"No One Talks About This": The Hidden Pressure of Parenting Gifted Kids
The other night, I was thinking about the movie, Barbie, that came out last year. There’s that monologue (maybe you remember it) where America Ferrera’s character breaks open all the contradictory expectations placed on women. It’s raw and real and devastating because it’s true.
And as I watched it again, I thought… this is what it feels like to parent gifted kids.
Not all of it, of course. But the impossible contradictions? The way you feel like you’re always doing too much and never enough at the same time? That part hit home.
So I changed it. For the parents quietly carrying the invisible weight of raising neurodivergent, highly intelligent, emotionally complex kids in a world that rarely sees the whole picture.
Here’s how it goes:
It is literally impossible to be a parent of a gifted kid.
You have to advocate all the time, but not too much—no one likes a pushy parent.
You have to support their gifts, but not be one of those parents who thinks their child is better than everyone else.
You have to challenge them, but not overwhelm them.
You have to find the right resources—books, mentors, enrichment classes—but not spend too much or seem like you’re trying too hard.
You have to understand their mind, which might be three steps ahead of yours, while also holding space for the fact that emotionally, they might be years behind.
You have to make sure they fit in, while also honoring how deeply they don’t.
You have to let them be kids, while also managing the crushing weight of their awareness, their anxiety, their existential dread.
You have to pretend like you're calm and confident, while constantly second-guessing everything.
You have to defend their needs in a system that doesn't understand them, without making enemies of the teachers or other parents.
You have to keep them grounded, but not dim their light.
You have to protect their sensitivity, their perfectionism, their loneliness, their boredom, their spark.
You have to be everything—advocate, therapist, coach, translator, safe place—and do it all without support, because people think having a gifted kid is some kind of privilege.
And if you ever admit it’s hard, you’re met with eye rolls or guilt—because isn’t this what every parent wants?
It is too hard. It’s too contradictory. And nobody talks about it.
Except I think we need to start talking about it.
Because when we don’t, we suffer silently. We isolate. We doubt ourselves. We try to twist ourselves into the parent we think we're supposed to be instead of becoming the parent our actual child needs.
So let’s start talking.
Let’s share the messy parts, the confusing parts, the beautiful and bittersweet middle. Let’s make space for nuance, for honesty, for grace.
Because you are not alone.
Because your child is not broken.
Because doing this differently with intention, but imperfectly and with love, is enough.
And because somewhere out there, another parent is feeling just like you and maybe they need to hear it too.
Want a Printable Version?
I’d love to share the pdf of the “monologue with you. You can find it (and other free printables and resources!) in our
