I was scared for myself the day my 7-year-old tried to stab me. But not half as scared as I was for her. When the knife pierced the cover of the book I’d raised to protect my face, Sadie (not her real name) snapped out of her trance.
Terror replaced her glazed stare. She collapsed in my arms, sobbing. I held her tight, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo and stroking her heaving back.
Sadie was diagnosed with pediatric bipolar disorder the year before. By then, I’d stopped deluding myself that her long history of troubling behavior was something she’d outgrow.
Read more on themighty.com