Starting High School

The Princess goes back to school in ten days.  Ten.  1 – 0.  10!  I cannot wait.

She, on the other hand, is as anxious as anxious can be.  Poor thing.  I know in my head what it’s all about.  Starting high school for any neuro-typical kid is hard enough.  Add trauma and developmental / social delays (a.k.a. immaturity beyond the immaturity of a NT kid) and we’re right on the edge around here.

Anyone else in these shoes? 

On one hand I can hardly wait to get her out of here and back in school for 8.5 hours a day.  On the other, I’m anxious for her, too.  And on the third hand (trauma mamas need at least 3 hands), I’m scared to death wondering whether or not she’ll pull some really big and really scary stuff now that she’s getting older.

For now, I’m dealing with a 15-year-old who behaves like she’s four and wants the privileges of a young adult.  She’s stupid lying and giving plenty of bad attitude.  She’s defiant and moody.  She’s a big ol’ pain in the butt.  And before anyone reminds me she’s a teenager, let me remind you she is my SIXTH child.  Plus, I was a challenging 15 year old.  I know how a witchy hormonal teenager behaves.  I know it’s not pretty even for NT kids.  My kid is not an NT kid.  This is different.  I’m not just blowing steam or venting or whatever you want to call it.  I’m writing because this is part of trauma parenting and despite what the Staples commercials say, this isn’t necessarily a trauma parent’s “most wonderful time of the year.”

I’m writing it to remind myself.

I’m writing it because I need to remember there’s more going on than just my kid being a pain in the tushy.

She’s scared and she doesn’t know it.  She can’t identify it. 

She told me the other day, “I’m sorry I acted like that.  I just get so ‘mad’ sometimes and I don’t even know why.”

I know why, baby.  And I am so sorry you went through what you went through.  I will try to remember you’ve been through more than I can even still imagine and I will try to catch myself and control my own triggers.  (It’s no secret that I hate being lied to.)  I will try hard to stop, breathe and relax – like I remind you to do.  I will do that so I can help you stop, breathe and relax.  I will remind you how great you really are and how very far you’ve come.  I will tell you I believe in you and I will pray that I come to mean it in a way I don’t yet fully.  

I will pray that the LORD will bless you and keep you, that He will make His face shine upon you and that He will grant you His peace that passes all understanding, and certainly any understanding I may know.

TMT Answers a Reader Question on “Borrowing”

“Dear TMT - I am wondering if you have any advice to give about dealing with one of our children who "borrows" things from siblings without asking.  The siblings are really becoming annoyed because the "taker" does not share her own things but feels that everyone should share with her.  We have talked about how she would not like it, how it is wrong, and she grudgingly admits this, but does not change behavior.   All four of our children were adopted at the same time, and are chronologically right on top of each other.   We have tried to use something "important" to the taker as the consequence for this behavior, but have not come up with anything that seems to work.  Hoping for any wisdom or insight you might have.   Many thanks, Sandy”

Wow Sandy, that’s rough.  We’ve been through some of that kind of thing around here.  You might want to read some of my earlier posts on stealing and lying.  We stopped allowing anyone to call taking someone else's property without permission  “borrowing” and called it what it was – stealing.  If you or I “borrowed” our next door neighbor’s car without asking them, and without them giving us permission to do so, they would have every right to report us to the police for grand theft auto – whether we returned the vehicle or not.  So, my first suggestion (since you asked – wink, wink) is to call the action what it is.  Your daughter is stealing.

As therapeutic parents, our first and foremost act of love, including discipline as love, is to CONNECT.  (See yesterday’s post on Dr. Michael Popkin’s FLAC method of dealing with behavior issues.)  Our traumatized kids often feel as though they are missing out somehow – on something.  My daughter, when she is dysregulated will tell us we do not love her because we have not given her some of the possessions her older brothers have.  Youngest Son went through some of the same kind of crud last year.  He was stealing iPods, his adult brother’s external hard drive, computer equipment, wires out of drawers in my office, flash drives, and pretty much anything else he thought he could use to rig up his hidden computer lab – while also stealing internet connection from a neighbor that used our street name as their network password.  (Youngest Son is quite cleaver.)

It was really, really hard.  I wanted to whomp him upside the head, but he needed connection.  He needed to feel safe, no matter what, before I could ever teach him anything, and before he could ever understand the restitution and restoration he had to do to make things right in the community and in our home. 

Some people teach parents of traumatized kids to hide any anger from their child while reassuring them they are loved.  After all, it is about them and not about us.  Ehh, I'm not so hip on that -- not in all cases, anyhow.

I don’t know how old your children are.  Mine were nine and 12 years old when they came home.  They are 13 and 16 now.  Their birthdays are in the summer, so they’ll be 14 and 17 all too soon for my liking.  Our fifth year anniversary home will be in August 2012.  

With Youngest Son, I felt as though I didn’t have a whole lot of time left to teach him that stealing was not only wrong, but that it could land him in heaps of trouble.  So while I reassured him I loved him no matter what – that he was my son no matter what, his behavior was not something I loved.  In fact, I hated it.  I would not accept it.  It embarrassed me and made me quite angry.  I would not allow him to continue on that path by “fixing” things for him and letting him be the victim, or the "poor little orphan boy who didn't know better."

