My Son’s Childhood Trauma Shaped His Brain — And Shattered Mine
- Chris Prange-Morgan, MA, MSW
- Jun 2
- 7 min read
Updated: Jun 4
If your child pushes you away when you try to show love or seems to create chaos no matter what you try — you’re not alone. Many caregivers of children with early adversity experience extreme behaviors they can’t explain or resolve with traditional parenting. Some discover later that what they’re facing is reactive attachment disorder (RAD) or developmental trauma. Others never hear those words at all — but live the effects every day. This story, written by a parent who’s lived through it, sheds light on the hidden toll these struggles take — including the very real post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) parents and other children in the home often experience as a result.
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I used to be a fun person.
In college, my coworkers gave me the “shining smile award” for my spontaneous, fun-loving personality. That same spark is what drew my husband and me together. We connected through our shared lightness — a mutual view that the world was full of play, possibility, and joy.
Our greatest adventure began when we chose adoption.
I knew parenting would change me. But I didn’t expect to lose some of the best parts of myself — or of my marriage — in the process. Trauma is a powerful force. And my son’s trauma left its mark on all of us.
Early Childhood Trauma and the Roots of Reactive Attachment Disorder
Our daughter joined our family first, at age 2, after living in a Chinese orphanage. Despite the early disruption, she’d received some nurturing care. She came to us with a fierce sense of determination and quick wit that helped her adjust. There were still hurdles, of course, but she bonded with us and grew within our family.
When we adopted our son Evan just a year and a half later, we expected a similar experience.
It wasn’t.
I knew parenting would change me. But I didn’t expect to lose some of the best parts of myself — or of my marriage — in the process. Trauma is a powerful force. And my son’s trauma left its mark on all of us.
Evan had endured profound neglect, malnutrition, and trauma in his early years. His needs were staggering. Developmentally, he struggled in every way. He hoarded and gorged food, and he resisted even the most basic skills. But what cut deepest was his resistance to attachment — especially with me.
He didn’t want to be held. He turned his head to avoid eye contact. He squirmed and kicked away from nurturing touch. When I tried to hold him, he thrashed with a ferocity that shocked me.
Something felt deeply off in how he related to the world.
When Love Isn’t Enough in Parenting a Child With Reactive Attachment Disorder
As Evan got older, his ways of disconnecting grew more complex. He lied. He stole. He created chaos at school — from hitting other children on the bus to urinating in the water fountain. At home, he smiled on command and used superficial charm to avoid consequences. On the outside, he was a cute kid. But behind that smile, he lacked genuine connection.
Eventually, he was diagnosed with reactive attachment disorder — a condition that can develop when a child experiences severe neglect or disruption in early caregiving relationships. In theory, I understood the diagnosis. Children like Evan build emotional walls to survive. Their brains become wired for self-protection, not connection.
What I read about reactive attachment disorder — and the way it could turn a loving home into a place of emotional warfare — was hard to accept. But it rang painfully true. The disorder wasn’t something I could love away, no matter how hard I tried. It turned our home into a war zone of survival-mode parenting, emotional chaos, and constant crisis.
The Cost of Developmental Trauma on Family
At home, Evan’s behaviors escalated. He deliberately urinated on our carpet — and on me when I tried to hug him. He stole from his sister, destroyed her drawings, and invaded her space repeatedly. One day, she found him turning on all the gas burners on the stove. Thankfully, she shut them off in time.
We weren’t parenting anymore. We were surviving.
I toggled constantly between numbness and high alert — never at ease, never fully present. We implemented structure and consistency, but it only did so much. We lived in an abusive dynamic that centered around our child, and it took everything we had to keep going.
And while I knew — intellectually — that my son’s inability to attach wasn’t personal, it still felt like a personal loss. Like mourning a relationship that never was.
Just as trauma rewired my son’s brain, it also restructured mine.
The Hidden Weight Many Mothers Carry in Households with Reactive Attachment Disorder
Any caregiver can feel this pain, but I’ve noticed something — the moms I meet who are parenting children with developmental trauma seem to carry the heaviest emotional weight.
