Living with an "Only for Today" Child: A Mother’s Journey Raising a Free-Spirited Daughter

The night before the first midterm and a chaotic battle with my little “mayfly.”

Photo by Vultar Bahr on Unsplash

We have a child in our family who “lives for today.” My eldest, Shirley, is the star of this lifestyle. She lives entirely in the present moment, guided by her immediate emotions — as if any preparation for tomorrow had been completely thrown out the window. She embodies a bright, carefree, day-by-day existence, as if her ultimate life goal is simply to ensure today is fun.

People might say, “Oh, it’s just because her MBTI is ENFP.” But her behavior is far too impulsive and hypersensitive to be explained by personality alone. As it turns out, she is a card-carrying member of the much-talked-about club: childhood ADHD.

She was diagnosed in elementary school and prescribed medication. However, after a few days of trying it, we stopped. The side effects — specifically, her inability to sleep at night — outweighed the benefits, and her doctor advised that if it wasn’t severely disrupting her schoolwork or social life, we could let her decide whether to take it. By the way, those leftover pills? My husband, with his adult ADHD, made sure they didn’t go to waste and ended up taking them off himself. (Disclaimer: He, too, was a diagnosed adult ADHD patient under medical supervision on the same medication, but please, don’t try this at home!)

Fast forward to early this year, Shirley safely graduated from elementary school and became a middle schooler. It just so happened that her new school adopted a ‘free semester’ system — a system in Korea where middle schoolers face no standardized tests for a term to focus on experiential learning — for the second half of the first year, which meant her first real midterm exam came upon us almost as soon as she enrolled. Having spent her entire elementary years without a single standardized test, I, as her mother, was deeply curious — and perhaps a bit anxious — about how this child would face the very first major exam of her life.

And finally, the realization hit me.

If my personal pleasure comes from the ‘process of making plans,’ this child’s pleasure comes from ‘imagining a rosy future with absolutely no basis in reality.’ She casually kicks the can of any exhausting, hard work down the road to her future self, while her present self cheerfully lives in the moment, doing whatever she impulsively feels like doing.

For instance, she acts something like this: with the exam looming, she thinks, “I really want to nail this test.” She then happily loses herself in a vivid daydream of acing the exam. Once that blissful imagination session is over, instead of doing the actual exhausting work of making a study plan, she immediately dives into a comic book she’s been wanting to read.

A life stitched with joyful imaginations and the sweetness of the present. (Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash)

Growing up in an era where midterms and finals were a relentless part of daily life from the moment I entered a traditional elementary school, I used to find genuine joy in crafting the perfect study “plan” for every single exam. (Of course, that doesn’t mean I actually executed those plans to perfection.) For my child, however, the very act of making a plan feels like an unwelcome spoiler — a heavy preview of the laborious obligation she would then be forced to live out. To her, planning is clearly anything but fun.

Up until this point, I tried to be understanding. But the real crisis erupted the night before the midterm exam. Without having touched a single textbook for the subjects she was supposed to test on the next day, she spent over an hour rolling around on the living room floor, throwing a full-blown tantrum — screaming, kicking, and desperately fighting to secure more screen time just to watch YouTube or play games.

Watching her throw this uncompromising meltdown — driven entirely by her immediate whims like a toddler refusing to go to bed — my mind didn’t fill with anger or panic. Instead, a giant question mark popped up. What on earth does “tomorrow” even mean to this child? The very first major exam of her life, looming right in front of her, was completely off her radar. Watching her throw her entire body into a fierce battle just to satisfy her current urge to watch YouTube… she looked exactly like a reckless moth living strictly for today, diving headfirst into the flame.

Living entirely in the present, with tomorrow completely thrown out the window. (Photo by Rendy Novantino on Unsplash)

After wrapping up her fruitless yet exhausting battle, Shirley went on to sleep like a baby. And the next morning…

“Mom, I’m sorry about last night. I’ll come back with a perfect score today!”

With a brand-new day ahead of her, Shirley headed out to school, leaving behind a bright, cheerful goodbye.

A child I carried in my womb, yet someone so profoundly different from me — a vibrant little moth dancing toward the flame. Ultimately, the diagnosis of “ADHD” provided by modern medicine granted me a small pocket of understanding for Shirley. And more than anything, it guaranteed me a peaceful night’s sleep.

Because a brand-new sun has risen for a brand-new day. (Photo by Jesse Uli on Unsplash)

And as expected, Shirley’s grand vision of returning home with a perfect score remained just that — a beautiful, untouched imagination. She came back bright and cheerful, as always, with her less-than-perfect score.

And that was perfectly fine.

Note: This is a personal essay sharing our family’s daily life and lived experiences. It does not contain professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment recommendations.