When I found he'd stolen the iPods, he returned them to authority figures in the places he “found” them.  (He has never yet admitted to stealing them, but we still call it what it is.  He didn’t “find” them.)  We involved the school police officer in one case.  Youngest Son got a lecture about jail, and I told him I would not bail him out if he got arrested.  I meant it.  I still do.  As for the internet usage, I marched him across the street and had him tell the neighbor they needed to change their password to something a lot less easy to guess.  His relationship with his older brother suffered for quite a while.  This adult son is my most easy-going of the older children, but even easy-going people don’t like to have their stuff taken.  Thankfully, Youngest Son got it - eventually.  We didn’t let it go.  We talked about it again and again.  We took opportunity to discuss it when we saw "stupid criminals" on the evening news or when some other kid got in trouble at school.  We talked about choices.  We talked about consequences.  We talked about the real world – and that people in the world were not going to give him the benefit of the doubt he'd gotten in the past in therapy and at home.  We talked about how he’d missed out on a lot of things,that he could not live as “the victim” all his life and enjoy the success he wanted and have the THINGS he wanted.  We talked about responsibility and how freedom and “big kid” stuff like electronics come with maturity and respect for oneself and others.  Again, it wasn’t easy.  There were a lot of days I thought he’d end up in jail sooner or later.  

Today, I took him driving downtown for the first time.  He has his learner's permit.  He’s had a great school year.  He’s matured.  He’s straightened up his act.  He’s been responsible and has shown genuine care for others, their belongings, and their feelings.  He’s ready for big kid stuff because he’s grown up and has proven he is ready for them.

What we did with Youngest Son is not what a lot of therapeutic parents would tell most other parents to do.  Some kids with more severe RAD issues may not respond to the way we handled things as Youngest Son did.  However, if your child is older – a teenager who needs to grow up and take responsibility for her actions, perhaps, then my biggest suggestion would be to stop allowing her actions to be called “borrowing.”  She is stealing her siblings’ belongings.  Connect with her.  Tell her you can see by her actions she is feeling like she needs a better connection to you, or her siblings, and that you want to be that connection for her – material items won’t fill that need.

Figure out a way to limit her exposure to her siblings belongs.  Place limits on EVERYONE so that the entire amily understands what belongings are special things that should not be touched by anyone else.  Be clear about your expectations.  What can your family tolerate?  What limits do you want?  What limits can you live with?  If she steals someone else’s mp3 player, for example, can you live with stripping her room of all electronics?  Can you limit electronics (or whatever it is she keeps taking) to use only in common areas of the home, such as the family room?  (We don’t allow computers in bedrooms, for example – not even the parents have a computer in the bedroom.)

Come up with some alternatives as a family.  Are there some belongings the siblings CAN share?  Are there some personal items that are okay to use, even if someone isn’t around to ask or grant permission for their use?  If I want to spiral curl my hair and my sister owns a flat iron that she keeps in the bathroom that we share, is it okay for me to use that flat iron without asking her first?

Discuss consequences BEFORE the next temptation to steal.  Logically, I would think that would include returning the item, giving some kind of service to the person who was wronged, and paying for any time or costs involved in making things right.  Talk about how the other person feels and what they would like to see happen for restitution for taking the item, and most importantly, what is needed for restoration of the relationship.  The problem should be owned by the person who broke the relationship to begin with, but the one who was hurt needs to be willing to reconcile for restoration of the relationship to begin.  The person who is repentant can be completely remorseful, even do everything biblically required of them to restore the relationship, but if the other person is unwilling to move forward, to forgive and to love, then no one is going to heal.

Our pastor talked about justification and redemption this morning.  He gave an example of the story of the prodigal son.  When that young man returned home, his father did not say, “You wronged me.  You did me harm.”  He accepted the son’s apology and welcomed him home with open arms.  He even threw a party.

Celebrate when she “gets it.”  It’s a big deal.  Teach the other kids to celebrate her successes, but not to minimize her actions or accept unacceptable behavior.

I hope that helps you.  If you want to add more detail below about the ages of your children, please do.  I hope it is okay with you that I copied your comment and pasted it above as a new blog post.  I ask my readers to not include our family’s names in comments if they know who we are.  I want to be as open as possible to help my readers as I help myself sort through things when I write.  Thanks for understanding.  Just call me “TMT.”  

  

I Have PTSD

You will keep in perfect peace 
those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you. – Isaiah 26:3

 I do not rest in “perfect peace” for very long, or very often.  My mind whirls around “what if’s” more than it is ever steadfast.  I would like to believe I do indeed trust in God.  However, I’m sure there are some who would tell me the PTSD I’ve developed these last five years or so, and the hyper-vigilance in which I live much of my life, proves otherwise.  It is what it is.  I am who I am.  Some people love me.  Some aren’t so fond of me.  I am learning to be okay with that.

