In honor of Domestic Violence Awareness Month—living with an abusive child
Oct 27, 2021
She came into our home at 4 years old.
She was bright and sunny and funny and everyone who met her, loved her.
She crawled into friend's and family's and stranger’s laps grinning up at them, eyes sparkling.
But that’s not who she was behind closed doors while my husband was at work, or outside, or in the garage.
Everyone believed that she loved us because that’s what she showed them.
But when it was just the three of us,
she told my son she hated him and wished him dead.
Everyone believed that she loved us because that’s what she showed them.
But when it was just the three of us,
and we were in the car,
she told my son she didn’t love him.
Our eyes locked in the rear view mirror
and then he looked away.
Staring out the window,
where his soul could fly free,
beyond the hurt.
Everyone believed that she loved us because that’s what she showed them.
But when it was just the three of us,
she made our sweet dogs cry.
Everyone believed that she loved us because that’s what she showed them.
But when it was just the three of us,
she set up a rope at the top of the stairs while I was running laundry up and down.
Luckily my son saw her do it and told me before I fell.
Everyone believed that she loved us because that’s what she showed them.
But when it was just the three of us,
she pushed him down the stairs right when I walked into view,
looked at me with no emotion and said,
“I didn’t do it,” with such conviction that I nearly believed her.
Everyone believed that she loved us because that’s what she showed them.
But when it was just the three of us,
she would pinch, kick, hit my son.
It was okay for me to see, because she wanted to hurt me too.
What better way to shatter a mother’s heart than to hurt her children?
Everyone believed that she loved us because that’s what she showed them.
But when it was just the three of us,
when they were both out playing in the snow,
my mom radar went on high alert,
and I ran down the hall,
gasping for air,
burst out the front door,
to find her sitting on his little back,
with her hands on the back of his head,
holding his face in the snow,
laughing.
I got there in time.
I always got there in time.
Not in time to keep him from getting hurt,
just in time from “worse.”
I learned to live in hypervigilance just to keep us from “worse.”
At 10 months in, I learned and understood that the abuse my daughter had suffered before she came to us was so severe that she had something called Reactive Attachment Disorder. So I began researching, reading, studying, listening, and didn’t stop until 8 years later.
They said it was rare (it’s not.)
...I had to understand her diagnosis.
...she couldn’t help it.
...I had to love her more.
...I had to ignore her behaviors.
...I had to wait it out, she’d come around.
...I had to spend more time with her.
...I had to turn our home into a therapeutic home.
...it was my fault.
...I needed therapy.
...I needed God.
...I was crazy.
...that all kids do this stuff.
And on and on and on.
Almost daily I learned new ways of parenting
and they might work for a few days,
until they didn’t.
Only my brother and a friend believed what was happening.
I was lucky, many moms have no one who believes them.
The rest only saw what she wanted them to see: a smiling, happy kid.
And we are conditioned to believe that children are resilient and good,
no matter what happened to them in early childhood.
Eventually I stopped talking about it to those who couldn't, wouldn't understand.
So many who couldn't, wouldn't understand.
My son and I became a shell of our former happy selves.
The only emotion we had left was high anxiety.
I lived in a 24/7 panic attack—heart pounding and unable to catch my breath.
My son just shut down.
I was terrified for him, for us.
We lived this life for 6 years.
My son lived this life from the age of 2 years to 8 years old.
And then I found women, fellow moms of children with RAD, who believed me and knew this life first hand, and they gave me very different advice:
They said I needed video cameras in all of our common rooms.
...an alarm on her door so we knew when she was leaving her room.
...to never leave my son alone with her.
...to never leave my dogs alone with her.
...to lock up the knives.
...to spend less time with her and more time with my son.
...to get my son into therapy.
...to get myself into therapy.
...to get into couple’s therapy.
I learned about Glass Children.
...about PTSD.
…that it wasn’t my fault.
...that I wasn’t crazy, there were children all over the world like this.
...that I could understand where her behavior was coming from
but not excuse her behavior.
And finally,
I learned we didn’t have to live that way.
Not because the love I had for her won and she got better.
And not because I gave up.
But because the love I had for all of us won.
Professionals finally said the words that I had known for 6 years,
“She can’t be in your home. It isn’t safe for your son.”
She will have been gone for 6 years on December 9, 2021.
She is safe and as happy as she is able to be.
She’s in a program that will help her transition into adulthood.
She’s making college plans and plans for beyond and they are looking bright.
I am neutrally happy for her.
I have let a lot of the anger go.
I can do that now because of many years of therapy.
I can do that now because my son is finally thriving.
Abusers come in all genders and ages.
There is no way to truly understand abuse until you experience it yourself.
I didn’t know children could be abusers.
I didn’t know children could gaslight, and have adults question reality.
I didn’t know children could find ways to abuse parents and that a common way is to
target younger children.
My wish:
May you never know.
And
May you offer support for someone who does know.
Love to all from the Mother Ranch,
Julia
PS If you're wondering about a friend's life right now, and if this could be happening to them, ask yourself this:
Has your friend outright told you that something is wrong?
Does one child in that family look bright, swirly, sunshiny, and you just don't want to look away? Do the mom and other children look shell shocked, angry, depressed, shut down?
Check your body: Do you always feel like something is "off" when you're around any of them?
It's possible that something really is wrong. Do some research. Contact me, I'm always happy to help. Once a group of women helped me survive. I pay that forward.
Need help? RAD Advocates
#weareresilient
#DVAM2021
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