I Was A 'Problem Child'. Here Are 3 Parenting Rules I Now Swear By
Mid-doom scroll, I saw a meme that stopped me in my tracks:“You weren’t the problem child. You were the child communicating the problem.”
That was me. Shoplifting at 12. Marlboro Lights at 13. What I was doing at 14? Not going on the internet.
My parents tried everything: listening in on my phone calls to sabotage my vodka-in-a-local-park plans, banning me from the Year 7 disco because I threw a tantrum after not being allowed to wear heels, and the occasional out-of-nowhere crack to the legs when I got mouthy.
But they never asked why I was acting that way.
I was an undiagnosedneurodivergent kid in a house full of shouting, shame, and secrets. I screamed it the only way I knew how: bad behaviour.
It’s easy to punish a difficult kid. It’s harder to ask: is something going on that’s making them act this way?
So obviously, when I found weed in my teen’s bedroom many years later, I paused, reflected, and calmly sat them down for a chat.
Did I fuck. I freaked out, grounded them, and tried to force them into therapy.
Turns out, it was me and their dad that needed therapy.
The learning? Always try and find the why when kids act out.
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“I’ve handed my notice in at work,” my 18-year-old stepkid said, cracking open a can of Monster like it was nothing.
We were stunned. They’d struggled through school refusal and mental health battles, and we’d finally helped them land (what we thought was) a dream apprenticeship. We thought our job was done.
It was in fact only just getting started.
We begged them to change their mind. They told us to fuck off.
We banned alcohol in the house. They started smoking weed.
We were in a full-blown parenting free fall.
Fast forward four years: they’re running a streaming business, saving to move to Japan, and are genuinely one of the greatest joys to live with. So, what changed?
We stopped trying to fix them—and started trying to know them.
We asked questions. We listened. We stopped barking orders and started explaining the why: why we don’t drink midweek, why sleep matters, why saving is important. We treated them like they were smart. Because they are.
Even when they announced they wanted a blackout tattoo for their 18th birthday. We didn’t explode. (Externally.) We listened.
And over time, they started making better choices. Not because we forced them to, but because we respected them.
That’s the job.
The lesson? Connection. Not control.
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I’ve said fuck three times in an article meant to promote a children’s book. (Don’t worry, no swearing in the actual book). But that should tell you everything you need to know: I’m a rule breaker.
And if you’re raising a neurodivergent child, chances are they are too.
These kids don’t follow the rules just because someone says so. They challenge them. Question them. Tilt their head at tradition and go, “But why though?”
These kids are wired for innovation, not obedience. They’re the ones who spot flaws in systems, cut through red tape with kitchen scissors, and imagine something better.
They are the artists, rebels, and future disruptors of broken things.
And yes, it can be frustrating when that same mindset is applied to tooth brushing or morning wake-ups. But you don’t raise a thinker by demanding blind compliance.
I’ve learned you raise them by nurturing curiosity. By letting some rules bend.
That said… some rules are NOT made to be broken. Like: don’t order a DIY tattoo gun off Amazon and ink your own forearm as your first tattoo.
I won’t say whether that was me or my stepkid. I’ll let you decide.
Ady and Me by Richard and Roxanne Pink is published on 24 April (£7.99). Pre-order here.