The Hardest Part Isn't Just the Behaviors: When My Daughter's Therapist Said I Was the Problem

When a mom finally told the truth about the behaviors rooted in her daughter's early trauma, the therapist told her she was the problem. This is the story of what came after — and who finally believed her.

Parenting a child with reactive attachment disorder (RAD) is challenging, to put it mildly. It takes an extreme toll on every family member. Over the years, I grew to expect the exhaustion, the dangerous behaviors, the day-to-day toll of raising a child with RAD.

What surprised me was discovering another deep wound, hidden beneath all the struggle and heartache we experienced while our daughter lived in our home. It was the damage caused by professionals who couldn't or wouldn't see what was going on and failed to help our family at pivotal moments. 

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We worked with a small handful of professionals over the years who did their best to support and help our family as we navigated confusing and dangerous behaviors. However, the overwhelming majority seemed to misunderstand what was happening, and some even viewed us — the parents — as the problem. These interactions left some of the deepest wounds of all.

Our Path to Residential Treatment

Our daughter came to us through foster care at the age of four. For the first several years, observing her unusual struggles, we sought help wherever possible. We cycled through an array of diagnoses and corresponding medications, but none seemed to make much difference. Most were abandoned over time.

By age eight, her violent behavior had reached a point we realized we needed to do something big to keep her and our family safe. We checked her into a residential treatment facility, hoping it might be what we needed.

At first, our daughter seemed to adapt well to the program. She thrived within the structure and high levels of supervision. Later I realized that this was also because there were no relational expectations for her to bond with staff — following a schedule didn't require her to trust anyone. At home, where felt safety was most needed, this was impossible, because she was surrounded by people asking for closeness and trust. She began to catch up on her schoolwork, which had languished the year prior due to her behavior in the classroom and multiple suspensions.

We were cautiously hopeful that their program could address the trauma our daughter had experienced in her early years and facilitate the healing our family desperately needed in order to be safe together.

However, as the program unfolded, we realized that our daughter had quickly learned how to manipulate the adults in the facility in order to accrue goods and services and avoid meaningful internal work. During weekly family therapy sessions over Zoom, she demonstrated a myriad of ways to deflect, blame, and escape conversations of any substance. Any attempts I made to build connection and attachment became a power struggle or ignited reactive behavior in her.

When the Professionals Turned on Me

When I finally addressed my concerns with her therapist, I was shocked by the response I got. Instead of agreeing that my daughter was displaying avoidant, controlling behavior, the therapist insisted my daughter was doing her best, telling me I needed to be more supportive and encouraging. As we discussed the situation, the therapist even went as far as harshly accusing me of being the problem.

I felt humiliated and shocked. Her response shook me so deeply that I felt as if I lost my voice and my courage to stand up for what I knew my daughter and my family needed. For the next few months I tried to comply with the therapist's recommendations and look for the good in my daughter. I desperately needed the therapist's help, so I worked hard to show her I was willing to grow as a parent.

It didn't help at all.

One day, out of the blue, the therapist announced that our daughter was being discharged, despite having only completed a fraction of their program. My husband and I pushed back, fully aware that our daughter had made no progress and would likely return to the dangerous behaviors at home. It was no use. The facility mandated that it was time for our daughter to leave, and none of our safety concerns made any difference. The therapist's accusations had demoralized and sidelined me, and I found I had little energy or courage to continue fighting for them to believe us.

We picked our daughter up, and within days all her violent behavior came crashing back down on our family.

Over the next six months, we tried to cope, hanging on by a thread. Every day was a never-ending carousel of violence, chaos, and desperately trying to keep everyone safe. After she attacked a baby and another small child, we returned to the hospital, at the end of our rope.

The Call That Changed Everything

While we were there, a friend of a friend, who had worked with RAD Advocates previously, sent a text that simply said: I think they can help.

We reached out and set up a consultation call. As the phone rang, I looked down at my arms and legs, shaking uncontrollably. I could barely hold onto the phone. My heart slammed against my ribs, and my breath came in short gasps. I was terrified to open up to another person. How could I make her understand what we were enduring? How could I show her that I was a good mom who had done everything I could think of to help my child? Would she believe me when I said I had no more hope? The experience at the residential treatment facility and with other professionals who caused similar wounds left me feeling guarded and vulnerable.

Then the call started, and we met Amy VanTine. Within minutes my quaking muscles became still. My heart rate slowed. Not only did Amy believe me, she truly understood the agonizing world we were navigating. Amy shared her own experience as a RAD parent and assured me that I was not alone in my experience. The solidarity was a balm to my spirit. Bit by bit I began to feel safer. I shared with her openly and honestly about everything — our daughter's behavior, the routes we had tried for help, and the absolute hopelessness we had about our situation.

Explore Membership Options.

Amy educated us on the range of options we could choose to pursue. Together, we considered what each route would include and the implications. She helped us think creatively about our choices and resources, evaluating each together in order to decide which was best for our family. We already knew that it was impossible for us to continue as things were; it was a matter of time until something catastrophic happened. We also knew our daughter wasn't getting better in our home. After an in-depth discussion, we asked Amy to explain what the process of relinquishment would entail. The steps she described were daunting, but not impossible. The decision itself was ours alone to make. We ended the call feeling clarity about our decision, even as our hearts were heavy.

The next day, we met with the doctor at the psychiatric hospital where our daughter was staying temporarily — this time with Amy on the call with us. Much like the staff at the residential treatment facility, this doctor did not believe us or support what we knew was best for our daughter and our family. It was frustrating and confusing to see that she refused to believe the parents who had lived with her for nearly seven years, when she had known our daughter for less than ten days. 

I found that the sting was not as sharp this time around, however. I did not lose my voice or my courage this time. Equipped with the information Amy had given us and fortified by her supportive presence on the call, I was able to clearly state what we felt was in our daughter's best interest and take the first steps toward the relinquishment of our parental rights, protecting the safety of each member of our family. 

Where We Are Now

Our relinquishment hearing happened about a year ago. I've never doubted that decision, despite the tangled web of emotions left behind. Relinquishment isn't the answer for every family, but it was where our particular situation eventually led. I’m grateful that we now feel safe in our home, even as I grieve the loss of the relationship I hoped to build with my daughter. 

In all of it, I've realized that not all professionals are willing or able to hear the truth that sometimes what a child needs most is to be out of their home and away from the relationships that exacerbate their trauma responses. Now, when I interact with therapists, doctors, and other professionals, I'm careful to ask clarifying questions before we seek their help to determine if they are open to hearing our real experience, even if it doesn't line up with what they'd expect. I'm also quick to abandon a situation in which the professional is unwilling to consider anything other than their own perspective.

Although I would never wish these experiences on anyone, I am grateful for having learned how to guard my voice and my courage, even when I'm not believed.

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