Updated: Aug. 13, 2015
Originally Published: May 3, 2011
Just about eleven months ago, we welcomed our daughter through a direct adoption from the foster care system when she was nine years old. Our first encounter took place in the administrative office of the group home where she had spent the previous six months. Believe it or not, I felt an instant connection with her even before we met face-to-face. We had been working tirelessly for six months to bring her into our family, navigating through mountains of paperwork, updates to our home study, and background checks that felt like they were never-ending. We were officially chosen to be her parents in November, but it wasn’t until May that we finally met her. My anxiety was so intense that I literally wore down two of my teeth while sleeping! To me, she was already my daughter—my baby—long before she knew we existed.
Her early years were marked by abuse, neglect, and frequent moves within the foster care system. At one point, she was in a psychiatric hospital, spending both her ninth birthday and Thanksgiving there, when we were matched with her. She arrived at our home with diagnoses of ADHD, ODD (oppositional defiant disorder), anxiety, and depression. We knew it wouldn’t be easy, but we believed in her capacity to heal.
From the start, she faced challenges even with simple choices, like deciding between a turkey or ham sandwich—an indication of how difficult it was for her to connect with her feelings. Initially, she would not acknowledge anything beyond happiness and anger, with her “mad” emotions often resulting in dramatic meltdowns. After trying therapy with two different agencies, we quickly realized they didn’t understand trauma and attachment. One therapist even made things worse, while the other suggested we stop after five months of silence from her during sessions.
Determined to help her, I dove into research on therapeutic parenting and attachment issues. I found an online community of moms in similar situations, affectionately calling ourselves “Trauma Mamas.” I began to give her the vocabulary to express her feelings and to explain that other kids had “hurt parts” just like her. I would gently remind her, “Stop, take a deep breath, and relax,” and reassure her, “You’re safe, you’re loved, and you can handle this.” My husband and I made it clear that we were ready to listen whenever she chose to share, but we wouldn’t push her to talk before she was ready. Gradually, she began to open up in small bursts. One day while driving, she asked, “How long do you think my kids will get to live with me?” At just nine, she was already terrified of becoming a bad mom and losing her children, believing that her past would repeat itself.
As she worked through her past, her behavior became more challenging. She was grappling with deep-seated pain that had been buried for so long. Meltdowns became common, showcasing her distress through screams and physical outbursts. Yet, the silver lining was that she started to articulate her feelings more, moving beyond just “You made me mad!” to address the deeper reasons for her behavior.
Last Easter marked our last holiday together before hitting our one-year milestone as a family. It was three days filled with severe meltdowns and defiance, featuring some colorful moments like stabbing herself with a pencil and wandering barefoot around the neighborhood after being told to stay in the yard. She expressed her fear of being abandoned, convinced that we would “get rid” of her like everyone else had. Holidays were particularly triggering for her, and she seemed to believe that Easter would be the day we would finally let her go.
But on Easter morning, she woke up to find that she was still with us. The realization that we still loved her, forgave her, and cared for her despite her behavior brought her immense comfort. There was breakfast, clean clothes, hugs, and yes, even presents from the Easter Bunny! The day was filled with her affection, love notes, and a remarkable absence of tantrums.
Over the past year, I’ve learned just how quickly children can grow and change. I feel incredibly honored to be her mom and grateful that she is learning to trust and love me. My husband and I have worked hard to provide her with the safety she needs to process her trauma and the intense emotions that accompany it. The journey of helping her heal is challenging, exhausting, and sometimes overwhelming, but witnessing her progress is nothing short of amazing. She is going to be okay. My daughter will be healthy, happy, strong, and healed. And so will I.
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