Raw.Real.Recovered.

Let me just start by saying that raising a 12-year-old with ADHD is not for the weak. If you’ve never had to walk into a school meeting and convince grown adults that your kid is not, in fact, a raging bigot but rather just an unfiltered, impulsive preteen with zero concept of social cues—congratulations. You are living a life I can only dream of.

For the past two months, my life has been a never-ending game of “What did he say now?” And let me tell you, the hits just keep coming.

First, he walks into class, looks his teacher dead in the eye, and tells her she looks like Diddy. Diddy. As in Sean “P. Diddy” Combs. I don’t even know where he got this from. But there he was, handing out celebrity comparisons like some kind of 12-year-old fashion critic.

A couple of weeks later, we level up. I get an email from the school, and the words “your son” and “yoga instructor” are in the same sentence. If you’ve ever had one of those moments when you already know you’re about to be in trouble before even opening the email, then you understand. I already knew this wasn’t going to be good.

Apparently, my sweet ADHD child (who, I swear, has no malice in his body—just a complete and utter lack of impulse control) decided that yoga is gay and, for reasons beyond my comprehension, he wasn’t going to be participating in “gay shit.” Because that’s the kind of logic an ADHD brain comes up with at 11:00am on a Monday

But wait, it gets better.

The yoga instructor, being the calm, zen, emotionally intelligent person he is, gently informed my son that yoga, in fact, was not gay. To which my son, in all his infinite wisdom, responded with something along the lines of, “Well, if yoga’s not gay, then you must be gay.” Not in a mean, bullying way, mind you. Just in a very matter-of-fact, let-me-state-the-obvious-because-I-just-thought-of-it way.

And let me just say, I could have died. You know that feeling when your kid says something so hilariously inappropriate, you can’t decide if you should laugh or cry? Yeah, that was me.

Once again, explaining to the school that my son isn’t racist. Or homophobic. He’s just… a lot. His brain-to-mouth filter is broken, and no, there’s no warranty on it.

And look, I get it. In today’s world, words matter. But when you’re raising a kid who processes information out loud before considering if it should be said, every day is just a series of “Oh god, please don’t say that” moments.

So, if you ever find yourself sitting in a school meeting, trying to explain that your kid’s words do not reflect a deep-seated worldview but rather a severe case of no internal monologue, just know—you are not alone.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another email to send explaining that my child’s latest comment does not require a diversity seminar. Just a little patience. And maybe some duct tape