I wish so much that my hurt kids – your hurt kids – could learn to be okay with it, too.  I guess if I’m still learning to "be okay with it," then it is a bit much to expect it out of someone so much younger than I, who has been through so much more than I.

“Wait a minute, TMT.  You’re saying YOU have PTSD?  I thought it was your kids that were dealing with complex trauma and attachment issues.”

source

Yes, Grasshopper.  I have developed my own full-blown case of PTSD.  Going through what I went through in Eastern Europe to get my two youngest children home was enough to develop the disorder.  (Just ask my friend, Diana who had a similar experience.  Like her, “I’d rather shave my legs with a spoon than go through THAT again.”  However, it is the 4.5 years that have followed, parenting two hurt tweens into their teens, that have brought me to my own very real state of not-so-perfect peace. 

For anyone reading who may be a pre-adoptive parent or a newly adoptive parent, PLEASE understand this:  It is still worth it and I’d still do it all again if it meant having The Princess and Youngest Son as MY children.  Heck, I’d go through that and more.  Well, now I would.  (Being honest here.)  Now that I love them and they are fully mine.  But it took time.  We didn’t bond instantly.  I didn’t feel as though they were “mine” for a very long time after they were home, and even that came in stages and is still a process because attachment is a two-way street.  It is worth it.  But it’s not for everyone.  Don’t do it because adoption is the call of the Church, or because all your friends are doing it and are having an okay time through it.  Don’t do it because the kids are cute.  Don’t do it because you want to make a difference.  Do it because you are called and it is your life to do it.  Do it because you know these kids are yours, even if they don’t FEEL like they’re yours and it takes a long time.  It’s worth it.  But it’s not for everyone.  And it’s stinkin’ hard sometimes.  It’s frightening.  It’s not easy to dwell in perfect peace.  Trust is not a steadfast understanding here all the time.  Trust is sometimes hanging on by the fingernails for dear life because you’re completely spent and there’s nothing else to do but hang on.  Sometimes, trust is letting go. 

Trust in the Lord with all your heart
 and lean not on your own understanding; 
in all your ways submit to him,
 and he will make your paths straight.  – Proverbs 3:5-6

 Whenever I begin to try and understand what it really means to raise two teenagers from another culture who have been through the abuse and neglect my kids have been through and yet, are still standing, still thriving the best they know how, still trying hard – really, really HARD – to make it in this world, and that I get to be a part of that with all my faults and failures, I am blown away.  Words don’t come.  Still, the path is far from straight.  So I hang onto the promise that He will make it straight in His time.

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
 neither are your ways my ways,”
declares the Lord. 
As the heavens are higher than the earth,
 so are my ways higher than your ways 
and my thoughts than your thoughts. – Isaiah 55:8-9

 I definitely have PTSD.  I have been through things with my youngest children that I never really believed I’d be through when I was in the process of adopting them.  They have had reactions to things that have triggered them into post-trauma that took me a long time to understand.  Their actions and words, the fear of “what if,” and the times they did things like “disappear” on me leave me with my own sense of hyper-vigilance.  I am triggered by things I never imagined.  I know am not alone.  You are not alone.  People who parent hurt kids with RAD, PTSD, ADHD, etc. often end up with their own PTSD and even depression sometimes.  Here’s an article to read:  Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in Parents of Reactive Attachment Disordered Children.  If you really want to dig in, here is a Google link with several scholarly articles on the subject.

source

Back to PTSD and my own triggers.  I know of more than one girl with PTSD and RAD my daughter’s age that is expecting a baby.  We’re talking 13 and 14 year old girls.  Granted, I know that even girls raised from the womb in stable families sometimes get pregnant at very young ages.  However, I imagine kids from hurt backgrounds have a much higher chance of it.  The girls I know about who are pregnant are from hurt backgrounds.  Am I afraid The Princess could make me a Gramma before my adult sons ever do?  Yes!  I’m scared spitless.  I actually lose sleep over it.  I am not at perfect peace.  I don’t want to raise a baby at the age of 50+.

Am I afraid The Princess will go off with “a friend” and get into Lord-knows-what kinds of trouble?  Yes.  She was at an orchestra competition today and the teachers let the kids roam the school, unsupervised while they waited for their events.  She met some boys and “made friends” with them.  Oh, but don’t ask her their names.  She doesn’t know.  She has no clue how much this kind of behavior triggers my fear for her.  She really doesn't see why I'd be upset by knowing she did this.  

For those of you who’ve lived through this, or are living through it right now, know I am praying for you.  I admire you.  You are awesome. 

As for my purpose here with this blog, all I can do is share my own struggles.  I can let you know you're not alone.  I can encourage you to hang onto the promise that our paths will become straight.  I can suggest that, perhaps, "perfect peace" is manifested in the ability to just keep going -- to just keep loving -- to find people that can "be there" for you when things are the toughest, people who will not leave when you need them most -- and to hang on by the fingernails when there's nothing else you can do.  When those times do come, please let me know.  I'll pray for you and I'll be a loyal ear.  We trauma mamas need to stick together. 

