“Mom. Hold on. I’m grabbing my things too.” Her tone was calm, not frantic, and carried a hint of genuine excitement. It was as if she were stating something completely ordinary, as commonplace as the dawn or the changing of the seasons. Yet, it was anything but typical.
Back in June of last year, as kindergarten wrapped up, while other children her age were enjoying playdates or sports, my daughter called me a “ridiculous mother.” In fact, she did this two times within a month. One instance involved her throwing her sparkly sneakers at me and slamming her door with such force that it shook her small frame with rage.
On another occasion in July, while driving home from a junior volunteer program, she unleashed her fury by repeatedly pounding her fist on the window. With drool dribbling down her chin and a fierce glare aimed at me through the rearview mirror, she made offensive gestures throughout the entire sixteen-minute ride. I recorded her behavior to discuss with her psychiatrist later that month.
Witnessing this behavior was painful. It’s a stark representation of developmental trauma disorder and reactive attachment disorder, consequences of early maltreatment. The experience is unsettling and deeply distressing.
By this time, she had been with us for four years. In her early months at home, she exhibited alarming behavior: biting my older daughter in a grocery store, throwing marbles at my nine-year-old son with enough force to leave bruises, and even dragging our cat across the floor by its foot.
We felt fear and anger, yet we persevered.
Yet amid the chaos, there were moments of calm. Moments when she would sincerely ask for assistance, free from any growl or hiss; times when she would carefully hold the door for our cat, waiting patiently before shutting it. She’d lie on her bed, gazing out at the trees and sky, looking almost serene.
More troubling incidents have occurred, and they still do. It has been over five years since she entered our lives, arriving in Maine with just three Rubbermaid containers filled with possessions, most of which were broken or too small. Five years since she began sleeping in our spare bedroom, far away from the state where she was born and from the homes where she had been moved around endlessly.
People sometimes question how just two and a half years in foster care can inflict deep damage on a child. I often find myself sighing, looking down, and then attempting to explain, believing that understanding breeds patience. Two and a half years equates to nearly 1,000 days, almost 24,000 hours.
Imagine neglecting a baby’s cries for attention or nourishment for 1,000 days straight. Envision leaving a toddler to “cry it out” even just twice daily—2,000 times over those years. Countless moments of comfort, connection, and reassurance were missed.
Dozens of moves meant strange new social workers picking her up, placing her in unfamiliar cars, driving her to unknown homes, and putting her into the arms of strangers. These experiences alter a developing brain, triggering anxiety that leads to heightened cortisol levels, teaching children to remain on high alert and respond excessively to stress. Their neurological pathways change permanently.
This summer, she has been working with a behavioral health professional twice a week. During these sessions, she has screamed at the therapist, bolted from the room, and even created chaos, like spraying sunblock throughout two rooms. Anxiety manifests in myriad ways.
If I could soothe her racing heart and help regulate her breathing whenever she becomes dysregulated, her life could shift dramatically. If her medication worked effectively in all situations, it would vastly improve her daily experience. I hope for a day when she can recognize her feelings of overwhelm and step back, take a breath, and choose a healthier approach to emotional regulation.
Today, this week, and throughout the month, she hasn’t hurled any harsh words at me—not once. We celebrate those moments of calm. They offer us glimpses of possibility and hope.
“Mom. Hold on. I’m grabbing my things too.”
This article was originally published on Feb. 18, 2020. For more insights on parenting and emotional health, explore our other blog about coping strategies here.
Summary:
In this heartfelt reflection, a mother shares her journey with her daughter, who has developmental trauma disorder. Despite the challenges of anger and chaotic outbursts, there are moments of calm that offer hope. The author emphasizes the lasting impact of early neglect and the importance of understanding trauma in children. With continued support and therapy, the family navigates the complexities of emotional regulation and healing.
Keyphrase:
Developmental Trauma Disorder
Tags:
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