Hear from Skye, our Community In-Reach worker and adoptive parent, with her reflections of Adoption and Mental Health.

When we began our adoption journey, I was prepared for paperwork, home visits, training sessions—the practical side of things. What I wasn’t fully prepared for was the emotional terrain we’d have to navigate. Especially when it came to our children’s mental health, and then our own.

But the truth is adoption doesn’t begin with us—the adoptive parents—it begins with loss.

However loved and wanted our children are, adoption begins with separation from a birth family. For many adopted children, that separation is layered with early experiences of neglect, trauma, or instability, and comes up again and again as our children grow, learn and understand adoption differently. Importantly, those early wounds don’t always show themselves immediately, and they can be hard to spot too, but they are so important. They shape how our children feel safe, how they trust, how they love, and how they regulate emotions.

Our children came to us young, but even then, we saw signs of anxiety. Sleep was disrupted.  Our eldest, who was 3, would scan every room and every corner.

Transitions—even small ones like putting on a coat—could bring almighty meltdowns. And later, as our child developed language, came questions: “Why didn’t I stay with my foster family?”, “What happens if we move, will I get a new family?”, “How do my birth mummy and daddy feel without me”?

Heartbreaking questions from a toddler. And questions which really show the impact of adoption on their sense of themselves and their attachment to others. We needed to become trauma-aware. Not just in theory, but in practice.

That meant moving away from “Why is this child being difficult?” to “What has this child experienced?” And later, “How can we respond in a way that feels safe, predictable, and empowering?”   We – and when I say we I mean all of us: parents, teachers, friends, family, healthcare professionals, all of us – need to understand survival responses to stress.

For children who experience trauma, these strategies were learned early and make perfect sense in their context. But for us, they often required a whole different way of understanding what our child(re) are trying to communicate.

• It looks like meltdowns after school. Translation: I found school hard today. I need your love and comfort.
• It looks like smiling and being the friendliest child in the room. Translation: I’m not sure how safe I am with you. I need you to like me.
• It looks like a quiet well-behaved child in the back of the class. Translation: I’m afraid and dissociating with my surroundings because it’s safer than being seen.
• There is a lot for our children, and their parents, to grapple with. We have to be curious and empathetic.

In all honestly though, for us parents, this is exhausting.  I cannot tell you the number of nights I stayed up late thinking about our little ones. Wondering what they need from me. Did I do a good enough job. What do they need from me tomorrow?

Do they need me to stand up for them, champion them, cuddle them, step back. It took me a while to realise that age old truth that to be able to look after others, you first need to look after yourself.

Support has come in different forms. Some of the most helpful spaces have been those where other adopters gather—not to compare notes, but to speak honestly. It’s been a relief to talk openly about the challenges, especially the moments when we felt overwhelmed or unsure. There’s comfort in hearing, “Us too.”

I’ve also benefited from guidance that focused not just on parenting strategies, but on understanding attachment, shame, and regulation. I began to learn how early trauma affects the developing brain, and how connection—not correction—was the first step in helping our child feel safe.

Therapeutic parenting wasn’t about being soft—it was about being consistent, attuned, and resilient. It was about staying close, even when our child was pushing us away. There are still hard days. There are moments when we feel unsure or when old wounds resurface in new ways. But we’ve learned to approach these moments not as crises, but as communication. And in those moments, what our child needs most is presence—our calm, our patience, our belief in who they are becoming. And our unconditional love.

If there’s one thing I’d share with others on this path, it’s this: parenting is hard and parenting children who have experienced trauma can be itself traumatic – for all of us. But, it can also be a journey of growth, healing, connection, and commitment.

In learning to support our children’s mental health, we’ve learned to listen more deeply, love more patiently, and hold space for healing in all its forms.