What Indigenous Parenting Can Teach Us About Raising Neurodivergent Kids

At our house, sibling fights are almost a daily soundtrack. I’ve got two boys, one is 8, the other 4 1/2, and like most brothers, they have their good moments together, but lately it feels like there’s more rivalry than harmony. My older son is on both the ADHD and autism spectrum, and my younger one also shows some neurodivergent tendencies. It’s no surprise then that tensions run high. My older son is often jealous of his little brother, and he knows just how to push his buttons. The younger one fights back, and before long we’ve got a full-blown battle in the living room.

And honestly? It gets to me. The constant bickering, the shouting, the crying - it takes a toll on the whole family atmosphere. It doesn’t just create stress in the moment, it leaves this kind of heaviness in the air afterwards. I’ve been trying to read a lot about sibling conflict, hoping for some magic insight that would make our home calmer. Most advice either feels too simplistic or doesn’t really apply when you’re dealing with ADHD and autism.

A parenting book that felt different

But then, a few months ago, I stumbled on an article in ​The New York Times​ about a book called ​Hunt, Gather, Parent: What Ancient Cultures Can Teach Us About the Lost Art of Raising Happy, Helpful Little Humans​ by Michaeleen Doucleff. The title immediately grabbed me. I ordered it, started reading, and within a few days, I was underlining passages and scribbling notes in the margins.

Doucleff is a science journalist and mom who, like me, felt overwhelmed by the endless demands of modern Western parenting: schedules, instructions, constant pressure to manage and control everything. She decided to try something different. She packed up her young daughter and set out to learn from other cultures: Maya families in Mexico, Inuit families in the Arctic, and Hadzabe hunter-gatherer communities in Tanzania. What she discovered was simple but profound: children thrive when they are trusted, included, and allowed space to grow without constant interference.

Helping as a way of life: the Maya

The stories she shares are eye-opening. In the Maya community, for instance, kids don’t get sticker charts or pocket money for doing chores. They’re simply included in daily life from the time they can walk. A toddler might carry laundry or stir a pot of beans, not perfectly, but as a valued helper. Over time, kids become what the Maya call “acomedido” - naturally motivated to help, not because of rewards or punishments, but because they genuinely feel like part of the team.

Staying calm: the Inuit

Then there’s the Inuit way of handling big emotions. Imagine a child throwing a tantrum or lashing out. In many Western households (mine included), the instinct is to react quickly, raise your voice, lay down a consequence, try to “correct” the behavior on the spot. But the Inuit parents Doucleff met do something completely different: they stay calm. They don’t yell. They wait. Sometimes they walk away for a moment, then return with gentleness, showing through their own composure how to handle strong feelings. It’s emotional coaching, not punishment. Children learn to self-regulate not because they’re scared, but because they feel safe.

Trust and freedom: the Hadzabe

And in Tanzania, the Hadzabe children are given enormous autonomy. They’re trusted to explore, to climb, to try things, with the security of a whole community behind them. Parents and extended family support them, but don’t micromanage. This builds confidence and competence in such a natural way.

The TEAM approach

Out of these experiences, Doucleff came up with the TEAM approach: Togetherness, Encouragement, Autonomy, and Minimal Interference. It sounds simple, but when you think about how most of us parent by constantly instructing, managing, rewarding, correcting your kids then this approach is almost revolutionary.

Why this resonates with me as an ADHD parent

Reading about these communities made me reflect on my own boys. With ADHD, jealousy and fighting are almost predictable. ADHD brains crave stimulation, they can feel emotions more intensely, and impulse control doesn’t always kick in at the right moment. Combine that with the natural rivalry between siblings, and suddenly you have daily explosions. No wonder my older son struggles so much with envy and provocation. But what if instead of trying to control or fix these behaviors all the time, I could shift how I responded, and how I included him in our family life?

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Neurodivergent kids often feel like they don’t fit into rigid systems. They’re told constantly what they should or shouldn’t do, and a lot of the time, they feel like they’re failing. But what if they were given more real responsibility, more chances to contribute meaningfully? If my older son could feel like a capable, valued member of our household instead of always the “difficult one,” maybe some of that jealousy would lose its power.

Small changes I’m trying

I’ve started trying small changes. Instead of sending my younger son to fetch something, I’ll ask the older one. If he protests, I don’t push, but when he does help, I just say a simple “thanks” and move on. No over-the-top praise, no star charts. And I’ve been practicing staying calmer when the inevitable fights break out. It’s not easy since my instinct is still to raise my voice but I’m learning that modeling calm is often more effective than shouting about calm.

Not a perfect fix but a new perspective

Of course, the book isn’t perfect. Some critics say Doucleff romanticizes indigenous cultures or oversimplifies their realities. And she herself admits these practices can’t be transplanted wholesale into modern Western life. We’re not living in a Maya village or in the Arctic, and our kids face very different challenges. But that doesn’t mean we can’t take inspiration. The point isn’t to imitate but to adapt.

For me, the big takeaway has been this: parenting doesn’t have to be about control. It can be about connection. Instead of trying to mold my children into behaving “correctly,” I can create a space where they feel safe, included, and trusted. And maybe that’s exactly what neurodivergent kids need most.

The sibling fights haven’t magically disappeared. They probably never will. But I’m starting to see glimmers of something else. I see moments where my older son helps without being asked, or where I manage to stay calm instead of adding fuel to the fire. It’s not perfect, but it feels more sustainable. And that, I think, is the real gift of Hunt, Gather, Parent: permission to let go of perfection, and to find joy again in raising kids, even in the middle of the chaos.