Support or Rescue: Just because your child is neurodivergent doesn't mean they can't learn to tolerate distress.

Whenever I share a story about a child learning to move through distress instead of being rescued from it, I get multiple comments along the lines of:

"This kid must not be neurodivergent.”

The implication is that a diagnosis of neurodivergence equals an inability to tolerate distress and a need for the environment to eradicate that distress.

This is not what I see in practice. I work with many kids who have a diagnosis — ADHD, autism, anxiety, sensory processing differences — and many of them can build tolerance for distress.

The question isn’t, "Does this child have a diagnosis?" It's "What is this child's actual capacity, in this specific situation, right now?"

Those are two very different questions. Conflating them is leading a lot of parents — especially parents of neurodivergent and highly sensitive kids — to accommodate far more than their child actually needs, out of fear that their nervous system can't handle it.

Not to mention that diagnosis isn’t the whole story. For a lot of these kids, the diagnosis isn't a bright line — it's often, in part, a judgment call. While neurodevelopmental assessments include many standardized evaluation tools, clinical judgment leaves room for two experienced professionals to see the same child and land in different places. I've seen two kids with nearly identical patterns — similar epic meltdowns, similar drive for control, similar need for routine, similar rigidity — walk away with different labels. One child is ADHD, another ASD 1, another has anxiety and another receives no diagnosis but is described as highly sensitive.

Indeed, many parents with highly sensitive kids/big reactors are confused about whether their child is neurodivergent because of the overlap between high sensitivity (a temperament trait, not a neurodivergence) and these disorders. A child who is  wired to process their experiences in the world more intensely can look, in any given moment, indistinguishable from a child with a diagnosed anxiety disorder or sensory processing differences.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that diagnoses are meaningless — it means they're a starting point for figuring out what a child needs, not a verdict on what they're capable of. A diagnosis doesn’t dictate whether to hold a limit or remove it.

Which leads to another important clarification:

Regardless of diagnosis, children are not a monolithic group. While they may all have highly sensitive, reactive nervous systems—we know that their meltdowns aren't manipulation, and that they can’t “just push through it”—but each child’s capacity to tolerate distress is different.

It’s all about figuring out what is supportive versus what is enabling for your unique child.

Support = holding a limit that stretches a child a little past their current capacity that builds flexibility, confidence, and self-regulation.

Enabling = removing the challenge altogether because you fear your child can’t work through the distress — it feels like too much—when with support, your child could learn to tolerate it.

In many editions of this newsletter, my blogs, and my Instagram feed, you have read many stories of parents who stopped backing off on important limits and helped their child become more flexible, more calm and content overall, by increasing, not decreasing expectations. The key is how it’s done. A few examples.

Milo, 7, has ASD 1. He likes to be naked at home, all the time. His parents are sensitive to and fine with this—except when guests come over. They feel stuck: they love that Milo enjoys company but worry that setting this limit will overwhelm him and that he can’t do it.

We meet to consider how to move forward. His parents ultimately decide not to presuppose what Milo can and can’t handle and to try setting a limit. They explain to Milo that when guests come over, the rule is that people need to be wearing something on top and bottom. Milo can choose any clothing that fits that rule. If he wants to be naked, he can always be unclothed in his room and play there. This isn’t punishment or even a natural consequence, just a limit. While Milo didn’t like it, his parents held firm. Milo ultimately adapted, and started choosing clothes on his own so he could be with the group. Major win for all.

Lucy, 5, has no diagnosis but is a big reactor with very low frustration tolerance. Every need is urgent—help with a dress-up outfit, moving a multi-piece toy, demanding a replacement for a broken banana. Her mom, Morgan, is triggered by Lucy’s major meltdowns. She worries that Lucy’s nervous system can’t handle the distress. So Morgan drops everything—stops feeding the baby, cuts an important call short—to meet Lucy’s demands, which are only getting more fierce and frequent. This is making Morgan feel resentful towards Lucy for controlling her and the whole family.

Together, we craft a plan that involves being sensitive to Lucy’s stress without treating it as an emergency. It goes like this: “You really want my help right now. It’s hard to wait, I know. I’ll help you when I’m done feeding the baby.” Morgan finishes the feeding and tolerates Lucy’s distress.

When Morgan goes to reconnect, Lucy takes her pound of flesh: “I don’t even want to pay with you anymore! You’re mean.” Morgan doesn’t take the bait, and responds: “That’s up to you, sweetie. I’m free now and would love to play with you when you’re ready.” Without adding any fuel to her flame, or fodder for yet another fight, Lucy warms up and moves past it quickly.

Within a few weeks of taking this approach in similar situations, Lucy became less demanding, more flexible, and noticeably happier and more content overall.

I hear this often from parents—it’s a relief to kids when their parents calmly hold a limit. Endless badgering, pushing their agenda, throwing themselves on the floor in protest, is exhausting for kids, too.

I know you may have a lot of “yes buts”— that this would never work for your child. And you may be right. These are not prescriptions. They’re examples of how doing the detective work to figure out what your child can handle, how they might level-up with support, can work.

I think of it as the “high expectation, high support” approach (borrowed from Emma Hayes, coach of the U.S. Women’s National Soccer Team). A diagnosis doesn’t automatically mean a child can't grow in a given area. They may need more scaffolding, smaller steps, and different kinds of support. For Milo, that mean having an option to be naked; no one was forcing him to be dressed. For a child who is very hesitant to try something new and is overwhelmed by a group activities, instead of just writing it off, many of my families have had success by implementing an interim step to help their child feel more confident and comfortable: arranging for a neighborhood teen to do 1:1 soccer coaching before the child joins a team, or giving the child a private swim lesson before they start the group class.

The take-home

If you're parenting a neurodivergent or highly sensitive child and you've been made to feel like holding any given limit is emotionally unsafe and harmful to them, that's not universally true. You deserve support figuring out where your child's actual edge is—not a blanket rule in either direction.

A good starting point—ask yourself: “What's the smallest stretch my child could handle right now?"