The Leap

My kids don't have a 'stop' button. They have an 'accelerate' button and a 'more' button. Standing at the edge of that water, I realised as a parent of Neurodiverse children I’d spent years being the brakes. I was safe, sure. But I was also bored. It took my kids—with their fast brains and their hunger for the jump—to push me and remind me that the best parts of life happen when you're slightly terrified."

My kids have helped me face my fears, learn new things and forced me out onto many rocks alone. I have respectfully advocated for them against the “ones” that think they know better. I learnt how to ride down a mountain on a snowboard at age 39 because I refused to watch them from the cafe and miss out on the adventure. I put pause on my career (for now) and took the step to homeschool my eldest which was never the plan, but that is what he needs right now. My latest jump off the rock, Raining Minds The Blog. Who do you think were the ones to push me to do it? Those beautiful champions of course, my kids . They were the ones to say, “You can do this Mum go for it”, even though putting myself out there is incredibly terrifying.

Life can be very serious in the grown up world but it can also be a place where our children remind us to be playful, have fun and take that leap even when you are unsure how it will turn out. The Leap is a reminder of one of the many positive aspects of raising ND children. They push us to grow and do better as parents. You can either accept their challenge or be left in their dust!


 

As a mother to neurodiverse kids, my default setting is The Safety Inspector. I am the hyper-vigilant protector, the one scanning the current, checking the water depth, and measuring the exact distance between a moment of fun and a total meltdown. For a few years , I have lived in this way. It’s safe, it’s controlled, and—if I’m honest—it’s incredibly stagnant. I had become the spectator of my own life, so busy managing the "fray" for my children that I’d forgotten how to be in it.

But my children don't live in the shallows. They are The Dopamine Chasers. For their minds, a rock isn't a hazard; it’s a launchpad. They don’t think about the "stop"; they think about the "now." The thrill isn't just a hobby for them—it’s a physical necessity.

One summer afternoon a few years back while visiting friends and having fun at the river, the roles flipped.

I was watching my son. He was at the edge, his fearless spirit on full display, jumping again and again into the water. I was doing the "Mum-Math" in my head when he stopped. He didn't just look at me as the mum who holds the towels and the snacks. He looked at me as a person.

"Come on, Mum! You can do it!"

In that moment, I felt the weight of my own excuses. I hadn’t jumped off a rock in years. I was rusty, I was nervous, and the "Protector" in me was screaming a thousand reasons why I should stay on the shore.

But then I realised: I spend every single day pushing my kids to face their barriers. I tell them to be brave, to try the new thing, to trust their bodies. If I stayed on that rock, I was telling them that growth is only for children—that adults get to stop being brave.

I climbed up. I stood at the edge, my heart doing that familiar ADHD race. And then, I let go.

I took The Leap.

The impact was a shock of cold and adrenaline. It was the best feeling. But the transformation didn't happen in the air; it happened when I broke the surface. My son was there, his face beaming with a pride I usually only directed at him and his sister. He wasn't just my child in that moment; he was my coach.

By following his lead into the water, I wasn't just "keeping up"—I was waking up.

Our kids command us to join them. They don't do "halfway," and they don't take "no" for an answer. They push us out of our beige, boring comfort zones and dare us to remember what it feels like to have our hearts in our throats.

Our kids don’t just need a mum and dad to protect them from the world. They need parents who are willing to jump off the rock with them.

One of the best things about raising ND kids is life is never dull. It can be scary and exhausting, but it is always an adventure! Go on I dare you to go and find your own rock to jump off!




The leap! Caught on camera by my dear friend Jenna.

 
Kirsty Hendry

Hi, I’m Kirsty. I’m a specialist educator with over 15 years experience and a mum navigating the beautiful. loud and sometimes heavy world of neurodiversity. I created Raining Minds as a quiet corner for families and educators to find resources, understanding, and a bit of calm. I’m currently building our full website and homebase here in Wanaka, but for now, I’m sharing stories that matter most right here on the blog.

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