by Robin Netzel, adoptive parent and blogger
Originally posted April 20, 2019

I sit across the table and can’t believe what I am hearing, even though I knew it was what I was going to hear. I have spent the last four years trying everything I could to help my little one. I have done therapy, attachment camps, seminars, conferences, books…and all have left me feeling more lost and defeated, thinking there is no real help for my child.

I have spent the last six years holding off the formal diagnosis, not wanting to label my daughter at such a young age, not wanting her to always be seen as her diagnosis but rather as a smart little girl who has been hurt and deserves the chance to overcome those hurts. Now, as I sit across the table at the IEP meeting I have been trying so hard not to have, with the formal diagnosis I have not wanted to be seen, I hear: “I’m sorry, but by federal law this diagnosis ops her out of an IEP. Our hands are tied.” In the midst of all that has happened in our state in the last week, I am told, “We can’t help your family in this way because laws keep us from being able to.”

If ever I have wanted to scream profanity in a school setting, it is now. My daughter not only meets all eight of the criteria for the diagnosis in children (which is rare, as the school psychologist informs the rest of the group; it is usually only three to four that are met), but also meets criteria for the diagnosis in adults. And yet, she is unable to receive the help she needs –no, we need – because she can control who she shows her behaviors to.

I cannot begin to count all of the mothers and fathers out there who are screaming for help for our children. Begging for there to be more help than there is. Crying to teachers, caseworkers, therapists, psychologists, doctors, family members, pastors…anyone who will listen to us. We are unable to get the help we need. With every news story of a young child who has shot their parents, threatened their school, or killed themselves in the mountains of Colorado after not being able to carry out their plan, I read countless posts by hurting moms asking: Why can’t we be taken seriously before the tragedy that is mental illness takes a life?!

Mental illness is not something that can be helped in the gym. It isn’t a class that can be taught in school. It isn’t something that can be taken care of at a weekend conference. It is a real struggle for those who have it and those who care for them. In most, it is more like a disease than a controllable behavior. How do we treat the disease in its early stages? How do we help heal our littles before tragedy hits? How do we shine a light on the darkness our kids live in? How can schools’ hands be tied with one of the scariest mental health diagnoses a family can receive? Unlike diseases that are acknowledged as such, our children’s disease not only hurts them, but it hurts those around them – and not just emotionally. They come after their parents, their siblings, their pets, their neighbors, their teachers, and their classmates. Yet, our hands are tied.

The choices we are given as parents to help our children don’t include private rooms with a bed that pulls out for mom and dad, with Disney characters on the wall and sweet nurses that smile and gently offer healing medicine. Nope, our kids have shared rooms with other kids screaming in the night, white walls with nothing in the rooms but their beds, no extra bed for mom and dad because we aren’t allowed to stay with them, and nurses trained in holding them down as they try to hurt all those around them. As the parents, we aren’t spoken to in soft, understanding voices by doctors letting us know the treatment plan and how we are going to do everything we can to kick this disease’s butt. No, we are left at home in tears and guilt, with no real idea of how we are ever going to help our child heal or even get the disease under control. We don’t have meal chains set up to be dropped off in our time of hurting, we don’t have GoFundMe pages set up by friends in the community to help pay for the places we would send our kids for help if only we could afford it, we don’t have people offering to come sit with our kids while mom and dad go out and take a break (and even when we do, they don’t have the training needed to be able to).

No. We have judgmental eyes on our house because we are that family. When the tragedy that is mental illness hits, our neighbors will say, “I always knew there was something wrong with that kid.” We are a group of hurting parents who long for a real light to shine on the world we live in, praying for those in power to hear our cries and start trying to figure out how to really help our kids. We are a community tired of lives being taken senselessly. I am a mom of children with mental health issues, I am a mom who just might have some mental health issues because of that, and so I write…

About the Author
Robin Netzel is a blogger and stay-at-home mother of four children – one biological child and three “heart babies” who were adopted from the Colorado Foster Care system three years ago. “The adoption journey is a long one, a hard one, an emotional one, and at times a lonely one,” Robin shares. She decided to write a blog in order to remember her experiences and hopefully to find “fellow journeymen” who are on a similar path. In her own words: “Maybe I can help some along that have yet to reach the destination I have, and maybe I will be helped by others that have gone beyond my current stop off! Either way, I will have the memories of my journey in the years to come. I hope you enjoy my stories and can join with me in the hurts, the healing, and the journey!”