The “Wrong Kind of Disabled”: How Services Fail Adopted Children & Their Families
By Madeleine Jones
When discussing disabled children, certain groups are often highlighted—those with special educational needs (SEN), formerly looked-after children, or children in need. Yet one group remains largely invisible: adopted children who display symptoms of disability caused by the severe trauma they’ve endured.
This silence is damaging. Adopted children aren’t automatically “disabled,” but when their trauma results in symptoms similar to recognised disabilities, they deserve the same understanding and support. The root of the issue lies in misconceptions about their needs. Services frequently attribute adopted children’s challenges solely to their adoption—issues of identity, attachment, or perhaps sensory needs. The reality, however, is far more complex.
The threshold for removing children from birth families is now so high that adoption rarely occurs without histories of severe neglect or abuse—experiences that leave profound, lifelong scars. Diagnoses such as ADHD, autism, PTSD, complex PTSD (cPTSD), or FASD are not uncommon. Yet many children are either misdiagnosed due to the overlap between trauma symptoms and these conditions, or worse, receive no diagnosis at all, slipping through the cracks of a broken system.
A Personal Story of Neglect by Services
My son’s early years were a patchwork of violence, neglect, and unresolved trauma. By the time he entered care, irreparable damage had already taken root, affecting every part of his life. Diagnoses of PTSD and cPTSD, which I pursued independently, brought no meaningful support. Service providers explained their inaction with statements like “he doesn’t meet the criteria” or “he’s not the right kind of disabled.”
When his behaviour in school reflected his inner turmoil, it was dismissed as a “choice” rather than a result of his trauma. After being failed by three schools, we eventually secured an Education, Health, and Care Plan (EHCP) through years of struggle, significant financial investment, and the looming threat of a tribunal. Yet, even with this plan, the burden of tutoring, managing his education, and supporting his mental health has fallen entirely on me.
As a single parent, I had to give up my career, live off savings, and navigate life on Carer’s Allowance while shouldering endless responsibilities. The only consistent contact we’ve had with social care over the years has been the repeated safeguarding reports filed against us—14 times in 13 years. None resulted in action, but the stress of these investigations has been a constant reminder that support is not forthcoming.
Systemic Failures and Misplaced Assumptions
The system fails children like my son at every turn. Schools misinterpret trauma-related behaviour as poor parenting. Social workers focus on compliance rather than providing meaningful help. Mental health services dismiss complex needs as ineligible. Families like mine are left to fend for ourselves, navigating a system that views us as too complex, too inconvenient.
Short breaks, which could be a lifeline, are inaccessible because my son’s separation anxiety—exacerbated by a lack of early intervention—prevents him from trusting others. Parenting courses, which I’ve attended to avoid being labelled “uncooperative,” often leave me teaching others rather than learning anything useful.
Even when services claim to help, they operate in silos, passing responsibility from one agency to another. I’ve spent years in circles, seeking educational support, only to end up right where I started.
The Long-Term Cost of Neglect
Ignoring these children has long-term consequences. Without early, effective intervention, the outcomes are often dire: low educational attainment, unemployment, reliance on benefits, mental health crises, criminality, addiction, homelessness, or worse. These are avoidable trajectories, but only if the system recognises and supports the unique needs of trauma-affected children.
A Plea for Change
Legislation and policies must include these children, ensuring they don’t fall through the cracks simply because they don’t fit traditional definitions of disability. Trauma’s long-term effects on mental and physical health need to be acknowledged and addressed.
My son once said to a professional:
“The trouble is you don’t know me. You have meetings about me without me which are wrong because you never talk to me and don’t know anything about me and then make decisions and force them on me. Why don’t you just ask me?”
A child with no voice or choice by the professionals meant to advocate for him. His words capture the essence of what’s missing: a willingness to listen, to understand, and to act with empathy.
Families like mine don’t ask for miracles—just a system that sees us, understands us, and supports us. It’s not too late to make that happen, but the time to act is now.