Imagine a caregiver who, instead of nurturing their child back to health, deliberately makes them sick. This is the horrifying reality of Munchausen by Proxy, a severe form of abuse where a caregiver, often a parent, exaggerates, fabricates, or even induces symptoms in someone under their care—usually their child. The goal isn’t financial gain; it’s to gain attention, sympathy, or praise for being an exceptionally devoted caregiver.
For years, I lived under labels that weren’t mine—crafted narratives that defined my reality until I found the courage to reclaim my own story. Navigating my path to self-discovery was challenging and transformative. Growing up, I was shuffled between therapists and psychologists, supposedly to evaluate my educational progress for homeschooling. As I moved from my teenage years into early adulthood, I couldn’t ignore the things that didn’t add up anymore. My adoptive mother fabricated events and exaggerated symptoms that were never real. She claimed I had FAS without a diagnosis and spread stories that painted me as mentally unstable, all to justify her behavior and frame my adolescent actions as inappropriate. This narrative boxed me in as fragile and constantly needing her dependency, pushing me further from the support I truly needed. It wasn’t until later that I started to piece together the depth of her deception and understand its impact on my sense of self. For more on what FAS is and how I overcame these labels, you can read my article on Overcoming Parental Labels
In my early twenties, I accessed my medical records from the psychologist who had supposedly ‘diagnosed’ me with FAS and discovered just how much my adoptive mother had distorted my medical history to control the narrative within her social circle and church community. She didn’t just lie to doctors or exaggerate my condition; she amplified my behavioral issues at home and framed them as symptoms of a supposed FAS diagnosis, leading therapists to believe these behaviors were linked. This trapped me in a cycle of unnecessary appointments and testing, which were not only physically exhausting but also emotionally draining, constantly reinforcing the false narrative she had built. These fabrications allowed her to maintain control and present herself as a loving and devoted caregiver within the church community and family. These lies didn’t just create a false story about my health; they shaped my entire identity and how I saw myself. My ability to trust, form meaningful connections—whether in friendships, professional settings, or romantic relationships—and feel secure in who I am was deeply affected. This is why understanding Munchausen by Proxy behaviors is crucial—it empowers trusted individuals like teachers, mentors, and family friends to recognize the signs of abuse. With this awareness, we can better support victims, prevent further harm, and equip ourselves with the knowledge to intervene. By fostering this understanding, we create safer environments and ensure that such harmful behaviors are not overlooked.
Reclaiming my sense of self after years of manipulation has been both a challenging and liberating journey. I’ve had to unlearn the false narratives ingrained in me and relearn how to trust my own experiences. With the invaluable support of extensive counseling, my husband, and a few close friends I trust deeply, I began to recognize the strength that was always within me—the strength to live boldly, defined by confidence rather than fear. Even now, there are moments when fear sneaks in, and believing in my potential feels like an uphill battle. But by staying rooted in faith, seeking a true connection with God, and inviting Him into my journey, I’ve found the strength to resist slipping back into old, harmful patterns. By surrendering my thoughts to Christ, I’m learning to let His truth redefine my identity. Setting firm boundaries and reclaiming my space from my adoptive family and those aligned with their influence has helped me cut through the fog of lies, revealing a person who is healthy, capable, and far more independent than they ever wanted me to be.
With my therapist’s guidance, it became clear that what I had experienced was most likely Munchausen by Proxy. Together, we identified the recurring manipulation, fabricated illnesses, and psychological control as characteristics of this type of abuse. This realization was both validating and devastating, as it confirmed the extent of the abuse I had endured. The further I distanced myself from her influence, the clearer everything became. I began to see that her manipulation wasn’t just in what she told the doctors; it was in how I saw myself. She painted a picture of me as someone who was constantly mentally unwell and in need of her care, but it was never about concern for my well-being. It was about control—maintaining an image that would earn her sympathy within her social and religious circles. Realizing this felt like peeling back layers of lies that had suffocated me for years. But with each layer I shed, I uncovered more of my true self—healthy, capable, and independent than she ever wanted me to believe.
Coming to terms with the betrayal of someone who was supposed to care for me has been one of the hardest parts of my healing journey. Realizing that my adoptive mother—meant to be my protector—was the very source of harm left me grappling with a profound sense of confusion and a fractured sense of self. It wasn’t just about the lies and manipulation surrounding my health; it was a fundamental breach of trust. How do you reconcile that the person who was supposed to love and protect you was the one causing the deepest wounds—wounds that cut into your psyche and have the power to alter the course of your life?
As I transitioned from my twenties into my thirties, reflecting on my experiences often felt like wrestling with a shadow that hung over every attempt to heal. I found myself revisiting countless moments when my adoptive mother would gaslight me—dismissing my feelings, telling me I was overreacting, or claiming I was imagining things whenever I tried to be vulnerable. Gaslighting, a psychological manipulation tactic, made me doubt my perceptions, leaving me questioning if my pain was real or just a figment of my imagination. This constant invalidation deeply affected my ability to trust others and myself, making it hard to navigate relationships. In friendships, professional settings, or romantic relationships, I often struggled to open up, fearing I’d be misunderstood or manipulated again. And when I did find the courage to share, I’d often floodlight—oversharing as a way to shield myself from feeling vulnerable.
