The Ghost in the Next Pew
On firing the invisible critic, embracing the 'bag of chaos,' and finding God’s heart under the pew.
The pastor stepped up to the podium to begin preaching. I pulled out my bible and looked nervously to my left. My daughter, my very ADHD daughter, who was around eleven years old at the time, sat on the end chair, right next to the aisle.
I had strategically placed her there because the prior week, she decided to stretch out over four chairs to take a nap during the sermon. Maybe if I limited her to a single seat, she would stay relatively still.
It was not to be. Partway through the sermon, she became bored, despite the fidgets I provided her. She dropped her markers on the floor. One rolled under her chair into the row behind us. She dropped to her knees and squirmed under the chair like a snake.
I was mortified. My cheeks flamed red as I felt all eyes in the congregation on me. I felt the judgmental comments. “What kind of mom lets her kid dive under the chairs in the middle of the sermon?” “ A little discipline would do that girl some good.” “She’s old enough to sit still during church. Why doesn’t her mom do something about her?”
Just another week in church with a neurodivergent child.
The Ghost in the Next Pew
Those comments? Nobody in my church ever spoke them. They were all coming from inside my head - my own expectations, my past experiences, my perfectionism - all of these wrapped into one ghost in the next pew, judging me relentlessly.
We moms with neurodivergent kids have a tough job. Parenting doesn’t look the way we expected it to. The parenting books? They don’t work. Typical advice? It backfires. Yes, parenting a neurodivergent child is a lot of trial and error…a lot of error…and many humbling moments.
In the church service, I could have offered up a consequence, but experience told me that consequences did not teach my child anything. I could have bribed my daughter before church, but I’d unwisely gone down that road before, which had resulted in endless demands for treats with no change in behavior. I could have pulled her out of the service, but I’d tried that before, too. That was an ugly show for the entire congregation - a mom hauling a rather large child out of church, kicking and screaming.
With a sigh, I accepted that the under-chair-diving was probably the least disruptive option in the moment. Certainly, my daughter and I would talk (again) about appropriate behavior when the service ended. But in that moment, I suffered under the weight of my own judgment.
Where Did the Ghost Come From?
We all have our inner ghosts. Mine was born in the rigid, polished pews of my childhood. I remember the silent requirement to look a certain way—stiff “Sunday dresses” and “church shoes” that pinched.
The Ghost’s first lesson was simple: Performance is safety.
During the service, my brothers and I were statues. My mom passed out candy periodically like a countdown clock to keep us quiet. I still remember the day my three-year-old brother choked. His gasping for air was so loud and uncomfortable that my mom had to carry him out in a frantic, blurred rush, all eyes tracking her like a spotlight. The shame of that “interruption” stayed with me longer than the relief that he was okay.
As my own friend group began having children, the Ghost grew in power. It whispered comparisons into my ear every Sunday. I watched other children sitting like little monks, while mine were loud and squirmy. I told myself it was just a “phase”—a temporary storm I just had to weather. My two oldest children eventually settled into the expected rhythm.
But my youngest? She was a different story entirely.
The Ghost turned from a whisper to a scream as the gap between my life and my friends’ lives widened. Their kids were memorizing verses and following the pastor’s three-point outline. My kid was lucky if she could find her Bible inside a bag packed with every earthly belonging she owned—a “survival kit” she hauled everywhere just to feel safe in a world that felt too loud.
I looked at the “perfectly” behaved kids in the row in front of me, then back at my daughter’s bag of chaos, and asked the question that keeps every neurodivergent parent awake at night:
“What am I doing wrong?”
I felt like a failure as a mother. I’m sure my husband felt the same about being a father. It seemed we were working ten times harder than everyone else just to achieve a “C-minus” in church etiquette.
Goodbye to the Ghost; Hello to Grace
The answer to the question, “What am I doing wrong?” is “Nothing.”
That’s right. Nothing.
I’m not a perfect parent, but I’m doing the best I can with the knowledge I have and the grace God has given me.
My daughter is neurodivergent. Through a combination of infant trauma (before we adopted her) and a plethora of diagnoses, she is doing the best that she can with the resources she has and the grace God has given her.
The beauty is that God knows my daughter inside and out. He knows the struggles she faces every day. He gives her plenty of grace for growing at her own pace.
And He gives that same grace to me.
I need to give that grace to myself, too.
We’re four years beyond the under-chair-diving incident, and my daughter has grown a lot. Fortunately, she doesn’t dive under chairs anymore. But we still have conversations about cellphone use in church. We talk about how it’s OK to use one pen to draw during the sermon, but it’s not really appropriate to use twenty-five pens because it distracts others.
Sometimes it goes well. Sometimes it doesn’t. But I’ve said goodbye to the critical ghost. We’re all on our own journey, hopefully growing more Christlike every day. Instead of comparing myself and my daughters to others, I’ve learned to celebrate the small steps of progress we’ve both made over the last few years. And there has been progress!
A Word About Judgment
I am very fortunate to be a part of a very supportive church. All of the judgment I’ve experienced has been self-induced. I realize that is not everyone’s experience, though.
When I look back at the church I grew up in, I’m not sure I would have been as supported as I am currently. I’m not sure my daughter would have been supported there either. And she’s very much supported at our current church.
The truth is, all along, my church family was loving my family…neurodivergence and all. It was just hard for me to accept that love and grace. I had painted in my mind a picture of what a “good Christian family” should look like, and ours wasn’t it.
But by God’s grace, my family is the family He gave me, and I’ve learned to relax. I’ve learned that His grace is better than my flawed standards. And he loves my pew-diving daughter without condemnation.
I’ve learned more about the grace of God by parenting a neurodivergent child than I possibly could have any other way. And for that I am grateful.
Passing on the Gift of Grace
If you have a neurodivergent child, you know that grace is one of the most important things you can give them. William Dodson, M.D., estimates that children with ADHD receive 20,000 more negative comments by age 10 than neurotypical children. They receive a lot of judgment from the world. We need to be a safe spot, not the source of more negativity.
But how can you pass the gift of grace to your child if you aren’t giving yourself grace?
When I didn’t give myself grace as a mother, I found myself slipping into fear-based parenting. And fear-based parenting led to a vicious cycle of trying new methods, listening to new advice, and spending hours on the internet trying to figure out how to make things better.
All I really needed to do was slow down. Take the pressure off. Enjoy my relationship with my daughter. And accept the fact that some people may judge our family when we look a little unconventional. And that’s OK. Those people are dealing with their own issues. And I’m not going to worry about that. I’ll give them a little grace, too.
You can’t lead a child to a grace-paced life if you are still living in a performance-based one.
Where is Your Ghost Coming From?
Do you hear that critical voice inside your head? Maybe it’s a grandmother, a fellow church member, a teacher, or a former pastor. Tell that ghost to be quiet and get out of your head!
Do you have unrealistic expectations for your child based on your history? Take a deep breath and embrace the grace God gives you to learn and grow at your own pace.
Moving toward a Grace-Paced Life doesn’t happen overnight. It’s a slow unlearning of every ‘should’ and ‘ought’ we’ve ever been told. It starts with a simple, radical choice: to look at the child under the chair (or the child holding the twenty-five pens) and see a soul God is already delighted by.
Today, I invite you to fire the Ghost. Take the seat in the pew that works for your family, bring the single pencil, and breathe. You aren’t failing a test; you’re stewarding a miracle that just happens to be a bit noisier than the others.
We are growing. We are learning. And thank God, we are doing it at the speed of grace.
I’d love to hear from you: Who is the ‘Ghost’ in your next pew? What is one ‘Sunday Standard’ you are ready to let go of this week?