The Importance of Friends Who Get It and Love You Anyway

It’s a little difficult to concentrate on writing this morning.  The kids have the day off from school.  There are two young girls playing a dance game in the next room.  They have it turned down out of respect for me, but it’s still pretty impossible to get any deep thought into word.  It’s even hard putting these few sentences together.

But this is good.  This is very, very good.

The Princess watched a movie last night with me and a friend – a friend just a bit younger, but one who is quite mature, and one who gets what it is like to live with trauma.  Her life is far different than The Princess’.  She is blessed with an adoptive mother who has adored her from birth.  She still gets it.  She still knows about loss.

Friend spent the night.  They giggled, and talked.  They listened to music.  They’re giggling some more.

Have I ever mentioned I loathe Britney Spears’ music?

But it is a good, good morning.

Encourage your kids to find the friends who help make their lives better – and friends whose lives they can also make better.  Do the same for yourself.  Find friends who get how hard it is to raise traumatized kids with attachment issues – how some days it just makes you crazy – but who love you anyway.  I am so thankful for mine.  I wish you all lived much closer.

Cowardice vs. Retreat and Bravery

      Der Fiege droht nur, wo er sicher ist. – Goethe

     (The coward only threatens when he is safe.)

     He heals the brokenhearted
         and binds up their wounds. – Psalm 147:3

     ²⁰ My son, be attentive to my words;
         incline your ear to my sayings.
     ²¹ Let them not escape from your sight;
          keep them within your heart.
     ²² For they are life to those who find them,
         and healing to all their flesh. – Proverbs 4:20-22

The Princess and I had a good day together yesterday.  It was refreshing to take the time to have a little retreat of our own, away from the world, and even away from the guys in the family.  We spent time talking, playing, cleaning, working on some social studies homework, and we especially took time to find comforting reminders in God’s Word.  We prayed for ourselves and for those we love.  We prayed for those who have hurt us.  We spent some time healing.  She did so well.  She just needed to be reminded she was safe.  It’s hard to remember that sometimes when you’ve been hurt so deeply.  My little girl is so much more than a survivor, though.  She is tough.  Yet, she is sweet and has a soft heart.  She really cares about other kids.  I love that about her.

We added some social navigation tools to her toolbox.  We practiced them.  We drilled so she could more easily remember them when she is triggered or under stress.  We rehearsed responses to unkind remarks.  We rehearsed how to ignore certain actions, and how to refuse to participate in the cruelty of what is seen as “normal” middle school mean girl stuff.

Today, when The Princess woke up, she was her usual, positive, happy self.  She felt prepared for her day.  She went to school with her head held high, thankful for a day to recover yesterday, and the reminder that she is loved and highly valued.  She was a little nervous, but she went to school ready to face those who might attack her.  She was ready to feel those nervous feelings, and prove to herself she really was okay anyway.  The cool thing for me, as her mom was that she also went to school, sincerely wanting to hurt no one.  I am so proud of her.

My girl is one of the strongest, bravest people I’ve ever known.  

Random Stuff

I’m having a hard time gathering thoughts these last few days.  I have a lot I could write about, but none of it seems to be coming together right now.  I chalk it up to stress, lack of sleep, not feeling well, and dealing with Bozos.  My patience is thin.  I am reminding myself every few minutes that I, too, am a Bozo. Except for the grace of God, and some experiences I never would have been able to fully imagine five years ago, I would also have no clue about the needs of hurt kids.  No graduate school counseling program, no youth ministry major, no teaching degree gives one the education I’ve gained these last five years.  Yet, I have SO much to learn!

The Princess is still struggling.  She’s still dealing with mean girl stuff.  She’s mad at everything and everyone, but she’s especially angry with me.  I won’t give her a cell phone.  I won’t buy her a bunch of makeup or a pair of boots with high heels.  I won’t let her date at age 13 and I won’t let her go out around town without an adult I trust.  I won’t let her have sleepovers except with people I know will be safe for her, and I keep those few and far between.  I’ve pulled her out of youth group because it’s not safe for her.  I am mean and over protective and old fashioned. 

I’m making plans to begin homeschooling The Princess because her grades have dropped, her behavior has escalated this year, and she’s getting deeper into a social “thing” (I have no word for it) that is just plain destructive.  We went through rough times with her brother when he was in middle school.  He is doing quite well now that he is in high school.  He’s consciously working to be better – to GET better – and he is!  She’s consciously decided we’re the ones with the problem and she’s just fine.  Her therapist and I decided it was time to very methodically TEACH her what PTSD is and why she struggles.  Again, I have some things I could write about here, but I’m having a hard time putting my thoughts together so that they would make any sense to you, dear reader.

I’m struggling, too.  I’m tired of being told by Christians who haven’t parented hurt kids for any length of time that my kids can be healed.  I’m tired of people asking me what’s going on, or what our needs are, but then not listening to me.  I’m tired of otherwise intelligent people NOT GETTING that complex trauma CHANGES the brain – for life.  Yes, God could choose to heal my kids.  He could choose to heal my brother who has Down Syndrome.  However, I haven’t seen any evidence that this is His choice for ANYONE with Down Syndrome, or C-PTSD, or RAD.  I accepted that about a year ago, and was FINALLY able to grab hold of A NEW HOPE for my kids.  