Amy VanTine, CEO of RAD Advocates, explains it this way: “There is no one right way to support children with reactive attachment disorder and their families. We don’t promote just one modality as many variables exist. But what we see consistently is this: when a child’s early deprivation is deep, the dysfunction that follows can consume the entire family — especially the mother.”
Society expects mothers to sacrifice endlessly. And when parenting doesn’t go as planned, the mother is often blamed. People assume we’re doing something wrong. That if we just tried harder, loved harder, were more patient, our children would heal.
The disorder wasn’t something I could love away, no matter how hard I tried. It turned our home into a war zone of survival-mode parenting, emotional chaos, and constant crisis.
But the truth is more complicated. When trauma is that deep, it hijacks everything. “When a child’s early deprivation is so vast,” VanTine says, “the intense need and resulting dysfunction often completely depletes the primary caregiver.” It did to me. While anyone can experience this depletion, it's often the mothers of children with reactive attachment disorder who come to be seen as the 'nurturing enemy' — the parent who offers the most care and structure, and therefore receives the most resistance. It’s a concept RAD Advocates covers about the dynamics of the nurturing enemy here.
There is a kind of stuck-ness that takes hold — an identity crisis that doesn’t resolve with time or therapy or well-meaning advice. When your child is the source of your trauma, the usual self-care suggestions don’t work. You can’t go no-contact with your own kid. You can’t move on. You stay. You survive. And some days, that’s all you can do.
Living With Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder as a Parent — And Watching It Affect Our Other Kids
Over the years, healing has come in fits and starts. Evan eventually formed a secure attachment with my husband, which was a huge win. He’s made progress in many ways. But the costs have been enormous.
My marriage suffered (read about this common dynamic here). And our daughter — the one who adapted well early on — developed what we later came to understand as secondary trauma. At the time, we just saw the signs: increased anxiety, fear, hypervigilance, and emotional withdrawal. It wasn’t until much later that we recognized it for what it was — post-traumatic stress disorder in a sibling.
In fact, it’s far more common than people realize. Children living alongside a sibling with reactive attachment disorder often endure constant chaos, aggression, or emotional unpredictability. That environment can be deeply destabilizing and even traumatic in its own right.
It's often the mothers of children with reactive attachment disorder who come to be seen as the 'nurturing enemy' — the parent who offers the most care and structure, and therefore receives the most resistance.
RAD Advocates highlights this reality in a blog post titled What PTSD Looks Like in Kids With Siblings With Reactive Attachment Disorder. VanTine reflects on the siblings of the RAD Advocates members she has encountered, as well as her own children. “Many of these siblings become master adapters. Always on alert. Quiet. Obedient. They try to take up less space while also helping their parents. They shrink to survive. But shrinking doesn’t mean they feel safe. It can mean they’re also experiencing trauma.”
That described our daughter to a heartbreaking degree. She shrank to survive. And I missed it for far too long because my own nervous system was also in constant fight-or-flight. Parenting a child with reactive attachment disorder left me in a state of near-constant panic and despair. I didn’t know it then, but I was experiencing post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) — not from a single event, but from the ongoing emotional trauma of parenting in survival mode.
Post-traumatic stress disorder in caregivers is very real. And so is PTSD in siblings. But few people are talking about either.
I miss the fun version of myself. I miss early marriage — the lightness, the laughter, the sense of ease. And yet, I know: I didn’t cause this. I didn’t fail. I can support my son, but I cannot heal him. His healing will come when — and if — he’s ready.
In the meantime, my healing is mine to pursue. Slowly. Gently. And with the understanding that I’m not alone.
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June is recognized as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) Awareness Month. While PTSD is often associated with soldiers or survivors of major trauma, parents of children with developmental trauma can carry invisible wounds of their own (learn more about PTSD signs and treatment here). The symptoms may look different — emotional shutdown, hypervigilance, panic, or grief — but the damage is real. If you’re parenting a child with reactive attachment disorder and feel like you're falling apart, you’re not weak. You’re not failing. You are living through something most people can’t understand — and you deserve support and healing, too.
You’re not alone in this. At RAD Advocates, we’re working to change the narrative — to make space for the truth behind the diagnosis and offer real help to the families navigating it. If this story resonates with you, we invite you to explore more resources, connect with others, and take the next step toward guidance and advocacy through membership for your child, and for yourself.