When the psychiatrist looked at me and said, “His symptoms are very consistent with ADHD,” my heart sank. Deep down, I already knew, but I had spent months in denial. I stared at the wall as she explained what ADHD meant, unable to take it in. My son was so bright, so full of words and ideas. How could a child with such intelligence carry this diagnosis? I had heard of ADHD, but I never really understood the daily struggles it brought. That day, my heart broke in more ways than one.
I named my son Naphtali Axl Brycg when I was three months pregnant. Naphtali means “my struggle.” Leah, Jacob’s wife, gave that name to her son to mark her victory over her sister Rachel. I gave the same name to my boy to mark my victory over my own battles. Axl means “father of peace,” and Brycg, spelled in old English, means “bridge.”
I prayed that my son would grow to overcome challenges, bring peace wherever he went, and be a bridge between people. Like all mothers, I wanted him to have the best life possible.
When I was carrying him, I wanted for a tall, handsome, and intelligent child. After 18 hours of labor and a caesarean, I finally held him, and suddenly I didn’t care about looks or anything else. All I wanted was for him to be healthy and kind.
From the very start, he had a strong personality. He cried so loudly in the hospital that a nurse joked she could hear him from down the hall. At home, he barely slept. He would cry for hours, sleep for a few, then wake and cry again, especially at night. It became our domestic rhythm, even though it was fatiguing.
But along with his pedantry came amazing gifts. His first word, “Ab-ba,” came at just three months old. At five months he was already saying “Tita,” and at six months, “Mama” but not for me. He called my mother “Mama” and called me “Mommy” a bit later. By ten months, he was speaking more words than most kids his age. By the time he was one, he knew more than forty-five words. At two, people were amazed at how clearly he spoke. I was so proud, so focused on his intelligence, that I ignored his irritations, bad temper, and infinite energy.
As he grew, his behavior became harder to manage. He don’t like certain clothes and smells. He lost his temper quickly, yelled, and clumped his feet. When excited, he ran and jumped around without caring if he hurt himself. At times, in anger, he even hit me or his dad. In preschool, he struggled with writing. He mixed up numbers and letters, despite daily practice. His teachers grew frustrated. Some parents said he was troublemaking, always running around or talking unstoppable.
Once, a classmate grabeed his collar and pushed him. When I met the child’s guardian, I was told my son was the problem. Those words cut me deeply.
Things came to a head when Naph came home with a busted lip. I pulled him out of preschool and finally admitted I needed help. Meeting with the psychiatrist was painful. I blamed myself for waiting so long, for ignoring the signs, for listening to others who told me, “He’ll grow out of it.” For nights, I cried, drowning in guilt.
But time has shown me there is another side to his story. By 2022, he had become a second grader and discovered a love for painting. His first school project, what looked like glow sticks to him, sparked something in me. I realized what his psychiatrist had said: help him find his passion. We bought paints, canvases, and brushes, even when money was tight. Family and friends chipped in, too. He began painting constantly, pouring his focus into his art.
Under the name “Krakun,” after the Igorot name given by his great-grandmother, he created more than twenty artworks on paper and over a dozen canvases. His first sold painting, titled Chaos, was motivated by a scene in Avengers: Endgame. Since then, he has sold pieces, joined exhibits, and even donated proceeds to causes. Watching him give so freely from his little earnings brings me to tears.
His ADHD, the thing I once feared, also gave him gifts. It gave him hyperfocus for painting, creativity for mental art, spontaneity that makes him social, and a big heart for helping others. He may lose things, forget instructions, and move endlessly, but he also has a rare warmth and imagination. I no longer see his diagnosis as the end of anything. Instead, it is a different path. Yes, ADHD brings struggles. Yes, he will face mountains higher than other kids. But his colors, his brushes, and his heart will help him climb. I pray the world will one day stop judging children like him and start seeing the beauty they bring. Naph is not “the disruptive kid.” He is smart, kind, creative, and full of promise. He is my son and I could not be prouder
