Dealing with Attachment Disorder

When I first became a foster/adoptive parent I had no idea of what Reactive Attachment or Attachment Disorder was.  Not much was said in training classes, as I do believe some sixteen or so years ago, there was not much known or recognized even though the disorder was well documented.  We were taught about how bonds should not be broken, and bonding with the child in your home was recommended and healthy for the child to thrive.

I remember the "game" we played with rope where it became really obvious that any existing bonds with birth family should not be broken but nurtured.  It was one of the classes that made me realize the brokenness of some of the children that came from drugs, alcohol and abuse.  It was the first training that made me cry, along with my husband, because the reality, of children who came into foster care, hit home.

But, it wasn't very long into my foster parent journey that the first reactive attachment child just "happened" along.  She was so neglected and thin, that she almost looked like she had some sort of syndrome, so much in fact, that several doctors really tried to find one.  She wasn't quite two when she arrived one Friday afternoon, tiny, strawberry blonde hair, big blue eyes in a too thin face, and a sass that rivaled any child I had ever seen.  What I thought was charming, like, her  calling every female in the room Mom, was really a BIG RED FLAG.  We had friends in from Australia, and she entertained everyone, that is until I tried to bath, feed and put her to bed.  That's when the fun really began.  Controlling anything she had left in her life included, food, bowel movements, destroying toys, hurting small animals that came for a "petting", restraint in any form, such as a crib to sleep in, sitting in the shopping cart, a high chair in a restaurant, a car seat or a stroller just brought about the most terrifying, vocal tantrums you could imagine.  I, Mom, became the enemy, which is typical of AD, or RAD.

It was almost two months before, after much research and finding the right psychologist, that a diagnosis of RAD was made.  Although we really tried, did everything we could to heal this disorder, it was to no avail.  We had other children in the house along with small animals, and, had to make the painful decision to find a "suitable" adoptive family.  We did and are still in touch today, because those bonds, as fragile as they were, could not be broken.  I was bruised, in body and in soul, but made a conscious decision that I would not put myself, or our family through that again.  It became the "one" thing we could not handle.

Well, there was one or two more small children who we had diagnosed and passed onto specialized homes to deal with this disorder, but little did I know that was only training for much later in our foster/adoptive journey. He came to our home through a broken adoption and a trail of "mother figures" letting him down in his life.  There was no other place for him to go, so, I learned this journey of Reactive Attachment Disorder, and, the struggle to find peace, within the family it affected.  Unfortunately, there was another diagnosis, PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  What a double whammy!  But, even though everything I had read told me to give up, I didn't.  My gut told me differently, and my gut was right!