By Daily Mail (U.S.) | Created at 2026-08-06 14:57:08 | Updated at 2026-08-06 18:43:15
6 hours ago
For so long, I was desperate to be a mother. So after struggling to conceive, I saw adoption as the answer to my prayers.
My husband Daniel and I were advised that the more ‘flexible’ we were, the faster we would be matched with a child. And so, naively, we ticked the box saying we would accept any child, regardless of background – including those who came from abusive homes or where drugs were used throughout pregnancy. It’s a decision I now bitterly regret.
A decade on, our lives have imploded beyond recognition. Both our adopted children, now aged nine and 11, have learning difficulties and mental health conditions that see them exhibit such extreme bouts of violence that at times I’ve had to call the police.
As for Daniel and me, we’re both on antidepressants, and the stress has ended our 15-year marriage in all but name.
When I tell people I made a massive mistake in becoming a parent, they’re shocked, perhaps even a little horrified. They ask: ‘Have you tried a rewards chart? Have you tried talking to them?’
If only it were that simple.
Because the truth is, while I still recognise the positive impact adoption can have, I wish I could go back and warn my younger self – and others in my position – to never go down this path.
Daniel and I met at university, aged 19, in 2007, me studying nursing and him theology. We fell for each other quickly and got married four years later. Still young, initially life was exciting. We lived in London but travelled often. But while we loved our freedom, I always knew I wanted to settle down and have a family.
Daniel and Elinor regret adopting their children who have learning difficulties and mental health conditions (image posed by models)
Having endometriosis, I knew I might struggle to conceive. So I was thrilled when, aged 25, I got pregnant almost immediately after we started trying. But my joy turned to devastation when I suffered a miscarriage at 12 weeks.
After that, we kept trying but nothing happened. Twelve months after losing our baby, I underwent fertility testing. At the same time, fearing we may not be able to have a baby, even with IVF – which would prove costly – we started exploring adoption.
We wanted a baby rather than an older child. But the agency explained that, given most parents hope to adopt a baby, we might be waiting a very long time.
That’s when they asked how ‘open-minded’ we were prepared to be. They explained that if we were willing to adopt a child who had been exposed to drugs in the womb, we would be matched far sooner. However, they warned it meant a higher risk of behavioural problems.
In the meantime, my fertility tests came back; I was told everything was normal and it was simply a case of ‘unexplained infertility’.
I desperately wanted answers but there weren’t any, so I felt adoption was our only hope.
Going into the process, we had decided against adopting a child who had been exposed to drugs. But now, hearing we could otherwise be waiting years for a baby, we changed our minds. I thought that by providing a loving home we would be more than capable at handling any issues.
As a young couple with stable jobs – me as a nurse, Daniel working for our local church – we were matched within seven weeks with a young woman who wanted to give her unborn son up for adoption.
She had smoked heavily throughout her pregnancy and used cannabis and alcohol in the first three months. But the agency reassured us that no abnormalities had been found during prenatal checks, and that this level of exposure was considered relatively low risk.
Daniel and I were at Lucas’s birth at a London hospital in June 2015. I even cut his umbilical cord, which felt surreal. I was the first to hold him, still covered in the various bodily fluids that birth inevitably entails.
It shouldn’t have come as a shock to me. But while most new mothers describe a rush of love the first time they lay eyes on their baby, I confess I couldn’t help feeling repulsed. But I told myself I was just in shock, and that love would soon come.
It was such a relief to take our baby home. Now it was just the three of us, I felt a connection with Lucas for the first time and felt this marked a new chapter.
But as the weeks passed, it wasn’t what I expected. Lucas was incredibly clingy and needed constant physical contact. I could understand why – he’d suddenly been separated from the only heartbeat and voice he’d ever known – but it was exhausting.
While he wasn’t formally diagnosed at birth with drug and alcohol exposure-related issues, I think he was experiencing mild withdrawal symptoms, including tremors and irritability, although these passed with time.
People warn you about sleepless nights but what I couldn’t handle was the constant feeds, burping and nappy changes and not having time even to eat.
I was aware my resentment was at odds with what feels like a culture of child worship among new parents. Friends of ours would do absolutely everything for their children.
But I just didn’t feel that way. Instead, I thought: ‘I’ll do my best, but that’s all I can do.’
I hoped things would improve as time went on, but that wasn’t the case. When Lucas was 18 months old, it made financial sense for me to work full-time while Daniel went part-time. Within weeks, he realised just how hard it was.
By now, we’d realised Lucas was missing his developmental milestones. He also struggled with noise, transitions and routines, and two separate nurseries told us they weren’t able to cope with him, saying his distress at everyday occurrences was disrupting the other children.
I was devastated. Though I’d recently been accepted on to a master’s course, I had to withdraw; Lucas needed me with him full time.
Eventually, aged five, he was diagnosed with autism and ADHD. Some studies have shown smoking during pregnancy is linked to a higher risk of ADHD.
It was a relief to have a ‘reason’ for his behaviour and, we hoped, some solutions. We found a specialist school, but just as things were stabilising, the pandemic hit in March 2020 and everything shut down.
Homeschooling was incredibly difficult because Lucas couldn’t engage with virtual learning and needed constant structure and attention. Our lives revolved entirely around his needs.
