My husband and I dove into the world of adoption with open hearts after bringing two children from foster care into our lives. Kyle, a timid three-year-old with warm brown eyes and a gentle smile, and his spirited two-year-old half-sister, Mia, with her lively curls and charming freckles, became part of our family. With two young sons already, I envisioned a future filled with family vacations, joyful celebrations, and endless memories.
However, we quickly realized that Kyle and Mia had experienced significant neglect and abuse, having moved through multiple foster homes. They exhibited anxiety and distress, especially during bedtime. Kyle would hoard food, sometimes eating so much he would become ill. His behavior included aggression, inappropriate play, and accidents around the house. These actions worried us, but our pre-adoption training had reassured us that such behaviors were common among foster children and that the love of a forever family could mend their wounds.
In the following years, we enjoyed beach trips and birthday parties, with Mia adapting well. Unfortunately, Kyle’s struggles persisted. Despite my attempts at different parenting techniques, he remained unresponsive to rewards or consequences. Two years post-adoption, our family welcomed a new addition, a baby boy named Ethan.
Kyle began kindergarten with excitement, but it wasn’t long before the school started calling home. He pulled the fire alarm one day and ran out into traffic another. Homework became a battleground, and one day, in a fit of rage, he tore his bedroom door from its hinges. At just six years old, it was evident that something was profoundly wrong, but I was at a loss for answers.
By eight, Kyle’s outbursts lasted hours; he’d announce his intention to “have a fit” before unleashing chaos. He damaged our home, terrorized his siblings, and even attacked me. Despite my attempts at patience, his behavior pushed me to my limits. He expertly concealed his actions from my husband, leading him to think I was overreacting. When I sought help from teachers, friends, and therapists, they often dismissed my concerns as parenting issues.
I began to question myself, grappling with guilt and shame. I felt increasingly isolated, developing a sleep disorder and living in a state of constant alertness. The reality was that Kyle’s tantrums had escalated into rages, creating a toxic environment for his siblings, and unbeknownst to me, I was suffering from PTSD. My focus shifted to mere survival, leaving me blind to the severity of our situation.
The turning point came when Kyle violently attacked little Ethan, delivering a karate chop to his throat and later shoving him down the stairs. Although Ethan was unharmed, it jolted me into action. I began taking Kyle to mental health emergency rooms whenever he posed a danger. The first time I signed him into a psychiatric ward, my heart ached; this was not the happy ending I had envisioned. Yet, I held onto hope that we would find the help we needed.
A psychiatrist started Kyle on medication, but it offered little relief. After several visits, we were referred for intensive outpatient services. Kyle began receiving 15 hours of therapy each week, and the treatment team guided me in creating a safety plan for Ethan and Mia, instructing them to lock themselves away when Kyle became aggressive. I was terrified and heartbroken.
A few days into fifth grade, Kyle punched his teacher and engaged in self-harm. His therapist ultimately informed me that Kyle required residential treatment. I resisted, convinced that more therapy or new medications could be the answer. However, the therapist insisted that his behavior was dangerous, and the outpatient services had failed to help.
At just ten years old, Kyle entered his first residential psychiatric facility, where we hoped he would improve after intensive treatment. Instead, he escalated his violent behavior, causing significant harm to others and himself. I was baffled; he received countless hours of therapy, so why wasn’t he getting better? His medications seemed ineffective, and it left me feeling lost.
Determined to find answers, I researched developmental trauma and its effects on children. I learned that chronic abuse and neglect distort a child’s perception of safety, often resulting in fight-or-flight responses even in low-stress situations. This understanding illuminated Kyle’s impulsivity and emotional struggles, offering a glimmer of hope that he could receive the appropriate help.
However, despite recognizing the impact of developmental trauma, therapists continued their previous treatment approach, layering on more diagnoses and adjusting medications without addressing the root issue. I realized that love alone couldn’t heal the wounds of developmental trauma, just as it couldn’t cure a physical illness. The mental health system seemed ill-equipped to provide effective solutions, and Kyle’s condition was worsening in treatment facilities.
Now, at 17, Kyle has cycled through numerous group homes, psychiatric wards, and treatment centers. We visit him regularly, but he remains too unstable and dangerous to return home. He’s been prescribed multiple antipsychotic medications and has accumulated an array of diagnoses including ODD, ADHD, and PTSD. Each new placement has seen him become increasingly volatile, and as he approaches adulthood, I feel the weight of this reality.
I share my story, not just for Kyle, but for countless families grappling with similar struggles. The stigma surrounding mental health issues often keeps these stories hidden, leading to an alarming silence about the crisis at hand. We must raise awareness and advocate for more resources and research into developmental trauma and its impact on families. This issue deserves to be addressed, and no child or family should be left to suffer alone.
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Summary:
This article shares a family’s journey through the challenges of adopting children who have experienced developmental trauma. It highlights the impact of neglect and abuse on children’s behavior and the struggle to find effective treatment. The author calls for greater awareness and resources to support families facing similar challenges, emphasizing that developmental trauma should not be a life sentence.