We Adopted a Child With Reactive Attachment Disorder. No One Prepared Us for What Came Next.
- Anonymous
- 2 minutes ago
- 6 min read
If you have been involved in either adopting from foster care, or opening your home to children that need temporary placement, you have probably been through hours of classes to prepare you for what to expect when the children are in your home and in your care. In the cases of matched adoption — being matched by Child Protective Services (CPS) to a child ready to be adopted — you take all the same foster parent training certifications before your agency starts the search for your child.
The classes include some basic information on child development, loss and grief, potential trauma-related behaviors, effective communication, and CPR certification. Connection, trust, and boundaries are emphasized in every training session. Reactive attachment disorder and developmental trauma disorder — and their potential serious consequences — are not typically mentioned in depth.
What foster care training doesn't tell you about reactive attachment disorder
We went through three months of this training before our matched adoption was initiated. We had an agency that worked closely with us to find a child that was available for adoption. When a match was found, CPS and our agency agreed we would be the best fit for him. We then got the six-inch-thick binder of notes from his previous foster parents and his caseworker about his four years in care. We were given 24 hours to read through his history by ourselves and make a decision about whether we were ready to say yes to forever. We were eager and felt like we were called to do this. He was 9, and they had told him about us and he was eager to meet us. We said yes.
After finalization, the agency offered post-adoption services, and a therapist came to our home a few weeks later. She told us that everyone seemed to be getting along great, and that she didn't think her expertise would be necessary in our case. We forged ahead because we felt we had all the information and skills needed to move forward. The adoption agency closed our home and we never heard from them again.
We were given 24 hours to read through his history by ourselves and make a decision about whether we were ready to say yes to forever.
We came to understand much later that many clinicians serving children with developmental trauma or reactive attachment disorder aren't trained in treating it or understanding it, while some refuse to acknowledge its existence altogether. According to a 2004 study by Zeanah et al. published in "Child Abuse and Neglect," nearly 40% of maltreated toddlers in foster care met the diagnostic criteria for reactive attachment disorder.
The slow boil
After a few months of peace, things started to become more difficult. We handled the lying with close conversations about trust, hugs, and promises to try better next time. Tantrums started becoming more common, and we met daily defiance with understanding and patience. We built quiet sensory corners where he could feel his feelings in safety. We found a therapist for weekly intervention when the hours-long rages began. We enrolled him in a costly after-school therapeutic sports program because the hours after school — before everyone else was home from work and school — were a common time of rage and anger, always directed at me specifically. It was necessary for safety.
When love isn't enough
Physical violence started soon after that. We had walls dotted with large holes, angry scratches in the wood floor, and ugly words he had written behind doors. He bit me, spit at me, and rushed me when I entered a room — a mostly daily occurrence at that point. His therapist told us at his weekly appointments that we just needed time for him to build a rapport. Our other children stayed far away from him when possible, already alienated by his rage and aggression. Years had gone by and we were all so tired — but we just knew with love and time things would get better. He would learn to trust us. What we didn't know was that for a child diagnosed with reactive attachment disorder, any safety that the child may feel is threatened by the expectation of trusting someone in a position of nurturing them, because they have been hurt before. Survival to them often means lashing out and getting away.
We came to understand much later that many clinicians serving children with developmental trauma or reactive attachment disorder aren't trained in treating it or understanding it, while some refuse to acknowledge its existence altogether.
By the time he turned 16, we had more holes throughout our house that we hadn't yet patched up. I learned to duck when he threw furniture at me. He chased me around the living room screaming for a fight when I just wanted to feel safe. I simply flinched and dealt with the heart palpitations when he screamed at me and cursed. We had put locks on all our doors to keep him from entering in the middle of the night. He had a new therapist and we thought things would get better.
The first time he ran away, on the advice of his therapist we called the police. They came and told us that they couldn't come every time he got mad at us, and left. The first time he threatened to harm himself, he got mad when we took him for help and told them we had abused him. When we tried to get support from friends, they questioned my fear and asked me why I was afraid if I hadn't been hit yet. We went back and read through that old binder that we had read so many years before and saw a small note from one of his earliest psychiatrists: "Diagnosis: reactive attachment disorder."
Boiling
There is a common metaphor: if a frog is put suddenly into boiling water, it will jump out, but if the frog is put in tepid water which is then brought to a boil slowly, it will not perceive the danger and will be cooked to death. Understanding that metaphor is easy. Living it, however, is not.
We kept no documentation of behaviors because we told ourselves love was supposed to be enough — we didn't know what was normal anymore. We installed cameras in the common areas of our home, which only served to bring more rage into the situation. When finally the day came when the violence and aggression became too much for us to handle on our own, we knew helplessness. There were too many violent incidents for many therapeutic facilities; we didn't have enough money to send him to places that addressed his specific needs. The state was now looking at us as a problem instead of helping him.
He bit me, spit at me, and rushed me when I entered a room — a mostly daily occurrence at that point. His therapist told us at his weekly appointments that we just needed time for him to build a rapport.
Our story didn't end with love conquering all, though it never left. It ended in a way that made safety for everyone possible but left the future uncertain. We found RAD Advocates when we needed them most and they helped us navigate a path of possible healing for everyone. I wish we had found them sooner, before we understood that there was no training for what we would all endure before we made the decision we did all those years ago. We learned the hard way.
RAD Advocates: Where we finally found help
If you are reading this and recognizing your own story in ours, please don't wait as long as we did. The help we needed existed — we just didn't know where to look, and no one pointed us there.
If anything in our story can help someone find RAD Advocates sooner, then sharing our pain will be worth it.
Feeling lost on the RAD parenting journey?
 You’re not alone — and you don’t have to figure it out on your own. Connect with RAD Advocates to find real answers from those who’ve walked this path, no matter where you are along the journey.