Peanut Butter, Jelly, and Mommy Boundaries: Learning to Talk About Parental Overstimulation with My Child

There was a moment when I realized I needed to say something out loud to my 9-year-old daughter.

Sometimes, when she touches me, pulling at my arm, leaning on my body, climbing into my space, I get overstimulated.

That sentence alone took years for me to learn how to say.

As a woman with ADHD (inattentive type), overstimulation doesn’t always show up as obvious chaos. It builds quietly. My nervous system gets crowded. My thoughts scatter. My body feels like it has nowhere to land. And for most of my life, I didn’t recognize that feeling as a boundary being crossed. I recognized it only at the end, when I was already overwhelmed, short-tempered, or yelling.

And that part mattered to me.

Because my nearly ten-year-old daughter, bright, sensitive, deeply loving, is not doing anything wrong. She also has ADHD ( hyperactive type). As a result, her body moves before her thoughts catch up. Touch is connection. Motion is regulation. Affection is instinct.

So I knew this could not be about correcting her as she authentically existed in her body.

It was about finally being honest with myself and trusting her enough to be honest with her.

Trusting Her With the Truth

I decided to explain, calmly and without blame, that sometimes Mommy’s body gets overstimulated.

That even though I love her closeness, my nervous system can hit a limit. And that when that happens, I need a way to say so before I reach my boiling point.

What surprised me most was how easily she understood.

Children, especially thoughtful ones, don’t need perfection. They need clarity.

I talked to her about personal boundaries. About how everyone’s body is their own. About how saying “this is too much right now” doesn’t mean rejection. It means care.

And together, we came up with a plan.

Peanut Butter & Jelly

I chose the code word: “Peanut Butter.”

A phrase that sounds harmless, even silly. Something I can say softly. Something that doesn’t embarrass her in public. Something that lets me communicate without snapping, without yelling, without carrying the weight of years of unspoken frustration.

When I say “Peanut Butter,” it means:

Mommy needs space. My body is overwhelmed. Please pause.

And then, and this part still gets me, my dear daughter chose her own word:

“Jelly.”

Her way of saying:

"I hear you. I’m trying. I’ll work on controlling my body."

Not perfection. Not instant stillness. Just effort and awareness.

That mutual exchange changed everything.

What I’ve Learned About Overstimulation—and Myself

I’ve had to accept that my overstimulation is real.

It isn’t weakness. It isn’t impatience. And it certainly isn’t her fault.

For years, I absorbed discomfort instead of naming it. I told myself I was being dramatic. I waited until my body was already dysregulated. And then once I would reached my boiling point, I'd react, louder, sharper, harsher than I ever wanted to be. And sometimes, out of shame, I would not react at all, and instead, would internalize the dysregulation, often leading to a manifestation of unhelpful and unproductive behaviors.

Now I understand: boundaries spoken early are kinder than boundaries enforced late. Kinder to the people around me, and more importantly, kinder to myself.

By learning to navigate my own internal frustrations, I can be clear without being cruel. Direct without being shaming. Present without being depleted.

And most importantly, I can model something I never learned as a child.

My Hope for Her

My hope is that by watching me calmly name my boundaries, my dear daughter will learn that she is allowed to name hers too. That she will develp an internal compass that shows her that:

• She doesn’t have to endure discomfort to be loved.

• She doesn’t have to explode to be heard.

• Her needs, physical, emotional, sensory, are valid.

I want her to grow into a person who can say, peacefully and confidently:

“This doesn’t feel good for me right now.”

If Peanut Butter and Jelly help us get there, then I’ll gladly keep them stocked.

Because parenting, like healing, isn’t about control.

It’s about connection, with honesty, respect, and room for everyone to be human.

See. Even our kids know we are Enough... just the way we are.

With Love,

Ember 💕✨