Autism Meets ADHD: What I’ve Learned From Kai

 

They say opposites attract, and I think that's never been truer than with me and my son, Kai.

I have ADHD and dyslexia. My brain runs like it’s being chased by a swarm of caffeinated bees. I lose my phone while I’m on it, forget to eat lunch, and sometimes feel like I’m living in five browser tabs all playing different YouTube videos at once.

Kai, on the other hand, is autistic. His world is quieter, more focused. He likes routine. He lines up his toy cars in perfect rows. When things go off track, it can feel like his whole world tips sideways. My world tips sideways if I don’t have a bit of chaos. So how do we meet in the middle?

Very clumsily. And very beautifully.

When Kai was born, we didn’t know he was autistic. He was slow to walk, took longer to speak, and seemed to live in his own bubble. It was tough, especially when people gave us “that look” — the one parents of neurodivergent kids know too well. The one that silently asks, “Why isn’t your child acting ‘normal’?”

It wasn’t until we were living in Hong Kong that we finally got a diagnosis. And it hit hard. Not because we didn’t love him — we loved him fiercely — but because the world isn’t always kind to kids who are different. And I knew that all too well, having grown up feeling “different” myself.

But then something unexpected happened: Kai started teaching me.

He taught me patience. I used to have zero. If I was stuck in traffic or a meeting dragged on, I’d feel like I was going to explode. But with Kai, I had to slow down. He needed time, space, and calm. So I had to learn how to give that, even when my ADHD was buzzing like a broken alarm clock.

He taught me focus. I can jump between five things at once and not finish any of them. Kai? He can spend 45 minutes lining up toy animals in a zoo he’s imagined. Watching him made me realise how powerful deep focus can be — and how little of it I had.

He taught me to listen, not just with my ears but with my eyes and presence. Because sometimes, he communicates with his body, his movements, his quiet.

And he taught me to accept our brains for what they are — wired differently, not wrongly. Where I bring energy and randomness, Kai brings structure and depth. Where I forget things, he remembers the smallest detail from a book we read six months ago.

Sometimes we clash — oh, we clash. But we also balance each other out.

Kai doesn’t need me to be perfect. He just needs me to show up, to try, and to love him unconditionally. And he gives that right back, in his own unique way.

So yes, ADHD meets autism in our house. It's loud, it's quiet, it's messy, and it's magical.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.