According to Mayo Clinic, Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD) is a rare and serious condition where a child fails to form healthy relationships with parents or caregivers.

I believe that attachment issues are prevalent among children who have been separated from their birth families. As an adult who was adopted, I can speak from personal experience on this matter. Additionally, as a foster parent, I have lived through trying to help children who come from difficult situations.

Most important, none of these things prepared me for parenting my children with RAD.

Let me clarify what RAD is in my home:

After a tiring day at work, I embark on my journey to pick up my child from afterschool care. Fortunately, I have already prepared dinner in the crockpot, so it will be ready for us when we arrive home. I am completely drained and all I want at the moment is to sit down and relax for a few moments.

I arrive at the pick-up spot and start taking deep breaths. My stomach is in knots as I realize that I am scared and stressed. However, I ignore my internal alarms and push through like I always do. I know I can’t delay it any longer, so I get out of the car and join the line of parents waiting for their children. I observe the expressions of the other parents and try to replicate their excited “Hey, honey” and “Let’s go home!” enthusiasm.

As soon as it was my turn, an afterschool staff asks me to step out of line. They explained that my son had caused another disturbance. He screamed at staff and refused to follow instructions. They aren’t sure if they could keep him in the program anymore.

He is too difficult to manage around other kids. He refuses to stay safe and gets angry and violent when he didn’t get his way. They were really sorry, but I need to find another place for him to be after school.

As I listen, I feel a growing sense of dread. A group of professionals are struggling to manage my child for just an hour after school, and yet I am expected to do it at home.

The truth is that I am unable to manage him at home as well. We have other children in the house and only two adults. We are not equipped to handle his level of needs. He also throws fits at home when he doesn’t get his way or has to share, or when we refuse his demands.

I nod and mutter, “I understand.” They call for my son, but he won’t come out of the gym. They say, ‘Mom is here, buddy. Don’t you want to go home?’ He stares at them blankly, but refuses to stop the game of horse he is playing.

I walk back to the gym and put on an excited face. I say in a playful tone, “Hey buddy! Let’s turn it into a game. How about we race to the car and see who can reach there first?” This playfulness isn’t my first instinct, it’s the instruction I get from the many therapists and service providers we have consulted over the years.

My son doesn’t acknowledge my attempts at levity. He continues to bounce the basketball and makes no move to comply. The other kids glance around nervously because they don’t know what happens next. They can’t imagine behaving this way and they think my son is weird.

I watch the kids as they watch my son, and my heart hurts. I know they are judging him and finding him wanting. I can see that he is feeling their judgement, and frankly, I am too. I walk over to my son, take the ball out of his hand, and get down to his level. His pupils are fully dilated, and his expression is blank. He blinks a few times slowly as I take his hand and begin guiding him towards the car.

I remember when he was small enough for me to scoop him up and hold him, but now he’s too big for that. Even trying to tug him towards the doors causes him to start screeching at the top of his lungs. He breaks into a run and takes off to the corner of the gym.

I slowly walk towards my son but stop short as I know he will either fight me or run away again. Feeling defeated, I lower myself to the gym floor and take out my phone. I send a text message to my husband, informing him that he will have to get dinner ready and help the other kids with their homework.

I am currently facing a power struggle crisis and it seems like it’s going to take a while to resolve. Although I am feeling hungry, I won’t be able to eat anything anytime soon. Additionally, I need to use the bathroom, but I know that it will be difficult to convince my son to come with me. Even though I am exhausted, I can’t afford to show my fatigue.

This is my real-life example of RAD.