Being a father is a journey filled with love, challenges, and unexpected lessons. But when your child has Pathological Demand Avoidance (PDA)—a profile of autism characterized by extreme anxiety-driven avoidance of everyday demands—that journey takes on an entirely new dimension.

I’ve learned that traditional parenting advice rarely applies to my son. The typical rules, routines, and reward systems that work for other children often backfire spectacularly. Instead, I’ve had to rethink what it means to be a father, an authority figure, and—most importantly—a safe place for my son in a world that often misunderstands him.

The Battle of Expectations vs. Reality

Before becoming a father, I had a picture in my mind of what parenting would look like. I imagined setting boundaries, teaching life skills, and guiding my child through life with every day challenges. But with my son, that approach didn’t just fail—it created more distress, meltdowns, and emotional distance.

At first, I struggled to understand why something as simple as brushing teeth or putting on shoes could trigger such overwhelming resistance. I felt frustrated, exhausted, and, at times, like I was failing him. But as I delved deeper into PDA, I realized that my son’s defiance wasn’t about being difficult. It was about survival.

Living in a World of Invisible Anxiety

Children with PDA experience demands—including the most basic ones—as a threat to their autonomy. The anxiety that follows isn’t always obvious. It can look like avoidance, negotiation, humour, or even outright aggression. But beneath it all is fear—fear of losing control, fear of failure, fear of expectations they feel incapable of meeting.

Once I understood this, my perspective shifted. I stopped taking his resistance personally. I learned to be more flexible, to phrase requests as invitations rather than commands, and to build collaboration instead of enforcing compliance.

I don’t get it right all the time, sometimes it isn’t even enough but I do what I can.

Finding Connection Through Play and Trust

One of the biggest turning points in our journey was shifting from authority to partnership. My son doesn’t respond well to “because I said so.” He responds better to trust, humour, and playfulness.

• Instead of demanding he put on his shoes, I turn it into a game:
  “I bet I can put mine on faster than you!”
• Instead of insisting he finishes homework, I say:
  “Let’s sit together and see if we can crack this puzzle.”
• When demands become unbearable, I offer choices and control:
  “Do you want to brush your teeth before or after your bedtime story?”

By giving him autonomy within safe boundaries, I help reduce his anxiety and increase his willingness to engage.

There are days when he is feeling overwhelmed and simply can’t cope with even the most basic of demands.  On these days I just walk beside him and be there without putting any demands on him at all.

The Toll on Fatherhood—And the Rewards

Parenting a PDA child isn’t easy. The exhaustion is real. The need for constant flexibility can be draining. And there are days when I feel like I’m walking on eggshells, trying to navigate his ever-changing emotional landscape.

But the rewards? They’re immeasurable.

Because of my son, I’ve learned to see the world differently. I’ve become more patient, more creative, and more attuned to emotions—his and my own. I’ve come to appreciate the small victories: the moments of laughter, the times he trusts me enough to share his fears, the days when a previously impossible task suddenly becomes manageable.

Most importantly, I’ve realized that being a father isn’t about moulding my child into who I think he should be. It’s about understanding who he already is and walking alongside him as he discovers his own path.

To Other Fathers on This Journey

If you’re parenting a PDA child, know this: You’re not alone. The struggles are real, but so is the joy. The traditional rulebook may not apply, but that just means we get to write a new one—one based on love, respect, and connection.

And if the world doesn’t understand our children? That’s okay. Because we do. And that’s what truly matters.