Is My Child’s Behavior Just In My Head? What I Learned As A Teacher Mom
The rear door of my minivan slammed harder than usual on a drizzly Tuesday last October, and my 8-year-old Leo collapsed into the backseat, scuffing his sneakers on the side of the diaper bag I’d left on the floor. “I’m not going to soccer,” he mumbled, pulling his hood over his face. That made four Tuesdays in a row he’d bailed on practice, the same activity he’d begged to join two months earlier.
I’d been noticing small shifts for months. Leo had always remembered his lunchbox, even in first grade, but by fall of second grade it was left on the kitchen counter three times a week. He came home crying at least once a week because he’d gotten a warning for talking during silent reading, something that never happened before. As a 4th grade teacher, I know how to spot changes in kid behavior, but everyone around me said the same thing. “Eight year old boys are just like that,” my mom said over brunch. “You’re around fussy kids all day, you’re just extra sensitive,” my husband joked.
I started scrolling parenting forums at 10pm after the other kids were asleep, half the posts saying “if you’re worried, it’s worth checking out” and the other half calling parents overreacting for labeling every mood a disorder. I kept turning the question over in my head: Is this just in my head? Am I making a big deal out of nothing?
Leo’s teacher asked for a quick 15-minute check-in after school one day, and I went in already braced to hear I was overreacting. Instead, she leaned forward and said, “I’ve been noticing he’s distracted all through reading groups. I thought it was just me, so I didn’t want to say anything and worry you. I wasn’t sure if I was being too fussy.” That’s when it clicked. Two of us, both looking at the same kid, both convinced we were imagining things.
I didn’t jump straight to a specialist appointment first. That’s what I tell parents in my classroom anyway: start small, test what you’re seeing first. First, I got a cheap spiral notebook and wrote down every specific instance of what I was noticing for two weeks. I didn’t write “Leo is forgetful” — I wrote the date, what happened, and how he reacted: “Oct 3: Forgot lunch, cried when I brought it to school, said he was thinking about recess when he packed. Oct 5: Left permission slip for field trip on counter, said he didn’t remember me giving it to him.” When I looked back at the end of two weeks, I could see a clear pattern, not just a vague feeling that something was off. That took the question out of my head and put it on paper, so I stopped second-guessing whether I was misremembering bad days.
Then I made two tiny changes to our daily routine, no fancy systems, no expensive tools. First, I taped a 3-item picture checklist to our front door: a stick-figure drawing of a lunchbox, a homework folder, and a coat. Every morning before we leave, Leo points to each one and checks it off. It takes 10 seconds, and it doesn’t rely on me nagging him to remember. Second, we swapped our “homework right after school” rule for 20 minutes of unstructured outside time first, then split homework into 10-minute chunks with 5-minute Lego breaks in between. No big sticker chart, no rewards, just that small shift.
Within two weeks, forgotten lunchboxes dropped from three a week to one every couple of weeks. Leo’s teacher sent a note saying he hadn’t had a warning for talking in almost three weeks. When we finally got him in for an evaluation, the psychologist confirmed what I’d been seeing: mild inattentive ADHD, nothing that needs medication right now, just small adjustments to how we structure his days.
The thing that sticks with me, though, is how long I spent doubting my own observation. I talk to at least one parent a week in my classroom who says the exact same thing: “Is this just in my head? Am I overreacting?” Most of the time, they’re not overreacting. They just feel like they have to be, because everyone says kids will be kids, or you’re just supposed to wait it out.
What I tell people now is, if you’re sitting with that question, you don’t have to chase an official diagnosis tomorrow to do something small. First, write down the specific things you notice, not just the vague feeling that something is off. Patterns don’t lie, even small ones. Second, if you ask your kid’s teacher for input, ask a specific question instead of “is everything okay?” Instead of “how’s my kid doing?” ask “have you noticed if they struggle to finish work during quiet time?” Most teachers don’t want to bring up small concerns unprompted because they don’t want to worry you, but they’ll answer honestly if you ask specifically. Third, pick one tiny change to test, just for two weeks. It doesn’t have to be big. It can be a checklist, or an extra break after school, or a different way to remind them of chores. It’s low stakes, and it will tell you more than any amount of worrying in your head.
Some days, I still catch myself thinking it. Last week, Leo forgot his math workbook for the third time that month, and I thought, Am I just making excuses for him being careless? But then he told me he’d been thinking about his dinosaur project during after-school packing and it slipped his mind, and I remembered: that’s just how his brain works. It’s not in my head, it’s just him. We still have hard days, we’re still adjusting what works, and I don’t have all the answers. But I don’t waste as much time asking if it’s real anymore. I just spend that time figuring out what he needs.
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