We are being refined.  We are learning what we need to navigate this life, but we will not be “healed” this side of Heaven from the things that have happened to us because of the evil someone else has done.  God can make for good what was intended for evil, and HE IS doing just that with my kids (they’ve come SO far!), but trauma DOES NOT “heal.”  As a friend told me yesterday, people who keep preaching that to me just don’t get the nature of God.  Sometimes, He allows things into our lives so that our gold can be refined.  What Christian hasn’t heard that sermon before, or read that bible passage?  Why do so many think God’s answer SHOULD be healing?  Why do people fight so hard for what they wish could be, rather than accept that God’s purpose may be different?  Why do we put so much energy into resisting, and praying, and pleading for OUR will to be done, rather than join Him in the work He is ALREADY doing?  Why don’t people realize THAT is what healing really is?

I’m meeting with someone today to discuss a proposal to train youth and children’s workers in area churches about the unique needs of hurt kids and older adopted kids.  I have a couple of professionals, as well as another therapeutic parent, lined up to serve on a panel to provide this training.  I’m not sure how the meeting with this person today is going to go.  

I’m also preparing to teach a parenting class to a very special group of parents.  They happen to be in jail.  I wrote a grant proposal for this project last year.  The granting foundation really liked the project.  I’m excited – and scared.  It ought to be very interesting.  At least I’ll have a captive audience there.

Twenty Things My Adopted Kids Wish Their Biological Family Knew

If you’re an adoptive parent and you haven’t yet read Sherrie Eldridge’s book, “Twenty Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew,” you’re missing some good insight.  The book will not reveal all the things adopted kids wish their parents knew.  Some adopted kids (now adults) disagree with some of what Eldridge writes.  However, the book will give you some knowledge of what it feels like to be adopted, and some seeds for thought as you try to understand the heart of your child.  I highly recommend you read it.  (I get no financial gain by saying that.)

There is a flip side to the 20 things adoptive parents should know, at least for my kids.  My kids experienced significant trauma at the hands of their birth family and the people that family allowed to become a part of their lives.  Because those adults didn’t handle things well, they ended up in an orphanage system that was often harmful and hurtful.  The things my kids have told me about their caregivers are about the only thing that makes me want to go back to their birth country.  I would very much like to give certain women there an education they’d never forget.

The thing is, my kids don’t care about those people very much.  They were temporary “mamas.”  They were hired help.  They weren’t family.  It is family that caused the deepest pain and left the biggest scars.  It is to family my kids wish they could communicate the things they want to be ingrained into the soul of people living in Eastern Europe.  Here are 20 things my kids wish their biological family knew:

*You caused me more hurt and pain than any child should ever have to bear.  You are ALL responsible.  Those letters you send me now only cause that pain to deepen.  If you loved me so much, why didn't you take care of us when our parents could not?

*I am ashamed of you and I am scared to death I’m going to end up like you, even though I have a good life and parents who know how to love me now.

*Even though you’ve caused me so much pain, I still love you and I still wish we could be together.  I grieve that loss deeply every single day.

*Sometimes I grieve losing you so much, I take it out on my Mom and Dad.  I wonder if that would make you happy?  When my anger is over, it makes me ashamed that I treated them that way.  It’s you I’m mad at!

*I don’t talk about you that often, but when I do, it’s hard for me and for my parents.  They don’t like seeing me upset, so I hide that I’m thinking about you.  I think about you every day.  My parents know that and even though it hurts us both, they still try to show me it’s okay to remember you and talk about you.

*Even though I think about you, I don’t want to talk about you most of the time.  Sometimes, it feels like my parents and my therapist are prying stuff out of me and that makes me even more mad at you, but then I grieve for you right after I get mad.

*I am really mad that I wasn’t worth enough to you for you to register my birth.  (The Princess)  I am really mad that everyone relied on me to remember when my sister was born.  (Youngest Son)

*Even though my parents tell me you were not allowed to see me anymore when I went to the orphanage, I wonder if you didn’t come to see me because you didn’t love me anymore.

*I worry all the time that my new Dad will die, or that my Mom will be with other men.  I freak out whenever my mom goes away on a trip.  I hate it that my Mom and Dad are planning an anniversary trip this year and I am not going with them.  I’m scared they won’t come back.

*I put up a good front in public.  I’m a good Eastern European and the only emotion I show is when I want to let someone know they’re bothering me.  Most of the time, people outside my family don’t know I’m any different than any other American kid – unless they hear my accent.

*You gave me no sense of control, so now I fight to have a sense of control.  It’s hard for me to let my parents care about me and it’s hard to care about other people.  I do care.  A lot.  But it’s very hard.

*I like it when people say I look like my Mom and Dad.  I like it when people say I sound just like my Mom or that I’m as smart as my Dad.  That’s okay.  I don’t like it when you write my parents’ names in letters to me.  They are my Mom and my Dad.  Call them that.  However, I also like it when people in my family tell me I’m as handsome as my Papa or as smart as my Babushka.

