There is no perfect recipe for family
By an anonymous member of the community
There is no ready-made, perfect recipe for parenting. So, imagine the complexity of a disjointed recipe that is raising a child with reactive attachment disorder.
It constantly brings us back to failure. A failure that we feel deeply in our hearts. It imposes itself, it seeps in, slowly but surely. Sure, there are good moments. But this anger, so present and so spontaneous, a part of our little guy, takes up too much space for the good moments to be at the top of the list that makes a perfect mother. I thought I had all the ingredients to be this mom, his mom. I don’t want to be perfect or too imperfect, I just want to be his mom, period. I collect his small doses of love drop by drop. His anger for any and all reason, I receive in waves. If I butter his bread without asking, he blows up. If I don’t butter it, he blows up. If I slice his banana, he blows up. If I give it to him whole, he blows up. I’m walking on eggshells. I must watch every little move I make, even if it was meant to make him happy. Every time, I dread the venom of his anger. Anger is healthy. Feeling it is legitimate and normal. Living it without restraint, I can’t take it anymore. It’s eating me up inside. It enters me without permission, it wreaks havoc on my body and brain.
My little survivor was fighting a constant battle to exist, to make his place, to be loved, to detach himself, to learn again to trust a bit, to feel even a little security, to fight against his inner demons, his fears, the many traumas that have dotted his young life.
We have been through a roller coaster of emotions. Good times, and not-so-good times. Finally, I was exhausted, wounded inside and out; a void was created. Autopilot was installed and had been going on for far too long. A tornado had engulfed our home and our hearts for over three years. When a storm gets stronger and stronger, and gets out of hand, nothing can stop it. The best weather, the brightest sun, the hottest temperature, the greatest parental love cannot slow it down. It was then that we had to do the unthinkable, for us and for him. It was a matter of survival. Heartbroken, we temporarily gave the responsibility of caring for our little soldier to others. He went to settle in a place to be helped, to help us, so that his intensity was smaller, so that he could better develop himself and live through all the hazards that life put in his way.
It’s taboo to say it, naming it makes us feel guilty, but this placement changed our lives for the better. It also saved my life. And it allowed him to finally trust us and settle down. His cocoon is pierced. He is thriving and embracing life.
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