Our Disruption Story
Disruption is never anything other than heart-breaking for everyone involved. However, how social workers respond to families in these situations can make a significant difference.
Our story illustrates how empathy, transparency, and a lack of judgment can help a family survive, albeit in a different shape. It also shows that siblings aren’t always better together.
(All names have been changed)
The Beginning
Two weeks before Christmas 2017, two sisters—four-year-old Rosie and two-year-old Susie—came to live with us. Two beautiful, beguiling little characters who didn’t stop moving or making sounds we couldn’t understand from dawn to dusk.
We wanted to be everything they needed, to form the family that could help them feel safe. But ultimately, we came to realise that the legacy of their traumatic early lives was too great for our fledgling family to survive.
The Challenges
From the start, things were incredibly tough. Neither girl could speak more than a few words, and both would have furious tantrums if they couldn’t get their way. Susie had an ear-piercing scream that she used to control everyone. Changing her nappy was a battle; she was so strong that it felt like going seven rounds with a boxer. Rosie, only recently toilet-trained, was regularly soiling herself and refused to stay on the toilet. The smell seemed to linger everywhere.
On average, no more than three seconds would go by without one of them calling us or hitting her sister. At bath time, we noticed red marks on their bodies daily, evidence of the constant fighting.
Their relationship, forged in a context of significant neglect, was complex. Their birth parents, addicted to gaming, lived in a virtual world and ignored their three children. Rosie remembered being so hungry that she ate from the cat’s food. Fighting was all the siblings knew.
With us, jealousy over attention created more conflict. Rosie, who had been submissive in foster care under the dominance of her older brother, became controlling without him. She whispered instructions in Susie’s ear to cause trouble, making herself look like the “good” sister.
“Adoption Isn’t Supposed to Break You”
The relentlessness broke us. My partner and I were so exhausted we could barely communicate. We disagreed constantly on how to respond to the girls’ behaviour, desperately trying to de-escalate the drama.
I was barely eating; my diet became whatever I could grab—often crackers. I lost so much weight I dropped two dress sizes in four months and ended up in A&E with panic attacks. It was my kind GP who finally told me:
“I don’t think carrying on with this adoption is a good idea—for them or you.”
I was so depressed I could barely leave my bedroom. While waiting for antidepressants to take effect, my partner and I began to consider the unthinkable: we couldn’t continue as we were.
Lack of Support
Our social worker, heavily pregnant and often absent, dismissed our concerns. She suggested we keep a diary of good days, but there weren’t any. She encouraged us to attend adopter events, but with two screaming girls hanging off our hands, making connections wasn’t possible.
The girls’ social worker tried to reassure us, but meaningful discussions were impossible amidst the girls’ chaos. For too long, we put on a brave face, listening to friends and family insisting things would get better.
But we knew that if we carried on, one of us wouldn’t survive. It sounds dramatic, but the toll was undeniable.
Finding Empathy
When we finally told our social worker we couldn’t continue, her first response was:
“There will have to be an enquiry.”
Once she realised we were serious, things improved. A team leader stepped in, someone we’d connected with before. Her first words when she saw me were:
“Oh Jenny, I can see that you’ve lost weight. Adoption isn’t supposed to break you.”
This acknowledgment of our struggles made a world of difference. She spoke to us individually, even taking me for walks, which felt incredibly kind. She introduced me to another adopter who had experienced disruption, helping me let go of some of the overwhelming shame.
A New Plan
After much discussion, the idea of separating the sisters emerged. Initially, I resisted, fearing the impact on the girls. But then a prospective adopter for Susie was identified: a single woman who seemed perfect.
Meeting her was nerve-wracking, but she didn’t judge us. We could see how a single parent, without sibling competition, could be ideal for Susie. Suddenly, the impossible decision became a viable solution.
The Outcome
The process of signing off the plan was distressingly slow, but our social worker supported us throughout. When the final meeting was brought forward, it felt like she was fighting for our little family.
Seven years on, Rosie and Susie chat regularly on video calls and meet during school holidays. They still wind each other up, but it’s manageable. Both girls continue to struggle with emotions and behaviour, but they’ve thrived in their own families in ways we know wouldn’t have been possible if they’d stayed together with us.
Final Thoughts
As Rosie once said with her now-expanded vocabulary:
“I hated it when Susie lived with us.”
We know they’ll have more questions as they grow, but we’ll face them together.
Looking back, I sometimes wonder what would have happened if we’d been met with judgment and blame. I suspect we might have given up entirely. But empathy, compassion, and practical support helped us navigate those dark days, allowing us to hold onto hope and find the best outcome for everyone involved.