Parenting Assessment | Raising Brain

When my child excitedly talks about their favorite topic for a long time, I respond with, "Can we talk about something else now?" or change the subject.

When my child engages in behaviors that stand out (e.g., flapping hands, repeating phrases, or spinning), I tell them to stop because it might make others uncomfortable.

I feel disappointed or frustrated when my child prefers solitary activities over playing with other children.

When selecting extracurricular activities, I sign my child up for what I think will help them socially rather than asking for their input.

I often compare my child’s progress with their neurotypical peers and feel concerned when they don’t meet typical developmental milestones.

When my child has a meltdown in a public place, I focus on stopping the behavior quickly rather than understanding what triggered it.

If my child is overwhelmed and unable to talk, I insist they "use their words" instead of letting them communicate in other ways.

When my child expresses anxiety about a change in routine, I tell them, "You just have to deal with it," rather than helping them prepare.

If my child engages in self-soothing behaviors (e.g., rocking, humming, or pacing), I try to redirect them to something more "socially acceptable."

I expect my child to calm down using strategies that work for me, even if they need different coping mechanisms (e.g., expecting them to take deep breaths instead of letting them stim or move around).

When attending family events, I expect my child to tolerate noisy and crowded environments without accommodations like noise-canceling headphones or quiet spaces.

I pick out clothes for my child based on what looks appropriate, even when they complain about the fabric, tags, or fit being uncomfortable.

I view my child’s sensory tools (e.g., fidget toys, weighted blankets, or chew necklaces) as unnecessary and discourage their use.

If my child avoids certain foods because of texture issues, I insist they eat them anyway rather than finding alternatives.

I assume my child is overreacting when they complain about bright lights, loud sounds, or strong smells rather than adjusting the environment to support them.

I frequently tell my child to "look at me when I’m talking to you" even when I know eye contact is uncomfortable for them.

When my child prefers to communicate through writing, gestures, or assistive devices, I insist they speak verbally instead.

I encourage my child to participate in social events even when they express discomfort, believing it will help them "get used to it."

If my child starts talking about their special interest repeatedly, I interrupt them and say, "Let’s talk about something else."

When my child takes a long time to respond to a question, I assume they are ignoring me rather than allowing them extra processing time.

I often change plans or routines without preparing my child in advance, assuming they will adjust on their own.

I hesitate to ask for accommodations at school or in public settings because I worry about making my child seem different.

I encourage my child to "act like everyone else" in social situations to help them fit in, even if it causes them stress.

I assume that professionals always know best and rarely seek out advice from neurodivergent adults about supporting my child.

I prioritize my child’s needs over my own to the point of burnout, which sometimes leads to frustration and impatience with them.

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