“It takes a brave friend to confront the parenting of another. I praise God for my brave friend who calmly and kindly told me “He needs this.” The “he” was my son, adopted at age 6 from Ethiopia. I said, “I don’t know. I think he’s just high strung.” But, I worried. Deep down, I worried. And then one day, I walked into the kitchen to see my son digging and eating out of the trash can. My son who was never denied seconds in our home, rooting in the trash like an animal. That’s when those small doubts started screaming. So I called my coach. I fully expected her to say, “no, this doesn’t apply to you. This doesn’t apply to your son. He is the exception.” He had been the exception thus far. He learned English in 2 months and began to read and write. He could talk circles around any adult. He was so very smart. So very charming. And, so very RAD. As I talked with through it that day, I knew. This kid needed more fight from me. Fight for him, not against him. And I had thought that the adoption process was the fight. How little I knew. I hung up after the first call, and started the program that very day even though the timing was poor (my husband was out of the country for work the first two weeks). Still I couldn’t delay when I knew there was a problem. I hoped this would fix it. And as soon as the “Sure, honeys” started, he began to unravel. I had pulled the top off of all that festering trauma and there was no forcing it back in now. I remember where I was when my son pulled a pair of scissors and chased me, seeking to stab me. All of his abundant, enraged trauma was spilling out and I was frantically trying to understand as well as protect my other sons (one of whom was a newborn). I don’t think I slept that much while in phase 1. I ground my teeth and spent a lot of time in my closet with my two younger boys while he raged at the door, trying to get in. I sent so many frantic texts and emails to my friend (“What is happening??!!!!”) and to my coach (“Please help me!!!”). And as big and wild and sudden as his fury was, it started to change. In the exact same place in the house that he tried to stab me with scissors, he also climbed into my arms and relaxed his boy body like a baby for the first time too. I wept very quietly while I held this too-big baby. I was stunned by his want of sippy cups filled with milk, and ferried them to the fridge when they were left out. Why? Because my boy lost out on the mothering he needed. And if I remembered that, it would help me to be less authoritative and more compassionate. Thankfully throughout this wild ride, I had a guide, a friend, a mentor, and a compassionate mother figure in my coach. I came to realize that she was right 99.8% of the time (I can’t think actually of one thing she was wrong about). A better bet than anything out there. And obeying what she advised, even if it sounded crazy, even if I recoiled against it, worked. It worked so well. My son began to attach to me, and much faster than I began to attach to him. His entire face changed. He’s always been beautiful and charming since I’ve known him, but now his smile is gentle, not forced, and it reaches his eyes. The wounds he felt (and they are so many they would make your skin crawl to know them) were slowly unraveling as he began to trust and love for the first time. He could recount the horrors he experienced to me, and shudder with relief that those days were no more. If you think I was perfect, you are sorely mistaken. I am still fighting my temper, but I have learned to forgive myself and move on. “Tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it,” as Anne of Green Gables would say. My formerly orphaned son has bloomed. I no longer worry he will harm any one, ever. He is the one I can rely on to help with a greater capacity than most adults. His mind has expanded too. He’s an exceptional Biblical and historical (and lately, legal) scholar. And he is only nine. He reads far, far above grade level, makes friends more easily than anyone I’ve seen, and has a solid and hopeful heart. He will say casually that “I’d rather not do that, I know it would make my mama feel bad,” without an ounce of sarcasm. This kid is tried and true. And here’s the thing: I am too. I have grown to love him more than I thought I ever would. Today, he and I played monopoly together and there was no pouting, no drama, no cheating, no issues. It was fun. I would not have this calmer, loving life that I do today had I not gone through the very tumultuous times of phase 1 and phase 2 of the program. My son would not be whole, and nor would I. I thank God for my coach on a regular basis. I do not understand how she can have the compassion and the capacity that she does, but my family is healed because of her. I have been out of the program for awhile now, and it has “stuck.” If you waiver about this program, don’t. It’s the real deal. It’s for any kid who has RAD, and there are so many more of them than we thought before. They can be biological, adopted, fostered, you name it. And they CAN be healed. My son is living proof. I have done the program on all 4 of my children: two bio, two adopted, and it has worked on them all. My youngest was adopted a few days after birth. She had the program from the start, and she is astounding in her perfection and whole-hearted sweetness. I have never met a toddler who on her own volition does chores. This little one didn’t have to have “favors” doled out to her (this happens in phase 2). She naturally helps because she is so healthy emotionally. And my two biological boys have grown in confidence and delightfulness because of the program. I didn’t do a “light” version of the program on them; it was too hard for me to parent each child differently, so I “sure honeyed” them all. And it worked for every last one. When I started, my one vision for my sons was that they would be friends and each would stand up as best man for the other at their weddings. I replayed this vision in the tough times to give me hope. Currently they are 9 and 7 years old and despite being more dramatically different than seems humanly possible, they have grown together. They adapt to each other. They express their needs. They make mistakes and get mad at each other, and then say sorry and rectify with each other. They have a healthier friendship than most adults who choose to be friends do. If a healthy, loving family is your desire, then the hard work of the program is for you. It will take every ounce of grit that you have, but it will pay off a hundredfold. Send your coach 3 emails a day with detailed interactions, don’t skip phone calls because you’re tired, apologize to your kid when you explode in anger, give yourself scheduled breaks away from the kids and the pressure, have a hidden treat closet for yourself, do whatever your coach says, and hunker down for a wild ride. On the other side of the tornado, the most beautiful sky is waiting. Your true, healed family is waiting if you will do the work to get there. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

— Lori