One, Two, Three, Four- I Declare a RAD War-

By Kathryn Taylor

Johnny left his family: his wife, 3 young children, and all his extended family. He really did not want to go, but he knew he had to do it. His country was at war and they needed him to fight for their freedom. Even though he was a gentle, loving man, who avoided conflict with his wit and humor, he was now faced with violence all around him. He was in a foreign country, surrounded by his fellow warriors. He had to trust these men with his life, and they had to trust him.

Months passed. The pain of missing his family and friends slowly lost its' sting. The trauma of conflict, blood, and dehumanization took its' toll on Johnny. He lost some of his comrades in battle. He also nearly lost his own life twice. He became hyper-vigilant all the time. He never fully rested, always watched his back, and was careful not to get too close to any of his buddies. His job was to do his duty and do it well. He wanted everyone else to do the same. The better they did it, the sooner they would get to go home. What kept him going was to know that his sacrifice was for his family and his country.

As time passed, the trauma continued on almost a daily basis. Johnny was beginning to lose sight of who he was. He was being taken over by the survival mode. He had to kill or be killed. He had to protect himself and his comrades. He had to be all that he could be. With each passing day, his hatred for his enemy grew. This hatred fueled his existence. This hatred kept him alive. He was no longer the man who brought his wife flowers, tucked his kids in bed after a piggyback ride, or grilled his famous barbecue ribs for his buddies on hot Sunday afternoons.

One day, a fellow officer came to him. He told Johnny that he noticed a drastic change in his personality. "I know how tough this is for you, Johnny," he said, "I'm worried about you."

"Well, life is a bit different over here. Of course there will be changes in me, in all of us," Johnny responded.

"You just seem to be so on edge. Do you think there might be a better way of dealing with the stress?" he asked. "Do you think you were this way as a child when stressful things happened?"

"What does my childhood have to do with war!?" Johnny exclaimed.

"I just hate to see you become this way because of the fight. You need to find a way to stay the gentle, kind man that you are. Maybe if you can figure out what causes you to be afraid, you can sidetrack those thoughts, and stay away from being hard and uncaring."

Johnny was in shock. He was doing all he could to cope with this awful circumstance. How do you make war a pleasant experience? How do you not let strife and atrocity change you? How do you not hate the one who is trying to kill you everyday? How could you let your guard down in the middle of the battle? Isn't the time to change when you get home and you are with your family and the threat is gone? Johnny was so confused........

In Reactive Attachment Disorder families, we moms are the warriors who become hardened and changed in trying to protect our loved ones and those around us. We used to be kind, loving, and fun to be with. We had friends. We were able to be friends to others. We did things together as a family, things like eating out, going to the movies, the lake, biking, hiking and more. We loved our kids and our kids loved us back.

For many different reasons, RAD entered each of our homes. War was declared and we were forced to serve and protect. As mothers, we took in these children to love and nurture. However, the children saw us as the enemy and were combat ready. They were equipped with the most up-to-date arsenal. Our other children ran for cover as shrapnel rained upon them from ambush attacks from their new siblings. We moms moved to the front lines to intervene and protect the innocent. No matter what the peace-seeking mission was, the enemy always managed to sabotage it. Our homes slowly became war zones filled with violence. Land mines were anywhere and everywhere, even away from our homes. When least expected, one of us would unknowingly step on a mine. All of us would freeze. We recognized that almost silent but deadly clicking sound beneath our feet. Out of necessity and with expert precision, we moms mastered the art of bomb squad technicians, limiting the destruction and casualties. Bedrooms became foxholes of protection. Possessions became objects of raiding and looting. Movable objects became guided missiles fueled by bottled-up rage. Our homes took on the smell of a third world country's street, as the enemy eliminated their waste inappropriately. More and more drastic measures were taken to keep the enemy at bay. Unlike Johnny, whose family was safe back home, we moms battle with our loved ones all around us. Rather than support us, our country despises what we are doing, as though we were Vietnam veterans. So very few understand our war or the sacrifices we make. And, all of our comrades have been wounded, captured, or run off by the enemy.

Like Rambo, we find ourselves alone, enraged by injustice and the need to be free. Our mission is to rescue the prisoners of war, destroy the power of the enemy, and keep all the innocents safe from harm. So, we become hyper-vigilant. We do our duty on less and less sleep. We begin hating the enemy. But, we were moms, and the enemy, children....We can't hate children...We must love children..So, we loved. And when we loved, the enemy would explode mortars of hate unexpectedly into our hearts. Bandaging our bloody wounds, we moms hid ourselves until we regained strength. We must be smarter..We must not make mistakes....We must end this war...We must kill or be killed..But, they are children..We must love the children. So, we would love with a little bit of hate. We nurtured with shields protecting our hearts. Every day was alike. There were no reinforcements. No peace treaties were honored. No supplies made it through to the front lines. All rescue missions aborted, due to the political rhetoric that keeps Reactive Attachment Disorder a dirty little secret.

One day, an ally approached a warrior mom, a mom who had been fighting alone for years. He told her he understood her war. He understood her enemy. He wanted to help in the fight. He was worried about her. He would bring in reinforcements. He would help her turn the enemy back into a child. The mom was shell-shocked. She was numb...She must fight...She must win. The more he got to know her, the more he worried about her. He spent more and more time focussing on her, while the enemy kept attacking.

"Why do you keep reacting to the children? Is it something from your past? Do you think you can become soft and kind again, even though they attack you? Can you fight this war without trying to protect your heart? Can you open your heart to them again?" he inquired.

Rambo-mom was shocked and confused. She was doing all she could to cope with her war-torn circumstances. How do you not let strife and atrocity change you? How do you not hate the one who is trying to kill you everyday? How do you love the child and hate the enemy? How do you keep your family safe with hugs and kisses, when door alarms and video cameras work so much better? Will you ever have friends again? Will your family ever feel the security of peace again? How do you let your guard down in the middle of a battle? She didn't want to be a warrior anymore, but her child still wanted to be the enemy..She didn't want to fight anymore, but no one would surrender....How would it ever end?...Could it ever end?...Who would promise safety for her family?

Children have far too much power in this day and age. It is a very dangerous weapon for children who are deeply troubled and need the help and guidance of loving adults. Our society has gone overboard with child abuse allegations. Like with the Salem Witch Trials, there are far too many good people under attack and prosecution, going down with the ones who should. These people are helpless to a society driven by fear who look to accuse and blame. There are so many people out in the world who have hurt, abused, abandoned and neglected the children we try to love. Most of those people never had to answer for what they did, nor have they suffered the hate of the children they hurt. Those children want someone to pay for what was done to them. Most often, it is the one who is willing to love them even in the midst of war. Most often, we families fight it alone.

I dream of a day when RAD will be as commonly known as Cancer or ADHD. I dream of a day when helping people will not be all about high dollar cures. I dream of a day when people will quit judging, but instead, will seek to understand and support. I dream of a day when my home will be a place of peace. I dream of a day when my enemy-children will be able to say, "I love you Mom," without setting a ticking bomb on my heart. I dream this dream for my comrades as well.

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