This alienation wasn’t limited to my family; it extended into friendships, school PTA groups, and church communities, where I often felt like an outsider struggling to find my place. That lingering feeling of not fully belonging is something I still wrestle with today. Over the past decade, I’ve had to confront these ingrained beliefs, relearn to trust my instincts and reclaim my narrative. The journey hasn’t been straightforward; there are days when it feels heavy, and doubt creeps in as challenges loom. But I remind myself that resilience isn’t about being untouched by pain—it’s about choosing to rise despite it. I’m learning to accept that struggling doesn’t make me weak and that asking for help is okay. Self-compassion is not just a luxury but a necessity, and treating ourselves kindly as we navigate this journey matters. Healing isn’t a straight path, but offering ourselves grace is essential.
Healing has meant confronting the beliefs instilled in me and discovering strength in the parts of myself that were once silenced. It’s been about learning to trust my instincts and standing firm in my truth, even when it meant cutting ties with those who should have protected me. I’ve come to understand that healing doesn’t happen in isolation. Therapy gave me the space to untangle the complex emotions of my past, while trusted relationships helped rebuild a sense of safety that betrayal had stolen. True healing is about reclaiming your life and redefining your sense of self—one shaped by resilience and the support of those you choose to let in.
The pain of betrayal was magnified by the lies and manipulation that extended to my siblings, creating deep divides and distrust among us. My adoptive mother would pit us against each other, favoring one child over another or spreading false narratives about our actions and intentions—convincing my siblings that I was unstable or untrustworthy. She would share private conversations with one sibling while withholding the truth from another, fostering an atmosphere of suspicion and competition. Parents have a sacred duty to nurture harmony and trust, not sow discord. How a parent treats their children sets the tone for how siblings understand love, trust, and loyalty toward one another. When parents choose manipulation and division, they shatter bonds that should be built on unity and support, leaving wounds that can take a lifetime to heal. Relationships between siblings can be some of our most significant sources of support and pain, and the seeds of these bonds—or their breaking—are often sown by the parents.
My primary goal in sharing these articles is to raise awareness and empower those who have endured similar abuse to forge a new path for themselves. To be clear, I do not hate my adoptive mother, nor have I withheld forgiveness. It’s not black and white. I believe you can be deeply wounded by someone close to you and still choose to take a step back, creating distance for your well-being while also offering forgiveness. The Bible reminds us in Ephesians 4:32 to ‘Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.’ This verse speaks to the importance of extending forgiveness, not to forget the harm done, but to release the hold that pain and resentment have on our hearts. Forgiveness is a complex journey, not always leading to reconciliation or continuing a relationship; sometimes, it means choosing peace for yourself and setting boundaries that protect your heart and spirit.
Through my journey of healing and self-discovery, I’ve come to understand that the ways my adoptive mother acted were never about me—they were part of her own need to control the narrative, not a reflection of my worth or actions. This realization also helped me see the distinctions between medical child abuse and behaviors like Munchausen by Proxy. While both involve falsifying or exaggerating medical conditions, my adoptive mother’s actions were ultimately about maintaining control. She used my supposed illnesses to manipulate situations and uphold a narrative that benefited her socially and within her religious circles. It was a complex blend of medical child abuse and manipulation. As Dr. Mary Sanders notes, “Victims of this kind of abuse often don’t fully grasp what happened to them until adulthood, when they gain access to medical records and recognize how their illnesses were fabricated or exaggerated. Sadly, it’s rare for abusers to take responsibility for their actions. Many have an external locus of control, blaming others and avoiding accountability, making it even harder for them to see the harm they’ve caused.” Unfortunately, to this day, my adoptive mother has not acknowledged the damage she inflicted or taken responsibility.
My purpose in sharing my story isn’t to dwell in anger but to create a space for healing, support, and connection for those who need to know they are not alone. Again, I recognize that my experience doesn’t represent all adoptees, and I deeply honor the beautiful stories of love, redemption, and family that God has woven through adoption. I wholeheartedly celebrate those narratives. Yet, it’s equally important to speak openly about the neglect and abuse that can occur within adoptive families—issues that are often silenced or misrepresented. To truly support adoption, we must confront these brutal truths, advocate for transparency, and provide support to all adoptees, especially those who have been hurt. This advocacy is a beacon of hope, promising a better future for adoptive families. I aim to shed light on adoptees’ diverse experiences so everyone feels seen, heard, and supported. As I continue to learn, grow, and connect with other adoptees, I’m reminded that there is always more to understand, stories to honor, and voices to uplift.
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