Games aren’t always fun for Neurodivergent people: RSD at its best!

We were on holidays, staying with friends.

Six people squeezed around a table, cards flying, rules changing quickly, lots of talking, laughing, overlapping conversations.

A fast-paced card game — which is hard enough already.

My 15-year-old was buzzing.

His 18-year-old sister was sitting right there.

She was chatting, joking, being kind.

And he wanted to be part of it — not the game, her.

So he kept reaching for connection:

A comment.

A question.

A joke.

A look.

Some acknowledgment that he mattered in the moment.

From the outside, it didn’t look like much.

No arguing.

No raised voices.

No blow-up.

Just… a bit too much.

You could see the irritation flicker — not just from his sister, but from the table. People wanting to keep the game moving. Wanting less interruption. Wanting quiet focus.

And that’s when it shifted.

Not into conflict — but into something harder to see.

His body changed.

His shoulders dropped.

His face tightened.

He went quiet.

Because for an ADHD brain, moments like this don’t land as:

“They’re busy”

or

“This game is fast”

They land as:

“I’m annoying.”

“I’m stupid.”

“Nobody likes me.”

That’s rejection sensitivity doing what it does best — filling in the gaps with self-blame.

He wasn’t being rude.

He wasn’t attention-seeking in the way people mean it.

He was seeking safety and reassurance in a high-stimulus moment.

Fast games.

Lots of people.

Noise.

Social pressure.

And the one person whose approval mattered most sitting right there.

That’s not a discipline issue.

That’s a nervous system getting overloaded while trying desperately to stay connected.

Nothing needed “fixing” in that moment.

No lecture.

No consequence.

No reminder to “just stop talking”.

What helped later was quiet repair.

Reassurance.

Naming what actually happened:

“You weren’t doing anything wrong.

Your brain just got flooded.”

Because kids with ADHD don’t melt down only when things go badly.

Sometimes they unravel when things feel too good, too fast, too important.

And those are the moments that matter most.

Coaching reflections

This moment is such a clear example of how ADHD shows up between people, not just inside a child.

What looked like “interrupting” was actually connection-seeking.

What looked like “too much” was excitement colliding with overwhelm.

What followed wasn’t misbehaviour — it was rejection sensitivity turning inward.

In my coaching work, I see this pattern constantly:

• fast-paced environments

• high emotional stakes (siblings, peers, people who matter)

• lots of stimulation

• and an ADHD nervous system that tips into overload before logic can catch up
  
  

When this happens, traditional responses miss the mark.

The person doesn’t need correction.

They need help regulating before the story in their head becomes “I’m annoying” or “I don’t belong”.

The most effective shift for families isn’t firmer boundaries or better consequences — it’s learning to:

• recognise regulation overload early

• respond without adding shame

• repair the moment once calm returns

This is the work I do in ADHD coaching: helping parents see what’s happening underneath the behaviour and respond in ways that protect connection and self-esteem, especially in socially charged moments like this one.

Because when we change the response, we change the story the child tells themselves.