My oldest has attachment disorder. Her first mom has mental health problems which prevented her from understanding the complexity and demands of motherhood. When we assumed custody my daughter was a lifeless soul. Her eyes were hauntingly empty. Any attempts at giving her physical affection were rejected with scratches and bites that drew blood, hair pulling or angry screaming and kicking.

The first two years were spent rehabilitating her and helping her acclimate to a healthy home environment. All the while, we maintained visits with her first mother but in neutral, casual environments. Typically after visits, I became my daughter’s punching bag, literally, for then next two days. We assumed she was acting out her anger regarding her abuse as an infant in her firstmother’s care. Unable to verbalize her emotion, it made sense so I dealt with it. More than anything, I wanted my daughter to be well.

Seven and a half years later, two things have changed. First, we no longer have visits with the children’s firstmother. Her mental health challenges make visits difficult at best and she has since married a violent man who, at our last visit three years ago, attacked me. Second, my daughter no longer violently assaults the people that love her. Instead, she screams, whines and has insane temper tantrums at everyone and everything.

Psychological intervention has done little to abate her emotional distress. Likewise with medication. To say that as a mom, I am overwhelmed by my child and grieving for the loss of what I thought would be a delightful experience in motherhood is an understatement. I have spent a lot of time crying, a lot of time being angry myself, a lot of time trying to be the best damn mother I know how for a child that often makes it clear that if I were chopped liver, she might love me more.

She wakes up screaming at me. She goes to bed doing the same. Even now, she is generally unresponsive to my attempts at physical affection. Some times I don’t bother. Some times I hug and kiss her hard, hoping she’ll receive it finally. During my trials with my daughter, it doesn’t escape me that it is because of her firstmother’s mental challenges that I know face mine. I don’t begrudge firstmom for being impaired, I begrudge the extended first family that is unwilling to acknowledge the hardships my husband and I endure on behalf of our daughter.

Firstmom is remarried to a man older than her father. They have a child together even though between the two of them and their previous partnerships, six children have been removed from their custody by the state. They elude the same fate for their youngest child by moving away every time the state opens a case in their county. By the extended first family’s own admission and by the observances of my adoption lawyers, this child is in jeopardy. All I can think about is my daughter and the heart break we have endured attempting to repair the damage. I think of the same happening to this new toddler and I grieve all over again.

Firstmom’s youngest sister, whom I’ve taught or tutored for the last six years, is graduating in two weeks. She’ll be at her sister’s party, as she should be. But there’s the rub. Will we? With the current behaviors my oldest daughter is still facing and the resultant challenges I endure as her mother, the thought of a visit makes me ill.

I feel like a back stabber and a liar and a cheat. I agreed to an open adoption, an agreement I now find myself unable to honor due to circumstances. I hear the judge’s words on adoption day in my head, “do you promise to love this child, to do your best to protect her from harm, to raise her to adulthood and beyond, do you understand and accept the challenges of parenthood, will you do everything in your power to create a loving, nurturing home for her?” I said, “I Do and I Will.”

Right now, a visit seems contrary to what I swore to under oath in a court of law before the Honorable Judge. Unfortunately, that agreement is the only legal and binding one.

I’m sorry firstmom, but our daughter must come first.