There are moments in PDA parenting that stay with you. Not because they were dramatic or unusual, but because they were so raw that you felt every second of them in your bones. Moments where you walked out of a public place carrying a child who did not want to be touched, holding the weight of their fear as well as your own, while strangers quietly judged your every move.
If you’ve been there, this is for you.
What They See and What You Know
People watching from the outside often see a simple story.
A mum who looks like she cannot put her foot down.
A child throwing wellies across a gift shop.
A parent lifting a screaming child and carrying them out.
It’s all too easy for them to fill in the blanks with assumptions about discipline or parenting style. It’s easy for them to think they know.
But when you’re parenting a PDA child, you’re living an entirely different story that’s almost impossible for those who’ve never experienced it to understand.
You see a nervous system on fire. You see fear.
You see overwhelm that has tipped into panic.
You see a child who is desperately trying to hold onto a day that felt safe, joyful, or special, and who cannot bear for it to end.
This is not a child who will respond to firmer boundaries in that moment. This is a child whose internal alarms are blaring. A child whose brain is not choosing the reaction you’re witnessing. A child who is scared.
The Boundary We Never Want to Cross
There comes a point on days like this where every tool in your toolbox has been used.
Empathy.
Co-regulation.
Listening.
Silence.
Proximity.
Space.
Patience.
You cycle through them all, hoping one will catch. Sometimes they do. Sometimes they do not.
And when the shop is closing, when the staff are waiting, when other families stare, you reach the moment no parent of a PDA child wants to reach. You pick them up even though they don’t want to be touched.
The last thing they need is physical contact.
The last thing they want is to be held.
Their body is telling them no.
Their fear response is loud and real.
But there’s nowhere else to go. You’ve run out of time and options, so you carry them, knowing how much it hurts you both.
The Practical Reality No One Talks About
Carrying a resisting child is not simple or gentle.
Their whole body works against the movement.
You adjust constantly just to keep them safe in your arms all the while worrying they might bruise from the grip you know is too firm, and dodging scratching fingernails as their instinct to defend themselves kicks in.
You can’t carry their belongings because your arms are full of their distress and as they get older, they get bigger, heavier.
The crafts they made with so much pride get left behind.
The wellies stay abandoned.
You promise yourself you’ll go back for them, even though you know you probably won’t another way the SEN tax gets you.
And throughout all of it, you feel the heat of other people’s eyes on your back.
The silent judgement.
The whispers.
The looks that say they think they understand, even though they really don’t.
They see bad behaviour.
You see a frightened child.
They see a parent who gave up.
You see a parent doing the last remaining thing that might get you both home safely. When you finally make it to the car, all you want to do is cry. Some days you do.
If You’ve Lived This, You’re Not Alone
These moments are heavy. They sit with you long after your child has calmed. They can make you question your instincts and your worth. Worse, they can make you resent the child you normally find it easy to love, and then comes the guilt.
So let me say this clearly:
You did not fail.
You did not cause this.
You did not choose the hardest option.
You chose the only option left in that moment.
Parenting a PDA child is an exercise in constant adaptation. It’s problem solving in real time. It’s learning to hold boundaries with compassion, while also knowing when releasing a boundary is the safer choice. It’s loving a child whose world can shift quickly and who needs you to understand what others cannot see.
A Message for Every PDA Parent
If you’ve ever walked out of a public space with your heart pounding and your cheeks burning from judgement, I see you.
If you’ve ever left belongings behind because your arms were full of your child’s fear, I see you.
If you’ve ever tried every strategy, you know and still found yourself carrying a child who couldn’t cope with touch, I see you.
None of this makes you a bad parent.
It makes you a brave one.
A tuned-in one.
A parent who is learning, adapting, trying, and loving in ways the outside world may never understand.
Your child is so incredibly lucky to have you.
You deserve support, compassion, and community, not judgement.
A Note for Readers New to PDA
Wondering what on earth I’m talking about here? PDA stands for Pathological Demand Avoidance. It sits within the autism profile (And sometimes ADHD too) and is characterised by an extreme, anxiety driven need to avoid everyday demands and expectations. These are not simple refusals or acts of defiance. They’re instinctive survival responses that can overwhelm a child’s ability to cope, communicate or regulate.
When a PDA child reaches a point of overload, even small requests can feel threatening, and their behaviour often reflects fear rather than choice. Parenting a PDA child requires a different approach, one rooted in collaboration, connection, flexibility and a deep understanding of nervous system responses.
This post shares one of the many moments PDA parents face that others often misunderstand. It’s written to help those parents feel seen and supported, and to give others a clearer view of what’s actually happening beneath the surface. It’s written by a neurodivergent mum, with neurodivergent children, not by an expert or medical professional. This is just my story. I hope it helps.