone to discover I am not who they think I am.

I cheer on and encourage my son, who has attention deficit disorder (ADHD or ADD), ODD, and a slew of other behavior diagnoses, but I sometimes catch myself yelling at him in a fit of temper. My teaching job in an inner-city, second-chance high school might seem like a selfless act. Most days, though, I have to drag myself out of bed, and I silently kick and scream because I don’t want to go to my school.

I make the effort to provide my family with healthy dinners and lunches, sampling each category in the food pyramid. You know what else I do? I sometimes eat a dollar burrito on my way home from work because the salad I packed for lunch left me starving. And while I have a girl-crush on Joanna Gaines, of Fixer Upper, no amount of reclaimed barn wood decor will make my messy house look presentable. That might make me an impostor—or it might make me a warrior, fighting for my family the best way I know how.

When my husband and I met 11 years ago, when we were working at a camp for people with disabilities, we never imagined our lives as they are now. Like many people our age, we struggle to recognize the reflection in our mirror and to remember the dreams we once had. Long ago, we pondered whether we might be blessed with a child who had a disability. We knew we could love unconditionally. We weren’t prepared for what lay in store for us.

After over three years of seeking it, we finally got a diagnosis. Our son, who is six now, was diagnosed with severe combined ADHD, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, Sensory Processing Disorder, Anxiety Disorder, and is twice exceptional. This was not in our “pretend scenario” for our life.

Every day people stare, judge, reprimand, and assume. Rarely does anyone ask questions or offer encouragement without criticism. Our son’s disabilities are invisible and, sometimes, so are we.

On any given day, our son may be sweet and thoughtful, picking wildflowers for me on our walk and, moments later, yelling across the park that I am “the dumbest, awfullest mommy.” We deal with rude comments from strangers and tantrums in the cereal aisle. Our son sometimes hurls toys with his insults and death threats with his crying fits.

We have been barred from preschools, asked to leave daycare, left off of birthday party invitations. We often depart early from family occasions, even from church. When you pair ADHD with ODD, you get a kind of aggression that most people outside of our tribe don’t comprehend. And, truthfully, you don’t need to understand. Our kind of child isn’t for the average parent. If it weren’t for the few people in our corner, we may have fallen into depression, anger, and even family division.

We know we don’t get it all right, but we know we were chosen to parent our son. He can be loud and temperamental and emotionally unstable at any time. He is also kind and loving, smart and hilarious, creative and inventive. I am his mom, and I am a warrior for my son.

Recently, we have quit jobs, found new jobs, sold our home and most of our belongings, and moved into a 36-foot camper, seeking the benefits of minimalism for our boy. We pulled him from public school, which, despite everyone’s efforts, was a guarantee of a daily meltdown.

I now teach full-time, and I also write the curriculum and lesson plans for our boy, so he can get the one-on-one attention he needs from my homeschooling super-husband. Our son now happily tries new sports and activities. Homeschooling was our best decision.

I am not what others think I am, but I’m not an impostor. I am living my dream. It may not look like your dream, or the lady’s in the grocery line, with her unsolicited advice, but it is mine and I love it. I will fight for it.

Originally published in ADDitude Magazine

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Brynn Burger

Mental health advocate, extreme parent, lover of all things outdoors, and sometimes a shell of my former self. Parenting a child with multiple behavior disabilities has become both my prison and my passion. I write so I can breathe. I believe that God called me to share, with violent vulnerability and fluent sarcasm, our testimony to throw a lifeline to other mamas who feel desperate to know they aren't alone. I laugh with my mouth wide open, drink more cream than coffee, and know in my spirit that queso is from the Lord himself. Welcome!

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