Loving Bella

Symptom #1: Masking & False Charm
What They See vs. What I Survive
Part of the RAD Symptoms Series

Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD) is trauma that begins early—usually in the first three years of life—and shows up in ways most people would never expect.

It doesn’t look the same in every child.

Some kids show mild signs of symptoms.
Others show moderate or extreme versions of other symptoms.

One child might be calm and helpful at school…
but rage at home.

Another might seem happy and sweet to everyone—except the parent who loves them most.

Some kids seem emotionally shut down. Others explode.
Some hurt pets. Some hurt siblings. Some hurt themselves.

RAD lives on a spectrum.
No two children experience it exactly the same way.

But for many of us parenting kids with RAD, there are patterns.

Here are just a few of the extreme RAD symptoms I’ll be talking about in this series:

• Masking & False Charm in public
• Child-to-Parent Abuse (rage, destruction, verbal & physical attacks) Click here to read about Child-to-Parent Abuse.
• Extreme Control & Power Struggles
• Lack of Empathy or Remorse
• Triangulation (pitting adults against each other)
• Pathological Lying
• Sabotage of Good Moments
• Regression & Emotional Immaturity
• Rejection of Nurture
• …and so many more

Some children won’t show all of these symptoms.
Others show all of them—at varying levels.

And none of this is about being a “bad kid.”
It’s about trauma that runs deeper than most people can see.

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Symptom #1: Masking & False Charm

What They See vs. What I Survive

She smiles at strangers.
Compliments her teachers.
Waves hello to neighbors.
Hugs friends we pass in the store.

She is polite.
Charming.
Sweet.

And then she comes home.

She screams at me.
Calls me names.
Destroys our house.
Tells me she hates me.
Refuses to get dressed.
Refuses to move.

If I try to explain this to anyone?
They look at me like I’m crazy—
or like I’m the problem.

I hear it all the time:

“She’s so sweet.”
“She’s so polite.”
“She has the best manners.”

And then comes the advice:

“You just need more patience.”
“Maybe put her in sports?”
“She might like Girl Scouts.”
“Try something fun.”

As if we haven’t tried everything.

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What people don’t see is what’s really going on inside her brain.
What they don’t see is Reactive Attachment Disorder.

They don’t see the trauma.
The broken trust.
The survival brain that’s been in charge since infancy.

They don’t see the intense need to be liked by everyone… except me.

They don’t hear her say all the right things to other adults—
while looking right through me.

They don’t see the hours I spend holding boundaries
that she begs others to break, and they usually do.

They don’t see her mock me.
Or call me names.
Or tell me she hates me.
Tear things up.
Explode when I say no.

They don’t see her barge into my space,
or call me stupid.
They don’t hear the fake crying.
Or see it last for hours when I set a limit.

They don’t see me crying in my closet.
They don’t see me breathing through a panic attack.
They don’t see the bruises on my arms and legs—or the ones on my heart.

They don’t see the stories she tells to get me in trouble.
Or how she acts helpless so others will feel sorry for her.
Or how she twists just enough truth to make people question me.

They don’t see how often I’m judged, doubted, shamed.

They don’t see the grief I carry—
for the daughter I thought I’d have.
For the life I thought we’d share.

They don’t see how I show up anyway.

They don’t see me get back up when she pushes me away.
Or love through the hate.
Or sit beside her while I’m hurting.
Or whisper “I love you”
while she screams “I hate you.”

They don’t see the fierce love behind the firm boundaries.
The hope behind the hard choices.
The years of sacrifice.
The endless therapy.
The relentless, unconditional, soul-breaking, soul-choosing love of therapeutic parenting.

They see her smile.
They think I’m lucky.

But they don’t see what I survive.