The Story No One Prepared Us For

Our daughter is now 10 years old, but she has been part of our family since she was just one. When she came home to us, we already had two older birth children who were four and six at the time. I had experienced two difficult pregnancies, and I had always known I wanted three children. Adoption felt like the right path for our family, even though we knew it wouldn’t be straightforward.

What we didn’t know — and what we couldn’t have been prepared for — was just how complex that journey would become.

When we adopted our daughter, we were given very little information about her background. We knew she had birth siblings already within the adoption system, and we knew she had been in foster care since birth. Beyond that, there were many unknowns. At the time, it felt manageable — after all, she had no memory of her early life, and she was still so young. We believed that love, stability, and consistency would be enough.

And we do love her deeply. Unconditionally.

But love alone doesn’t erase early trauma, attachment wounds, or anxiety that settles quietly into a child long before they have words to explain it.

Over the years, life became harder than we ever imagined it would. Our daughter has grown into a bright, caring, funny child — but also one who carries a level of anxiety and emotional complexity that is invisible to most people. She presents as “fine”. She is polite, well-behaved, and copes brilliantly in school. So well, in fact, that getting support has often felt like an uphill battle.

Because when a child is holding it together in the classroom, it can be hard for professionals to see the struggles happening behind closed doors.

Fast forward nine years, and I’ve lost count of how many social workers we’ve had along the way. For a long time, everything felt fragmented — constantly retelling our story, constantly starting again. We experienced a four-year gap with no social worker at all.

When I eventually contacted the agency after that gap, I attended an online meeting (during COVID) with two social workers. It was just me in the meeting. Apart from knowing my daughter’s name, they had no understanding of who she was. There were no notes, no records, and it was clear that no research had been done into her case beforehand. I was expected to explain my child, her history, and her needs from scratch.

In the last three years, we’ve finally had some stability with one social worker, and that consistency has helped. It reinforced just how vital continuity, relationships, and trust are for families like ours.

Our daughter accessed play therapy, which she absolutely loved. It gave her a safe space to express feelings she couldn’t put into words. We are now hoping that funding will be agreed so she can continue this support.

Alongside this, we’ve been navigating the SEND system. Teachers see a child who is compliant, capable, and “doing well”. But what’s harder to see is the emotional cost of masking, the exhaustion of holding everything in, and the struggles that spill out at home where it feels safe.

And then life threw another curveball.

During this journey, my partner and I separated. Parenting is hard enough; parenting a child with additional emotional needs while navigating separation adds another layer of grief, guilt, and survival mode. It was never part of the plan — but then again, very little about this journey has been.

Today, our daughter is on the CAMHS waiting list to be assessed for ADHD. Years of waiting. Years of questions. Years of trying to support her without the clarity and understanding that an assessment might bring.

This isn’t a story about having all the answers.

It’s a story about loving a child fiercely, advocating endlessly, and learning that some journeys are far more complicated than anyone prepares you for. It’s about systems that don’t always see the full picture — and families who keep going anyway, because they have to.

And this is only the beginning of our story.