PDA relevant post

I want to offer a perspective that might resonate with some of you. Maybe an analogy will help.

I compete in Ironman triathlons. That means swimming 1.2 miles, biking 112 miles, and running a full marathon—26.2 miles—all within 17 hours. People often look at me and ask, “Why would anyone do that?” They project their own values and assumptions onto something they don’t understand.

Sound familiar?

That’s how it often feels parenting our PDA kids. From the outside, people don’t see the depth of effort, the emotional endurance, or the inner work it takes. They just see something that doesn’t fit their expectations.

I’ve had to let go of those external judgments. They’re not my burden. My focus is on supporting my kids—two PDAers and four neurodivergent children in total, all with ASD and ADHD in different ways. That’s where my energy goes: helping them build coping skills, not conforming to systems that don’t serve them.

It hasn’t been easy. As a dad, I had to confront my own stuff—my ego, my expectations, my need for control. I’m still working on it. But doing that inner work has helped me show up more calmly and intentionally when my kids are dysregulated.

One mindset that’s helped me is premeditatio malorum—a Stoic practice of imagining worst-case scenarios so I’m not caught off guard. It’s like mental training. When the hard moments come (and they do), I’m not flailing—I’ve rehearsed. I’m not a clown at a ballet.

So what does this look like in practice?

Let’s say there’s a conflict between your preference and your PDAer’s need for autonomy. That’s tough. But instead of forcing compliance, I try to offer acceptable alternatives: noise-canceling headphones, shared playlists, or a “leveling” option where both sides give a little. It’s not about control—it’s about collaboration.

My wife and I don’t always agree on the how, but we’re aligned on the why:

“Unrealistic expectations are just future resentments.”

That one took me a while to swallow. But it’s true. When I let go of the fantasy of how things should be, I can meet my kids where they are.

And here’s the thing: it’s not about finding an easy button. It’s about building a library of coping strategies—for them and for us. That takes time, practice, and yes, sometimes tears. But the relationship I have with my now 19-year-old PDA son—after some really hard chapters, including him moving out—is real. It’s not perfect, but it’s authentic. And when he needed a safe place to land, he came home.

Because at the end of the day, that’s what our PDAers want: autonomy, connection, and the freedom to own their choices.