Navigating PDA and the Storms of Adolescence

Sharing the insights of PDA can help others feel less alone.

Neurodiversity is vast and beautiful. Yet, sometimes the terrain can be challenging to navigate.

For children with Pathological Demand Avoidance (PDA) and their caregivers, these challenges can feel amplified, especially when approaching and entering adolescence. It’s a journey often marked by intense shifts, a constant re-evaluation of strategies, and at times, a deep sense of isolation.

Early signs and school struggles

My daughter, Olivia, now 14, has led our family through some tumultuous stretches. Looking back to when she was just five, the first whispers of her neurodiversity began to emerge.

She was thriving in a Montessori school, a wonderfully child-led environment. But as the school gently introduced more structure, such as the expectation to line up for class or to engage with specific academic work at set times, Olivia began to buckle.

Break time became a huge source of stress. For a child who instinctively fights rather than flees or freezes when overstimulated and in sensory overload, she quickly gained a “naughty child” reputation.

Friendships were scarce, and trouble seemed to find her. It became apparent that her environment was no longer serving her.

Olivia’s play and occupational therapists echoed my concerns: a change was imperative. We ventured into the world of “neurodiverse friendly schools,” only to find, often to our dismay, that many were not equipped.

Olivia once again became an outcast, school a place of dread. The daily struggle and tears became too much – school was no longer a safe space for my child. After 20 years of teaching, I can say that no learning can take place when one does not feel safe within their environment.

Olivia is very resistant to change, though, so moving schools posed a host of problems. If ever there was a time when I felt useless, futile, and completely unequipped as a parent, this was it.

Navigating crisis and care at home

The real storm gathered force as Olivia approached adolescence. At age 12, Olivia started self-harming. The aggression, when overwhelmed, escalated at an alarming rate. Our once unified family dynamic was fractured.

To minimize tension and protect her younger siblings, I instituted separate routines for Olivia and her siblings. Within the same household, different worlds can coexist.

Then came the silence. My talkative child became nonspeaking. Simple demands, such as washing hair, brushing teeth, showering, and talking, became monumental.

Olivia, usually a champion at masking, could no longer maintain the façade. Her inability to engage reflected her inner turmoil. It was at this point that she was diagnosed with depressive psychosis and admitted to a clinic.

She was the youngest child in the unit. For two weeks, I was allowed only brief, daily visits, but it felt like 20 years. We are rarely apart, and the separation was agonizing.

Olivia achieved remarkable stability. We exhaled. Yet today, at 14, I find myself standing at the precipice of that same agonizing decision: clinic admission.

Understanding PDA: The demand avoidance profile

Pathological Demand Avoidance (PDA) is overwhelming anxiety that comes from a perceived loss of control and independence, causing an extreme avoidance of everyday demands and expectations. It is understood as a profile on the autism spectrum.

The “pathological” in PDA can sometimes feel harsh, implying a deliberate wilfulness. Yet parents living with it understand the deep-seated, often unconscious drive for control rooted in intense anxiety, not defiance.

This is why routine demands like “put on your shoes” or “eat your dinner” can trigger extreme reactions, ranging from meltdowns to aggression to a complete shutdown.

In PDA, traditional approaches to managing behavior often backfire. Logic, rewards, or punishments can intensify the demand avoidance.

Instead, what’s needed is an indirect, flexible, and highly accommodating approach focused on collaboration, negotiation, and reducing anxiety. The closeness, mutual respect, and humor Olivia and I share in our relationship mean that there is never any need for punitive punishment.

We both value our bond. She does not want to disappoint or hurt me, so she helps me at home, doing what I ask.

Adolescence and PDA

Transitioning into adolescence can be a turbulent time, with hormonal shifts, identity formation, increased social pressures, and the push for independence. For a child with PDA, these developmental changes can make existing challenges worse.

Increased demands

Academic, social, and emotional demands increase. Schoolwork becomes more complicated, social hierarchies more complex, and the expectation to manage one’s own life increases.

This surge in demand can be overwhelming, leading to a desperate need to regain control, often through demand avoidance.

Identity and autonomy

Adolescence is about forming one’s identity and asserting independence. For a PDA child, the push-pull between the need for independence and the overwhelming anxiety triggered by demands can lead to significant internal conflict and externalized struggles.

Social complexity

Social interactions become subtler and more demanding. Struggles with the unspoken social rules and the flexibility that friendships require can lead to social anxiety and feelings of isolation.

Olivia can read me, but cannot interpret what other people mean. Hiding behind what we jokingly call her “funeral face,” she seems unapproachable, making it difficult to form friendships.

Hormonal fluctuations

Hormonal surges can intensify emotions. This can mean difficulty regulating anxiety and emotional responses, with more frequent and intense meltdowns or shutdowns.

Masking fatigue

Many neurodivergent individuals, especially girls, become adept at masking their difficulties fitting in. By adolescence, the exhaustion of maintaining this mask can become unbearable, leading to a complete collapse of coping mechanisms.

I believe this is what happened with Olivia. Her ability to mask, once her superpower, completely deserted her.

PDA and spectrum parenting

My daughter’s recent regression perfectly illustrates this adolescent storm. The regular teenage changes have been disastrous for my child with PDA.

My once talkative child is now virtually nonspeaking. The school’s inherent demands are simply too much.

I’ve had to remove all objects that could be used for self-harming. Her medication, which once brought calm, no longer seems to be working.

This silent struggle and the inability to verbally process the source of her distress make navigating the PDA even more challenging.

Being unable to find out what is wrong or why feels like an insurmountable barrier. Yet I keep trying, hoping that one day, she might find her words, or at least a bridge to them.

These are the unsung realities of PDA or spectrum parenting.

It’s feeling like you’re

• • walking on eggshells, perpetually holding your breath,

• • navigating an entirely different planet,

• • vacillating between hope and despair,

• • worrying about the future and how much of our lives will be spent on this see-saw of crisis and fragile stability.

I currently wait for her therapy team’s final call on hospital admission. Every minute, I wrestle with the guilt of even considering it, knowing it might be the only way to keep her safe.

Sharing our stories

It’s a lonely space, but I’ve learned one thing on this demanding journey: shared experiences can create powerful connections.

For every parent living through the silent battles of PDA, know you are not alone. By sharing our stories, maybe we can illuminate others’ paths and advocate for greater understanding and accommodations for our neurodivergent children’s beautifully complex minds.