UNATTACHED
Looking back, I should have known that she was broken when the officer first passed her off to me and she didn’t make a fuss. When I spoke to her, she just smiled back at me, batting her big brown eyes. We weren’t complete strangers; I had met her twice before. Both times left me with a bad taste in my mouth. My husband and I agreed that we would not be comfortable with her around our kids because of the aggression she displayed during those meetings. Little did we know that she would soon be “ours.” Adopting a child from foster care is much more give than take. At first you're optimistic that you can love their pain away or that with structure they will adapt and thrive with their needs being met, and you'll go skipping off into the sunset together en route to happily ever after.
Children, who have experienced trauma, are not a rarity in foster care. How else would a child find themselves in the state’s custody, if not for some form of trauma in their lives? This was certainly the case for our daughter, Deja. She had been prenatally exposed to drugs and alcohol. She never had a stable home, most of her time was spent couch hopping with her mother or in the care of her great grandmother while her mother was in jail. Additionally, physical abuse and neglect were her reality before she could talk, usually at the hands of her mother. Mothers are supposed to protect and comfort their children; Deja did not experience that. The signs of trauma and exposure were evident in her interactions with peers. She was violent without provocation and often inconsolable. We met her twice before she was placed with us. Her biological mother is my husband’s cousin. Our first time meeting her, she was almost 2. She kicked our youngest son in the face as he crawled around on the floor. Rather than offering correction, her mother joined her in laughter. Our next meeting was when we invited my husband’s grandmother out for dinner and Deja, who was living with her at the time, tagged along. For the duration of the meal she did nothing but scream. It was high pitched and ear piercing; the kind one would hear on a horror movie…on full volume and repeat.
Deja was removed from her mother’s custody just a few weeks later after grandma grew concerned for her wellbeing if left alone with her mother. We were then contacted by Child Protective Services, and agreed to take her as a foster care placement. During her very first night with us, she didn’t speak much. When she did, she called us “mommy” and “daddy”. It felt wrong, but something inside told me not to correct her. We assumed she was mimicking our other children. It would be another 21 months before we would officially own those titles.
The first few months were the roughest, by far, in our adoption journey. As foster parents we felt called to treat her as our own; yet we had no rights. Week after week, month after month, we had to send her off to supervised visits with whatever county worker was in charge of transportation that day. Following every visit there would be regression, but there was nothing we could do to stop the exposure to her trigger; her mother. Even though it was supervised, the mere presence of her mother sent her behavior into a tailspin. Her therapists told us that we wouldn’t see true progress until she had completely cut ties with her past, but we had to let the legal process run its course. We did what we could to show her she was safe and loved. At that time, we lived with the constant fear that she may go back to her mother and be exposed to more trauma.
I hoped that the termination of parental rights, and later the finalization of the adoption would be the magic cure for all of us. Prior to parenting Deja, I naively thought that love, especially between mother and child, did not have to be reciprocated. When I began raising a child that not only cannot reciprocate, but can’t even allow us to love her, I realized that it is a two way street and that even if you offer love, if it is not received, it is as if you have never offered it. Deja has an attachment disorder, commonly referred to by its acronym RAD which stands for Reactive Attachment Disorder. I found this introduction to attachment disorders through an online support group:
“Children with attachment disorders have trouble trusting others. Trusting means to love—and loving hurts. They have been hurt too deeply. Loving must be done on their terms so that they will not be hurt again. They attempt to control everyone and everything in their world. No one gets into their world, past their barriers, without proving that they are truly trustworthy.” (Group, n.d.)
As a parent of an unattached child, I am charged with putting together the pieces of my broken daughter. I liken this to putting together a puzzle: The completed image is present on the box, but the pieces themselves are void of an image. One might as well be blindfolded. The image will only be present on the pieces, once the puzzle is complete. That is how I feel with Deja. I know in my heart what she can be; I just need to put the pieces together. She can offer no clues to me because she doesn’t know either. She never got a say in these things that happened to her and so today, she struggles with a need to control in order to feel safe. This complicates our home life at every turn. Additionally, she is often unable to effectively communicate her desires. This inability results in her either lashing out in anger, frustration, or what we refer to as “shutting down” like a robot that loses power and becomes unresponsive. I tend to prefer the robot because even though it is frustrating for us, it is better than having one of the other 4 kids with a bloody nose because she kicked them in the face. If I try to coax her out of her “shut down” state, or if I put her on time out, I am bombarded by verbal attacks: “I hate you!” or “I hate my family. I want them to die!” This is often accompanied by some physical destruction, which she hides to avoid getting into trouble. Our Therapists tell me that these behaviors will only get worse if she is not able to attach. This has not been an easy adjustment for our other children. Not only did we adopt a child with special needs; we became a family with special needs through adoption.
Two years after contact was discontinued with her mother, we had witnessed little to no progress. Our pediatrician referred her for Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder evaluations. A lot of the symptoms of RAD are also markers of FASD and Autism. The wait list to get into the clinic was 1 ½ years. We have not yet heard the official results of the assessment. By ruling out (or in) FASD, we hope to better understand the way her brain works so that we can find our way to her heart and help her to overcome her past and any future hurdles, that may arise, as a result of the damage to her brain. There is a saying I have posted on my fridge; the author is unknown, but it states: “Children who need love the most ask for it in the most unloving of ways.” This is true for my daughter and that is why we changed her middle name to Hope upon adoption.
Works Cited Group, A. D. (n.d.). Trauma Headquarters. Retrieved from adsg.syix.com: http://adsg.syix.com/adsg/general/Whatis.htm http://thosesweetbarefeet.wordpress.com/2014/11/03/i-hate-adoption/I hate adoption.
