03/07/2026
My friend and colleague Janelle, owner of Insight to Solutions, LLC shared this.
Thank you I couldn’t agree more. This is a true reality of working with trauma. We are repairing. What do we know about repairing something? Glue, tape, thread… the damage is still there. Often times that glue is just barely enough.
But we keep trying adding when it feels like it’s going to run out. We keep showing up.
And so do those kids. They keep trying to keep from breaking or cracking. We all keep showing up just in different ways. We have the same goal; the same hope that the pain and fear will be a little less and that the love will feel a little better.
Trauma is a terrible beast. It steals from everyone; family, friends, teachers, coworkers…. EVERYONE. But it is important to keep showing up.
Especially when it’s hard. Especially when it’s not reciprocated. Keep the door open for the times that your child will be brave enough to ask for help and connection. Stepping outside your comfort zone is scary for anyone but it is especially scary and feels dangerous for those with trauma and attachment issues.
Keep showing up for yourself and for others. I will and so will many others.
❤️❤️❤️
In 7 days, our oldest turns 18. Currently, they are incarcerated for a violent criminal conviction and will spend their 18th birthday in a state correctional facility.
Yet, this week, I keep replaying the first day we met.
A park in Crescent City, CA. The social worker walked them toward us. 5 years old. 2 of 9 siblings... and a life that had already required too much survival.
She introduced us.
They looked at us.
And they immediately ran.
At the time, I told myself it was nerves. A big day. A new place. A new family.
It was not nerves.
It was trauma.
Later, we would learn the name for what we were living inside.
Reactive Attachment Disorder, also known as RAD.
RAD can develop when a young child experiences severe neglect, abuse, or wildly inconsistent caregiving in the earliest years of life. The brain adapts to survive. Trust feels dangerous. Closeness feels unsafe. Love does not land as comfort. It can land as threat. Control becomes protection. Pushing people away becomes survival.
A child with RAD often resists attachment to caregivers. They may reject affection. They may sabotage connection. They may create chaos because chaos feels familiar. They can appear charming or regulated outside the home and unravel inside it. They can test loyalty relentlessly.
It is not simple defiance.
It is not a parenting failure.
It is not solved by stricter rules or softer hugs.
It is a survival pattern built early and carved deep.
And it is under researched. Poorly understood. Frequently minimized. Especially in systems already stretched thin.
They ran that first day in the park.
And in many ways, they have been running ever since.
Not always with their feet.
Sometimes emotionally.
Sometimes relationally.
Sometimes from accountability.
Sometimes from the very safety we were trying to build.
Before anyone assumes we were unprepared, hear this clearly.
We did not walk into foster care casually.
In both Oregon and California, we were considered strong foster parents. The kind agencies trusted with complex placements. We mentored other foster families. We supported parents working toward reunification. We did the trainings. We did the therapy homework. We partnered with caseworkers. We believed in the system enough to keep trying to work with it.
We were prepared for hard.
We were not prepared for what RAD can do inside a home.
For 13 years, we did what you are told to do.
We documented.
We reported.
We called crisis lines.
We sat in waiting rooms.
We pushed for higher levels of care.
We navigated county mental health.
We navigated juvenile court.
We navigated state systems.
We were told to call 988.
We were told it was not severe enough.
Then we were told it was too severe.
We were told there were no beds.
We were told to try again next month.
Over and over.
More than 1 professional inside the system told us privately, “You have done everything you can.”
Everything.
And still, in 7 days, they turn 18.
They have made it clear they want no contact. No celebration. No parents present. We are going to respect that.
But I will not pretend it does not hurt.
Because there is something uniquely painful about spending 13 years fighting for a child’s safety and stability and then being told you are not wanted in their adulthood.
Here is the truth people do not say out loud.
18 is an accomplishment.
There were seasons when survival did not feel guaranteed. If you have ever lived in the constant stress of a child in deep crisis, you understand that without explanation.
So today I feel 2 things at once.
Relief that they made it to 18, alive.
Grief for the family story we thought we were building.
Foster care is not clean.
Adoption is not a tidy redemption arc.
Trauma does not evaporate because paperwork becomes permanent.
Sometimes love looks like advocacy.
Sometimes love looks like boundaries.
Sometimes love looks like letting go while still hoping.
In 7 days, our oldest turns 18.
And even with everything that has happened, I can say this clearly.
We showed up.
We fought.
We asked for help.
We stayed.
We did not quit.
I do not know what adulthood will bring for them.
Our hope is one day they decide they will be able to stop running, even for a moment…