And as he got older, he began showing flashes of violence when overwhelmed, including hitting and kicking us. It broke my heart watching him struggle – at heart he was a sweet boy, and I adored him – but it was nothing like the parenting journey I’d imagined.
Despite our struggles, I had always wanted Lucas to have a sibling. I imagined another child would only help him, as well as completing our family. But I didn’t want a large age gap, so when we went back to our adoption agency, they suggested a five-year-old girl already in the system.
Sophie had already had five foster placements and two failed reunifications with her mother, who had severe bipolar and a history of substance abuse. However, the agency didn’t know if Sophie had been exposed in pregnancy, as social services weren’t involved until Sophie was removed from her mother’s care at nine months old. Two families had tried to adopt Sophie before us but had returned her, unable to cope.
We were warned that Sophie’s troubled life had left her with post-traumatic stress disorder – something sadly not uncommon for children in foster care. They told us she could hit, bite and scratch, and had destroyed previous carers’ possessions.
Lucas had also displayed many of these behaviours, but we’d started to understand his triggers and knew there was a loving little boy underneath. So, though we were wary, as we looked at the photos of this adorable little girl with big eyes and a bright smile, we believed we could help Sophie. That there was nothing she could do we couldn’t handle.
We were wrong. The first day we brought Sophie home, Lucas was excited to meet her and wanted to show her everything. But, both intense children, their play quickly got out of hand and escalated into hitting.
From the off, we realised we had to supervise them closely while together. Even the smallest upset would see Sophie become extremely distressed, screaming and throwing things. The noise was overwhelming for Lucas, who responded in kind.
At first, I pushed away the thought that adopting a second child had only made our lives harder. Six months after the adoption, Sophie was also diagnosed with ADHD. I hoped that with the right support, things would settle down.
The children had to be supervised closely when together as the smallest upset would see Sophie become extremely distressed, screaming and throwing things - and an overwhelmed Lucas responded in kind (picture posed by models)
But by the time a year had passed, and things were no better, I found myself grieving the relationship I’d dreamed of having with a daughter.
By now, her tantrums had escalated into violence. She has scratched, bitten, kicked, punched and pulled at me with such force that I’ve been left with various injuries. Things were so bad I’ve had to call the police on multiple occasions.
It may sound extreme – and I know the police themselves were surprised to have got such a call the first time they came round. But since getting to know our family, and seeing some of my injuries, including an arm wound, they’ve been very compassionate.
There are no lights or sirens; a trained support officer simply helps us to defuse the situation.
Daniel and I considered returning Sophie to the agency but felt that, having made the choice to adopt her, we could not just give up on her.
Eventually, when she was eight, her school said they could not maintain her safety because of her extreme reactions. On one occasion, after a bout of teasing by a classmate, she left them a note threatening to kill them.
After a period of psychological assessment, she was transferred to a residential school. Now aged nine, she only comes home for weekends and holidays but even then it’s exhausting and emotionally draining.
Earlier this year, she was diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD), a condition where young children are unable to form healthy emotional bonds with caregivers, typically due to experiencing severe neglect early in life. Having a diagnosis helped – at least I knew I wasn’t imagining how bad things were – but I no longer allow myself to believe that treatment will change things.
In addition, Lucas’s behaviour has only become more challenging. At the age of 11, he insists I sleep in his room every night, and he’s still prone to violent outbursts. Things are often so bad at home that going to work feels like an escape.
While I don’t blame myself for what’s happened – no one can ever be certain how things will turn out – I regret overlooking the warning signs in my desperation to adopt.
Daniel was the first to admit, about a year after Sophie’s arrival, that he regretted ever adopting. It was painful to hear him say it and, though I felt the same, back then I couldn’t bring myself to agree with him. It wasn’t until about a year later that I admitted the truth, even though it left me feeling so guilty.
We’ve realised you can love your children, in the sense that you want them to be safe and happy, but still not like them.
Both Daniel and I are now in therapy and on low doses of antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication; Daniel started on them in 2023, while I followed suit last year.
Given everything we were dealing with, it’s no surprise intimacy between us dwindled to nothing.
Last summer we finally admitted the truth: that the pressures of raising Lucas and Sophie had destroyed our relationship and – while we can still be friends and co-parents – we can’t be an item.
While we plan to divorce within the next two years, we’ll stay living together until the children are both 18, to make things easier for all of us. We were both tearful, and it feels deeply unfair that it’s come to this.
There’s a term in the adoption community called ‘blocked care’. It’s when the long-term stress of caring for a traumatised child becomes so overwhelming that your own nervous system shuts down, making it harder to respond to your child with the empathy you know they need.
While it’s comforting to know Daniel and I aren’t alone in our resentment and emotional exhaustion, it doesn’t make our situation any easier.
I want the best for both my children, but I fear what the future will bring – and if we’ll be able to cope with it.
The bleak truth is things will likely only get worse once they hit their teenage years, and there’s a chance they may never be able to live entirely independently. At times, being their mother feels like a life sentence.
People say my children are lucky to have me, but there is nothing lucky about our situation. I chose to be their mother but, knowing what I do now, if I could go back, it’s not a choice I’d make again.
Elinor Kingswood is a pseudonym. Names and identifying details have been changed.
As told to Julia Sidwell
