The impact on siblings of raising a PDA child

I want to talk about something that often sits quietly in the background for many of us, but carries a huge emotional weight.

The impact that a volatile home life can have on a sibling, when you’re raising a neurodivergent child, especially a child with a PDA profile. This comes from my own experience, many years ago, very early in our journey, when I was incredibly overwhelmed and just trying to cope.

At that point, one of my children hadn’t been at school for very long and was already not coping. The world was just so incredibly overwhelming, and that distress came out as behaviour and aggression, mostly directed at me. Not because they were choosing it, but because they didn’t know how else to communicate how distressed they felt.

Alongside that, I was trying to balance my other child, still a toddler at the time, and I was deeply worried about the impact it was all having on them.

Every day was a battle. Every day was a struggle. Every day was about trying to get through the school drop-off.

I remember one morning so clearly. Everyone was dysregulated. There was screaming. I had somehow managed to get everyone into the car. I got my PDA child to the school entrance, and as the reception staff looked on at the chaos before them I stood there with tears streaming down my face and begged. “Please, just take them. Please, even for an hour.”

And I knew it wasn’t the right thing. I knew they were distressed. I knew they didn’t want to be there. I knew they would start masking.

But I was completely broken. I felt utterly alone.

And I was so desperately worried about the impact all of this was having on the sibling witnessing it.

At that stage, no one seemed to understand. No one had answers. No one really seemed to grasp where it was all coming from. I was very early in my journey, just piecing together what we were dealing with.

I didn’t know at the time that I was neurodivergent too. I was trying to cope with my own emotional regulation on top of supporting my children.

It was a horrendous time.

Looking back now, I still worry about the impact that had on my youngest.

They learned very quickly that when their sibling was angry, they were actually overwhelmed. Frightened inside. And as insightful as that was, it was also utterly heartbreaking to hear, because at that age they shouldn’t have been having to understand that.

I carried a huge amount of guilt. A very heavy burden. Trying to balance it all.

When things became unsafe, my priority was simply safety.

I would try to separate them. We had stair gates everywhere at the time. I would put the toddler in their room behind a stair gate, try to give them something to distract, and reassure them that they were safe. I would tell them to wait for me, that I would be back.

And then I would absorb whatever the older one needed to let out. I would try to bring calm. My calm to their storm. I would try to co-regulate. Back in those early days this happened several times a day.

It was exhausting for everyone. And it must have been terrifying to witness.

As time went on, and as our understanding grew, things shifted. Not calm, not easy, but more informed. We became more open about neurodivergence, about triggers, about regulation, about what helps and what doesn’t.

There were long periods of intense anxiety. Times when leaving the house felt almost impossible. All of this was witnessed by the sibling.

It also took us time to realise that they were neurodivergent too, just presenting very differently.

What we tried to do, even back then, was make sure we spent time with each child, one on one. We wanted them to know they were loved. We validated their feelings. We tried to make sure they felt safe, loved and heard. We made time for each of them. Proper one-to-one time.

And we did our best to navigate the harder moments between them, stepping in to help when things were becoming too much, trying to bring things back down.

I think we all know that when you have a PDA child who is very overwhelmed, it can be incredibly difficult for the other sibling to feel seen in those heightened moments. It’s often firefighting, focusing on de-escalation.

But we tried very hard to ensure both children felt equally loved, heard and supported, and we still do.

What I notice now is something else. In some ways, this experience has made the younger sibling incredibly empathetic and very tuned in to other people’s needs. But I also see how they can hide their own struggles. How they don’t want to add to the load. How they don’t want to be the problem. How they’ve learned to take up less space.

So now, we’re working hard to make sure they know they’re allowed to have feelings. That their needs matter just as much. That they are allowed to take up space too.

I still carry worry. I still question the impact. I still wonder how much has been internalised. And I know I won’t be alone in that.

Have you noticed this dynamic in your home, particularly where there are siblings? If you feel able, I’d really love to hear from you – I always personally reply to every email.

It matters to talk about the parts that are so often left unsaid…