*I love my parents.  They drive me crazy sometimes.  I drive them crazy sometimes.  But so do my brothers.  My mom says all teenagers drive their parents nuts and all parents embarrass their teens.  We’re a normal family that way.  I love my parents and I still love you, though I don’t understand that.

*I don’t like telling people about you.

*My parents make my birthday special, but I always feel bad on my birthday, on other people’s birthdays, on holidays, vacations, or any celebration.  You did that to me.

*I hate it that I don’t know my medical history or the truth about my first family’s medical challenges.

*Even though I know I’m forever home with my real family now, I get really scared that I’ll get sent back to you.  I have nightmares about it.

*When I make poor choices, I wonder if I’ll make the really poor choices you made when I’m an adult.  My parents reassure me that I can choose to have a good life, but I’m still scared I’ll be just like you.

*I need extra help because of the things that happened when I was little.  I blame you, but I forgive you.  I do this over and over again.  Sometimes I do it multiple times per day.

*Even if I decide to search for some of you someday, you are not my real family.  My home is here.  I don’t come from here.  I come from you, and so they cannot replace that.  My beginning is with you.  But remember my real home is with them. 

I imagine some of these 20 things will strike a nerve or two with some of my readers.  I ask you to consider the raw, traumatized, developmentally delayed, teenage emotion and thought behind these 20 things.  They are from the perspective of my two particular teenage children who suffered a very traumatic background, and who are home only 4.5 years.  These are raw emotions, but they are honest emotions.  This is what being real is all about.

Constant Crazy Questions

Have any of my dear trauma mama friends noticed their kids tend to ask a lot of crazy/silly questions?  Does it seem to increase even more when you’re stuck inside the car with them?  I can pretty much guarantee every time I am alone in the car with The Princess, the questions will start.  Even when there are five of us in the car, she asks more crazy/silly questions than she does when she’s at home, for example.

Both of my hurt kids use questions to bait me into an argument.  

Kid:  “Mom, do you think it’s going to rain today?”  

Me, looking up at a lot of gray clouds in the sky:  “I don’t know, but it sure looks like it.”  

Kid:  “No, it’s not.  The weather man said it would just be cloudy.”  

UGH.  Those are questions to argue.  But that’s another topic and I’ll write about it on another post, later.

Remember, I raised four boys before bringing home The Princess and Youngest Son.  I’ve been through the silly questions stage a few times before.  With the older boys, however, constant silly questions stopped by the time they were about four years old.  The Princess experienced a great deal of her trauma at age three.  If kids get “stuck” emotionally at the age which trauma occurs, then the constant questions would be normal for her emotional development.  The thing is, I don’t want her to stay there.  (Selfishly, that’s for my sake more than it is for hers.  Okay, not really.  But yeah.  Kind of.)

We’ve taken to being silent when The Princess asks a silly question – one that doesn’t need an answer – one she can figure out herself – one she already knows the answer to, but just wants to hear the sound her own voice, so she asks.  Silence bugs the crud out of The Princess.  But silence helps her to realize she’s being silly.  Oh, she still tries to cover herself and does the baby voice and says, “What?  Why won’t you answer me.”  Still, we are silent.  (It’s usually about then that one of the boys [usually Youngest Son] will say, “Duh.  THINK about it!”)

One technique I read somewhere suggested parents give a child who asks constant questions a limit to the number of questions they can ask at a given time.  For example, say you’re driving across town.  You might give your child an eight question limit.  This will make them think (if they’re able) about whether or not they want to use one of their questions, or whether the thing they’re asking is worth their time (and yours).  I just may try that when I pick up The Princess from school today.  I haven’t thought about trying it for a while.  I think if we make a game out of it, and I don’t make it too big of a deal, she may actually start to think.  It’s worth a shot.

I also haven’t thought about why she may increase her questioning while riding in the car.  I realized today that her anxiety does indeed seem to increase when riding in the car.  She’s not usually obviously nervous, nor does she SEEM stressed out, but she does get more animated and she really does talk a LOT more in the car.  It could be the confined space.  It could also be that the first time she rode in a car at age three, she was being taken away from her first mother.  Riding in the car could be a trauma trigger.  What do you think?

Bio-Family Stuff

As I wrote yesterday, The Princess is processing a lot of “stuff” right now.  She’s dealing with a lot of memories – both real and imagined – and she’s trying to figure things out to make sense of them.  We are trying to help her do that with attachment and family therapy, based on a combination of research and techniques used by folks such as Dr. Bruce Perry, Dr. Becky Bailey, and Heather Forbes, LCSW.  Princess wants to bury her feelings about this “stuff” and deal with things on her own terms – terms which are just not healthy, and cause her to act out with much anger and resentment.  Interestingly enough, however, she is still talking to me – still asking questions.  On her own terms.  In her own time.  I’m realizing I’m not always as ready for “it” as I thought I would be.  Last evening was one of those times.

