The ADHD "Lion’s Den"—Do You Have to Let Them Go In?

#ADHD Parenting + College Decisions

Apr 21, 2025

As my daughter approached the college decision, my own ADHD journey reshaped itself into something I hadn’t expected: terror for my child.

My late-life ADHD diagnosis didn’t just name something invisible — it unlocked a whole history lesson about why and how I had struggled with school and tasks that seemed so simple for others.

And, as a full-time working wife, mother, and business leader, the diagnosis was also a kind of liberation. It gave me permission to live more fully on my own terms.

It also brought some surprising emotions.

Grief—for the time I lost trying to fit into systems that weren’t built for me, for the years I spent thinking I was just disorganized, flaky, or lazy.
Regret—over how much easier things might have been if I’d known earlier.
Joy—in finally having answers, and being able to say, “This isn’t a character flaw. This is ADHD.” My life improved once I understood that.

The diagnosis also helped me see how many of my so-called “quirks” were actually smart, resourceful workarounds in a world not built for brains like mine.

ADHD is an inheritance no one asks for.

It’s genetic—one of my parents has it, I have it, and my children have it too.

My oldest has really struggled to accept this reality, and who can blame her? ADHD is confusing, inconsistent, and often invisible. No one wants to have it.

Unlike me, she finds no empowerment in claiming ADHD as part of her identity. No joy, no comfort in the idea that her brain simply works differently.

She doesn’t want to be different. I can understand that.

But this spring, when she (someone who wants nothing to do with having ADHD) seemed to be diving headfirst into a college decision that looked, to me, like an ADHD person’s worst nightmare —

I didn’t just feel confused…

I felt terror.

As my daughter narrowed down her college list, the school she called her “top choice” felt like a lion’s den: a massive state university, far from home, short on disability resources and packed with the kind of bureaucratic hurdles that make students with ADHD struggle needlessly.

At a school like that, you're a dot in a sea of 20,000+.

Getting support for ADHD isn’t seamless or simple.

And graduating in four years? That can feel like a full-time hustle.

What do you do when your child wants to go to a school that looks good on paper, but doesn’t feel right for who they actually are as a student?

I wanted to save her from all that.

From the burnout, self-doubt, and the slow erosion of confidence that happens when your best never seems to be enough.

I guess because I’d lived it. I did the big state school thing too. The football games were fun, but the rest of it wrecked me.

But this wasn’t about me.

This was her life, her decision.

The other top choice was a smaller liberal arts college.

With the scholarship they offered, it was the debt-free option, which, to me, sounded pretty great.

It also came with a supportive first-year program for undecided students, personalized advising, smaller classes, and built-in systems to help students strengthen executive function and build confidence.

But that’s not where she saw herself.

So the school that best aligned with her actual needs—and her finances—was being turned down in favor of the “name brand” option. The one least likely to support her transition, academic success, or long-term growth.

She didn’t see what I saw.

I sent myself a text message in the middle of one night, just to get it all out of my head and remind myself to stay steady:

I am so stressed about her selection process. I know some of this is my own college trauma talking. But I also know her challenges, and I know what it looks like when a system swallows you. I’m scared she’ll be swallowed.

That message came not just from the parent in me, but from the version of myself who had ADHD in college and didn’t know it. The one who remembers how quickly things can spiral when systems aren’t built for you. The one who still aches from that experience.

I needed to help us both pause and reflect.

So I wrote her a letter to gently ask her to consider who she is, not just where she wants to go.

People with ADHD don’t fail because they aren’t smart or capable. They fail because they fall through cracks that shouldn’t be there in the first place. So if this school is really your choice, let’s plan for the cracks—before they appear.

And I included questions like:

How will you manage in a place where professors might ignore your accommodations?
Do you tend to thrive in systems where no one checks in until you're already falling behind?
Where will you go—and who will you see—when (not if) you need support?

She didn’t appreciate the letter.

She stopped talking to me for a few days.

“Parenting Is Not for Wimps.”

That’s what my mother says - and she is absolutely right.

In my work, I talk a lot about elastic life and adaptive leadership—
being strong and flexible, learning to surf the waves of work and life that come your way.

This moment of motherhood was demanding exactly that of me.

I knew that I couldn’t force her to choose differently…And that I couldn’t make her want what I know she needs.

But I could tell the truth. I could share what I see.

And I could also prepare myself to support her, with compassion, if she went to the lion’s den school despite me, and it didn’t go the way she hoped.

It was elastic parenting.

I was flexing between letting go and holding on.
I was trying to accept that my past didn’t have to define her future.
I was trusting that, despite my worst fears, she’d find her way.

And I Finally Decided to Say to Her:

I can’t predict the ending.
But I can trust that you’ll be okay.
And I’ll be here, no matter what.

❤️

by Karin McGrath Dunn for Elastic Life
Originally published in April 2025 as a reflection on a current situation.
Updated in May 2025 to look back on the experience and preserve it for future reference.

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