own and others’.
4. Child engages in multiple control battles.
5. Child “triangulates” (divides or splits up) adults to maintain control.
6. Child is oppositional to authority and those with whom he has a relationship.
7. Child steals from family and strangers, sometimes useless objects of no practical value.
8. Child is reactionary to parental affection.
9. Child lacks trust in adults.
10. Child’s problem/target seems to be the mother.
11. Child implies false claims of abuse.
12. Child projects that he is not lovable.
13. Child lacks healthy interpersonal boundaries.
14. Child has poor personal hygiene.
15. Child has abnormal eating habits.
16. Child has unusual bathroom behavior.
17. Child has abnormal sleeping patterns.
18. Child uses poor communication skills.
19. Child may dissociate.
20. Child appears hyper-vigilant.
21. Child is aggressive toward anyone with whom he has a relationship.
22. Child displays emotional, physical and cognitive development delays.
23. Child has poor peer relationships.
Our intentional, constant and unrelenting determination to see the traumatized, attachment-disordered child’s world through his or her lens is aided by putting ours aside to understand the disruptive and sometimes outright bizarre behavior of the child. Then we have a chance to replace despair with hope—hope that will take form in myriad “trauma-informed” interactions with the child that over time will heal his or her damaged Internal Working Model. In the following two chapters, we will look more specifically at how the traditional lens creates a foggy, distorted understanding and approach to these children and then focus on what we call “the trauma lens paradigm shift.”
The Lens We Are Accustomed to Using The Lens We Are Accustomed to Using
Days of excitement followed the introduction of Allan into the family. He seemed to fit in! We were competent parents. We “got” parenting. Our birth children were responsible and fairly compliant. We treated Allan just like the other children. He had a few chores and was given consequences when he did not obey. The children had freedom to roam our twenty acres of trees and woods. The front ten acres were filled with long rows of sheared pines, firs and spruce waiting for holiday tree customers. The rear property was more adventurous, with steep terrain, large pines and a slow, shallow stream. Allan enjoyed the outdoors, running through the fields, exploring the woods and playing in the stream. He and his younger sister shared toys, games and activities.
The family referred to Allan as “the Energizer Bunny,” because his batteries never ran down. He shared a bedroom with his new older brother and he was homeschooled along with his sisters. I felt that he could learn how to be in this family if he spent more time with its members. I was pleased that I was allowed to homeschool Allan. Typically, foster children had to attend school. I challenged the caseworkers to make this decision in Allan’s best interest. His previous school experiences were problematic. All seemed well.
Until it wasn’t.
David and I assigned daily chores. The girls and Allan were asked to clean their rooms, help with kitchen clean-up and complete their schoolwork. I stayed close to Allan to supervise him cleaning his room. I broke the tasks into small chunks, just like I learned in my education classes. Allan was to pick up his clothes and put them in the laundry, put away his toys and make his bed. He would not pick up his clothes. He played instead. The longer he played, the madder I became. I was wasting my time. “Why don’t you get your work done?” I asked. He answered with sincerity that he just wanted to play. I pointed out that he was getting behind in his schoolwork, hoping that he would hurry. This never helped.
As I watched Allan, I began to compare his play with my other children’s—something was different. He moved from toy to toy, pulling more out but not really playing with them—just scattering them around the room. I felt powerless to make him comply. No reward was good enough and no consequence severe enough to make him obey.
These long days of supervising him left little time to be with the girls or to complete my work. Every day I felt we were getting further and further behind in life. Giving directives and trying to make Allan comply consumed my time. The girls suffered because Mom was so focused on Allan’s lack of compliance that she had little time for them. My patience was replaced by fear—fear of getting behind, fear of failing, fear of not being competent enough to parent Allan.
—Faye Hall
In the traditional foster and adoptive process, parents must attend classes, be assessed for suitability as parents and be found competent to parent a foster or adoptive child. They ask friends to provide references and their homes are inspected. Parents then anxiously await the new child. Everyone is convinced that lots of love and structure will enable the child to grow and flourish. They are taught that when a child understands the rules, he or she will behave. Parents envision that this new child will proudly identify with and represent the new family. Parents are primed to make sure the child eats healthy meals, is obedient, is successful at home and school and has a bright future. In this family, he or she will always have his or her needs (and many, if not all, “wants”) met! Good behavior will be rewarded and poor behavior will be given “consequences.”
LOOKING THROUGH A TRAUMATIZED CHILD’S LENS
Imagine having your first, most important relationship with your mom disrupted while an infant or toddler. There may not have been a loving caregiver to tuck you in at night, to smile at your first steps or to send you off to school. The most important person, your mom, may have been emotionally unavailable. Even worse, she may have been the source of (or tolerated) your neglect or abuse. Through your lens, you began to see yourself as worthless, your mom as untrustworthy and the world as unsafe.
Now imagine confident foster or adoptive parents who vow, “I’ve got this!” when beginning the foster or adoptive process. They attended all the parenting classes, completed the interviewing process and finished the home study. These parents are positive their skills are adequate for any child entering their home. They will use their ideal model in parenting: good structure, lots of love and many opportunities for success.
Then imagine the first few days or weeks as being uneventful. Sometimes, the child does not want to complete chores. Then hygiene problems begin—refusing to shower or brush teeth. During a quick search of the child’s bedroom, the parents find food packages and stolen items. Sometimes the child roams through