The Princess started asking questions about her bio-family and past traumatic events.  Her memory of these things is skewed because she was so little, and because Youngest Son feeds her his own skewed memory of the events.  My practice has always been to set them both straight – to tell them the truth I know.  I share what information we have in court documents.  I also tell them the things their paternal grandmother told us when we did biological family research (through an in-country facilitator) a few years ago.  At first, I thought it was best to “protect” the kids from the details.  Who wants to tell their children the woman who gave birth to them did the things she did?  Who wants to hear their birth father’s depression was exponentially fueled by the actions of their birth mother, and the alcoholism of them both?  This stuff was just too hard.  I didn’t want to talk with them about it.  The Princess, however, while she is very immature emotionally, is also very, very smart.  On one hand, she doesn’t want to know, but on the other, she does.  She has questions about her story.  Afterall, it’s HER story.

Processing her story is something I want her to do with me in therapy.  Unfortunately, she tends to process a lot of it at school with friends.  Most of these friends are hurt kids themselves.  She’s attracted to them like a fly is to poo.  (Yeah, I made that analogy on purpose.)  I do not like that this is true for my daughter.  I do not like that trauma too often begets trauma – or, at least, feeds off it.

My daughter has copies of some of the pictures we received when we did that bio-family search.  These pictures are of her grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and even her biological father.  She also has some pictures from her orphanage.  The deal was she could look at these and talk to us about them at home.  However, she has taken them to school on numerous occasions without my knowledge and has shown them around, telling these other hurt kids way too much – much more than any of them can handle.  Much more than she can handle on her own.  And they’ve hurt her more with their comments and questions.  (I wish I fully understood why hurt kids tend to set themselves up for more hurt.)  I have never given her the one picture I have of her birth mother.  I wasn’t planning on giving it to her, or even showing it to her, any time soon.  But I showed her last night. 

I don’t think I’ll ever get why some cultures take pictures of dead bodies at funerals.  I don’t think I’ll ever get why the mourners pose with the dead body and have their picture taken, too.  This is the one picture I have of the birth mother.  The family is gathered around the birth father’s open casket.  She is standing at the head of the casket with Youngest Son.  The Princess is not in the picture, and to our knowledge, she did not attend the funeral (though she insists she did even when Youngest Son tells her she did not).  While it is possible to crop the picture, the image of the birth mother’s face is very tiny.  She is looking down.  The sun is shining brightly on the right side of her face, whiting out a portion of her image.  It is not a good picture photographically at all.  Yet, it is the only picture I have, and The Princess wants it.  She wants me to print it out for her. 

I am not doing that.  Not now anyway.

In my head, I understand The Princess’ need to remember her birth mother and know what she looked like.  The Princess insisted she had blond hair prior to seeing the picture, for example.  She did not.  She has dark brown hair, just like The Princess.  My daughter also insisted that birth mother was thin.  She is not thin in this picture.  She is, in fact, a bit chubby.  I also get that my daughter needs to know WHO she comes from as well as where she comes from.  I get that.  That’s my own driving force in being a genealogy geek.  I learned my mother’s Dad was not her biological father when I was 15 years old.  I always wondered about that man and about the family I was a part of, but did not know.  I found them as an adult, but my mother and my grandmother kept all that information from me.  It wasn’t right.  It wasn’t fair.  Even if my biological grandfather treated my grandmother poorly, I still had a right to know about the PEOPLE I come from.  My daughter has that right, too.  Strangely though, I now understand my grandmother and mother’s resentment at my need to know. 

As we were preparing to adopt, I read all I could about the needs of adopted children to know about the people they come from.  I was sure I would be supportive and that I would never say an ill word about my children’s birthparents.  I would be positive.  I would help them learn what they wanted to learn.  I would even support them having a relationship with extended family members.  I was clueless.

I had no idea I could hate the birth mother of my children.  (Yep.  I said that, too.  I have hated her.)  It is SHE who did this to MY kids.  It is SHE who deserves my daughter’s wrath, though it is I who deal with it.  It was HER actions that have caused MY children so much pain.  Yes, I have hated her.  And I’ve secretly wished my children would hate her, too.

Hate is a cancer that eats your soul.  Trauma is drawn to trauma.  Hate is drawn to hate even more so.  I don’t want my children drawn to trauma.  I don’t want my children drawn to hate.  Therefore, I needed to let go of hate.  Sometimes, I will admit, that need resurfaces and the “let go” is moment-to-moment.  It is then I need to remember I cannot hate someone I’ve never known.  It is her decisions and her actions that I hate.  It is the sin (and yes, that’s the word) that I hate.  I do not hate the person.  (Admittedly, I do struggle to love her.)  She is not well.  She was not well when she hurt my kids.  My daughter wants to know who she is.  So, I will tell her the truth – again and again – however many times she needs to hear it.

I have still not printed out the picture for her.  I do not want it floating around a middle school.  There is one “friend” there that is particularly cruel to The Princess.  I do not want this “friend” having any more fuel for her twisted fires.  I also do not want other friends giving their 12 and 13 year-old opinions about it.  She’s already been made fun of this week for having an “old” mother (me).  I can still at least TRY to protect her from some things, can’t I?  (Oh, how homeschooling sounds better and better to me with each passing day.)

