Firsthand Accounts
Surviving Attachment Therapy/Parenting

Links to Stories:

Katrina

Lisa (
Part 1) (Part 2)

W.R.

Kate

Mia (
Part 1) (Part 2)

Renee

Gravelle
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By Anonymous


[EDITOR, March 2018: The below is a contemporary account from someone who suffered Attachment Therapy (in the style of “Compression Therapy”) for several years in the mid-1970s in North Carolina. That this was done to a child with Asperger’s must have made this intensity of abusive, asphyxiation, and physical restraint unbearably cruel.]

ANONYMOUS: Humiliating. Infuriating. Demoralizing. Many times it was done in front of others, not only in the psychiatrist's office (group therapy, in which parents attended with their children, where they would tell the big doctor what the child had done wrong that week, and the child would be held), but also in various public places including my school (done there by my parents). Also, it was very uncomfortable physically as well as claustrophobic to have huge people lying on top of me and such. It upset me a lot on that account. As a matter of fact, on one occasion I stopped breathing, and passed out, but was then let up immediately since I had stopped struggling, which was what they wanted, of course. Most of all, I realized at the time that it was basically rubbing in my relative lack of power and the imperative to submit. I was age 9-11 during the "therapy" itself, I think, and 11-12 years old when my mother decided to stop. I might have been too strong for her by then. And I was 14 years old before I managed to get my feet up under my father and pitch him off of me (fortunately he was not a large man); he decided at that time that had to be it for him, too. Along the way there were also some other therapeutic hijinks, such as hair-pulling, enforced seclusion, deliberate aggravation followed by unexplained punishments, etc. All in all, no fun and devastating to the self-esteem, but not as bad as what many others have suffered in the years since. I didn't know, at the time, that this therapy was only for adopted children. I can't imagine what that psychiatrist must have told my parents to get them to go through with it. But they always thought he was the greatest. He died a few years ago, and I was glad to hear it.

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My Life Experience as an Undiagnosed Autistic/Aspergers Child

By Les
 

My parents have always said that my problems began when I started school. At age 4, I went to playschool with my mam, so I was never left with other children until my first day at primary when I was 5.

I was very upset, and I could not understand why my mam had gone home and left me, so during most of the day I sat crying and saying I wanted to go home. I didn't like being with other children who just got on with it. After break time when the whistle was blown, all the other children lined up ready to go back inside, while I ran the other way onto the field and rolled on the grass. I vaguely remember doing this and maybe because I thought it was funny to get the teacher to run after me.

The head teacher had said to my mam that my behaviours were not acceptable and that I could end up in borstal if something was not done. A later year, I found out that I was the only one in the class that was adopted when someone in the class mentioned it, but I didn't know what it meant, and the other children seemed to treat it like a joke that I didn't have natural parents. My mam explained to me what it meant. At first I felt left out, but then I didn't have a problem with it. But my parents started to think that I did.

Over the years I never mixed or made friends like others did, and I had many problems at home and at school. My parents found my behaviour very alien and badly behaved. I was born in the 70s when in them days some parents punished with shouting and slapping. I was also taken to see numerous child psychologists and councillors, where my parents would do the talking, while for me I could not communicate. My mam had read some information on autism which was very little at the time and mentioned the possibility to a psychologist of me being autistic. But they said no and that I was just a very naughty, attention seeking child. My autism has affected me differently to how it has other people. I see and feel things differently to others. I could not help the way I behaved, and my parents could not cope and were getting to their wits end. For me I had a high sensitivity of being physically touched in childhood. I was fine with my parents holding my hand to go out or being asked for a light hug, but anything more than that was uncomfortable and distressing if pushed over my limit.

If my mam came and touched me or to put her arms around me, I would resist and push her away. To a parent, that may seem perfectly natural and comforting, but to me it was not, but as a child I couldn't think of a way to explain it. The times when I was slapped for something wrong, and what is just a little tap to a parent, was like a big bash over the head for me, so I naturally went berserk, and retaliated and all hell breaks loose. I wondered when are they going to get the message that its painful for me to be touched.

Every so often I had to go to hospital appointments to see a orthopaedic doctor about my legs because they were not growing right along with my weight issue. Again I hated these appointments because of the touching, so I was probably being awkward. The doctor included in the medical notes that I was out of control and disturbed in some way.

When the time came that they felt I needed to have surgery, which I didn't want and still wish I had not, because I wasn't unhappy with the way things were. My parents were concerned about my mobility in case I ended up disabled, so I didn't get listened to, and was taken to hospital, which I thought was a good way to get off school because I was bullied with no friends, and I was early years at the big school now. I was pressured into having it done. The nurses were horrible to me, they treated me like I was some sort of a freak and didn't care about my pain until I asked for painkillers. I hated them touching me to remove my stitches and dressings. My leg was stiff, they told me to bend it, or they would get the physiotherapist onto me. The physio came and she was great with the other children on the ward, but she was nasty and brutal with me while the others watched me scream, cry and shout in pain.

I assumed the nurses told my parents everything that happened, but they had not, and they would not have allowed this if they did. It sounded like the psychologist I was under at the time told my parents and the hospital staff not to listen to me. Time off school for another traumatic experience of pain and physical touch, I was no better off.

Sometime later after that, I decided I wanted to spend some time on my own away from home and school. I had bath, got into my favourite clothes and left with my savings book without saying anything. I was found by the police and brought home, and they all wanted to know why I did it.

I did this on 2 occasions, and the 2nd time, 2 nice policemen brought me back and said if I went missing again I would be taken into a home. My parents thought that I did this because I was adopted, so again I was taken to see a doctor who introduced me to a lady that I could see and talk to and go out and do things with, and that she was adopted too. I did not want this because I didn't really have a problem with it.

Then later my mam read something in a magazine about holding therapy, or someone that had told her about a lady that did it. She did not know what it was or what it was all about, but she told me that we were going to see a lady that could help. A lady who learnt from [Martha] Welch, unknown then.  As usual, I would just be sitting listening to my parents tell her about everything including our rows, being pushed away and that I was adopted. Surely with experience with others, she should know that I have a resistance to being touched. So what sounded very nice and loving to my parents was agony to me. The distress I have had with unwanted physical touch was bad enough. My parents were desperate for a solution, so they listened to whatever she said to do a hold no matter what I was to say or do to get away from this prolonged uncomfortable painful touch.  A week later, after it had happened 3 more times at home, including the lady coming to our home where another session took place, and seeing her doing this on a TV documentary with others, I was lucky that my dad put a stop to this because he couldn't see how it would solve anything, and he did not like the atmosphere, and for me this had greatly pushed my limits of touch over the top to torture.  My grandparents at the time were told about this, and they agreed that my dad did the right thing. After this last resort, my parents just had to accept the way I was.
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