Yesterday, I found myself sitting across from my long-time play therapy supervisor—one of the most respected play therapists in Canada. At the beginning of our meeting that focuses on supervision, she offered me a few books she was no longer using. The first one she passed me was Raising Your Spirited Child. I looked at her and said, “This is a full circle moment.” Let me explain why.
When Wesley was an infant and toddler, I knew that parenting him would be different. I often felt judged by others, like no one truly understood what I was going through. I was constantly exhausted and on high alert, trying to meet the needs of my highly sensitive, deeply feeling child.
While most people around me did not get what I was feeling or experiencing, my mother-in-law was more understanding. For her, Wesley’s energy seemed normal. Her three boys were very similar. And while that was somewhat comforting, it also made me feel worse for struggling.
To give you a picture—Wesley didn’t walk, he ran. He didn’t sit still; he was in constant motion. He craved human connection, and as a young child, that person was always me. Sleep was a battle—he took forever to fall asleep and would wake up incredibly early.
If I had been an extroverted, sensory-seeking parent who thrived on social interaction and stimulation, this kind of intensity might have felt like a perfect match. But I wasn’t. I am the kind of person that often longs for peace and quiet. I get overwhelmed by noise and crowds. I love people, but I also deeply need my alone time. Back then, undiagnosed and untreated for ADHD, I was tired—drained.
And I was also doing my PhD.
The days when I was with Wesley for long stretches were particularly difficult—not because I didn’t love being with him, but because it was just the two of us, and he thrived in highly social environments. Yet there were very few social spaces that could accommodate his energy level at that age. The mismatch between what he needed and what I could offer felt heavy, and isolating.
Even through the exhaustion, I knew my son was a gift. His intensity, his passion, his emotions—these were qualities that would one day serve him. But in those early years, they were hard on me.
As someone raised in the pre-internet era, books were always where I turned to understand the world. I devoured parenting books, but nothing seemed to fit. Until one day, I found Raising Your Spirited Child. I remember reading it and weeping. For the first time, someone saw me. Someone saw him. Not in a negative light, but through a lens that highlighted his strengths, not just the challenges.
That book was a turning point. It validated what I had always known in my gut: my son didn’t need fixing—he needed understanding. And so, did I. That moment sparked a fire in me to learn more about the diversity of children’s brains, nervous systems, temperaments, and development. It was the beginning of a new path.
So, when my supervisor—now guiding me on my journey to becoming a play therapy supervisor—handed me that very same book yesterday, I paused. It was one of those quiet, powerful nudges from the universe.
A reminder: You’re on the right path. This work is for you.
Melissa Fellin MSW, RSW, MA, PhD, CPT 