RADically changed; Beautifully Broken (Part 1)

I was speaking to a close friend the other night, trying to explain my emotional attitude, when I finally looked at her and said, “I don’t mean this in a bad way, but there is no way I could explain it to where you could understand. Living with a child with Reactive Attachment Disorder cannot be understood unless you are going thru it.”

I felt pretty guilty saying those words, but it is truly how I feel. But the thought has not left me since. And I think perhaps, I am meant to share my story, so this is the first part of several posts of sharing our story; hoping that in some way, it will help someone who needs to know that there are others of us out there that really do understand what they are going thru. This is a deeply personal story, so please bear with me as I re-live the past fourteen years.

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I’ll never forget the day it all started. My drug-addict brother showed up at my house introducing me to his new someone, stating they were having a baby. I asked how long they’d known each other; they had just met at a drug rehab meeting and the world was all great and they were having a baby.

I was in the delivery room by their side as she came into this world. I remember being hopeful that the years of drug abuse would now be past him as he started this new life. I had my suspicions not too long after, but couldn’t prove anything. Until she was almost five months old.

I remember being called to their apartment. I will never forget it. My oldest son, 15 at the time, was with me. We walked into a dark apartment. She was there, showing me the train tracks on her arms, bragging about how many more she could get on a single arm. My brother walked out with his infant daughter in her car seat. He was not a small man, and can be quite imposing when he wants to. He put the carseat down beside me, knelt down in front of me and calmly spoke the following words;

“You are going to take her with you and take care of her until I ask you to bring her back. You will not call anyone, or tell anyone anything. You will not try and take her away from me. If you do, I will take your children away from you and kill them all.”

My son was standing a few feet away.

The two of us walked out with this tiny infant. For the next week she cried and cried. I did my very best to take care of her and my own five children. I tried to calm and comfort her as best as I knew how. I now know that she was going thru drug withdrawal because her mom had been nursing her while using meth. I ended up with shingles from the stress of it all. From worrying about this precious baby who, at the time, I thought only wanted her daddy.  From worrying about what would happen to my own family if I shared their secret. I convinced myself it wasn’t as bad as my brain was imagining it to be.

I convinced myself it would all work out.

There is not a single day that I do not feel responsible; guilty, for my part in the trauma that she has endured.

My heart is shattered by her life; but that is nothing compared to what she feels every day.

She is lost. Broken. Beautiful, but broken.

My broken butterfly.

For more RADically Changed stories:

RADically Changed: Beautifully Broken

This is the story of how it all came to be.