I love my daughter more than I can express in words.  She is MINE.  She comes from her. 

My daughter can look at my copy of the picture. 

We’ll print it out and take it to therapy next time.

-------
Added later:  On second thought, maybe I WON'T print out the picture and take it to therapy next time we go.  I hadn't thought about what to do with it afterward.  As Diana writes below, destroying it is probably not a good idea.  If I file it, I can guarantee both she and Youngest Son will be rooting through ALL my stuff trying to find it.  And leaving it with the therapist is probably something even my therapist wouldn't recommend.  Thanks Diana for sharing some things I hadn't thought about.  Like I said, sometimes I'm just not as prepared to deal with the "stuff" as I thought I would be.  It is on my computer (and backed up) in secure files.  Only I know the password.

Need to Control = Fear

The Princess and I had family therapy yesterday morning.  It wasn’t fun.  This is the second session in a row she has refused to participate.  She just sits there, with her arms folded, and won’t say anything other than, “I don’t know,” or “I don’t want to talk about it.”  There’s a lot going on, but for her, if she doesn’t think about it, then it’s not really happening.  For her, if she doesn’t deal with it, she doesn’t have to feel it.  For her, those big feelings are still there whether she wants to feel them or not.  So, because she will not deal with “it,” she is easily triggered and then explodes, (like she did at the zoo), or she’s constantly talking, bouncing off the walls, and using her baby voice.  You see, she MUST be in control.  If she lets go, if her control goes, then there’s no telling what feelings will come to the service!  She’s crazy scared of what those things REALLY feel like.  The fear is HUGE!

There is nothing we can do to MAKE her participate in therapy or in other community based services.  Nothing.  We can be there.  We can offer her support and help, but if she doesn’t want to participate, we’re (therapist, social worker, SRS case manager, parents) just spinning our wheels.  She’s just not ready for talk therapy right now.  She’s 13 and has the shape of a young woman, but she is still about as emotionally capable as a preschooler.  So, backwards we go.  In therapy, we’ll deal with the preschooler.

After the $140 waste of time yesterday morning, the Princess’ therapist called to talk with me privately.  We had two choices:  quit for now (not an option to me) or revert back to play therapy with puppets, sand trays, play dough, and other toys (like you’d use with a much younger child).  I asked the therapist to try taking her backwards and working with her as though she were in preschool.  When she started therapy two years ago, these are the kinds of tools we used in our attachment therapy.  She responded well then.  She revealed her thoughts and feelings through play and responded well to receiving ideas for helping her to deal with situations.  So now, in going back there, I am hoping she responds well again.  Things have been so hard with her the last several months.  I cannot imagine her (nor I) not having our therapist and HCBS (home & community-based services).  I don’t want to imagine it.  (I know some of you, dear readers, do not have a mental health facility near you like we do.  Please forgive my whining.  I know a lot of you do this on your own.  I am a wuss, and God knew that when He plunked us down here.  Believe it or not, I just “lucked into” finding our therapist.  I didn’t even know we had a MH facility in our community when we moved here.) 

When I picked The Princess up after school yesterday, I told her the therapist called me, and that we talked about adding a community-based service (someone who’d work with The Princess in the community and talk with her about family and social skills).  We also talked about the need to cooperate and work in therapy.  I explained we’d be going back to doing play therapy more so than talk therapy, but that she needed to do the work of dealing with the big feelings that have been bubbling up inside of her.  I did not tell her about the possibility of being “fired” from therapy for not cooperating.  She would seize CONTROL of THAT like a drowning man grabbing a life ring!  I did tell her if she did not cooperate, we would be facing a lot more years of therapy and interventions than we could begin to imagine.  (I did not elaborate.)

The Princess is not afraid of me, nor of her therapist.  That’s not where her need for control rests.  She trusts us.  The person she doesn’t trust is herself.  She doesn’t trust she’s strong enough to handle those big feelings that are festering under the surface.  She’s afraid of peeling off the emotional scab and letting whatever poison out that is there, so the healing can begin.  Alas, we plod on.  We try to help her feel safe enough to “go there,” assuring her that developing coping tools now, while she’s young, will help her out much more effectively than waiting till she’s older to deal with things and does not have us “right there” to catch her, and help her back up.

That’s what therapeutic parenting is, you know.  Plodding on.

Trauma sucks.  Big time.

Scholarly Education on Complex Trauma

When I was a teenager, I spent as little time as possible studying.  I did what I had to do to get by in school.  I was a lazy scholar.  Deep down, I still am.  My thirst for learning is only fueled by my desperation.  When I feel I NEED to know something and do not, it is then I am most ready to study and to learn.  There is much I have needed to know these last several years.  If you also need to know, below are some scholarly papers and websites with resources for higher learning about complex trauma:

     *Neuroscience & Behavior - a free undergraduate level course on MIT's open learning website.  There are over 700 courses on this site - both undergraduate and graduate level courses - in a wide range for fields of study.

     *Articles by Dr. Bruce Perry (one of my favorites):
          Anxiety Disorders
          Bonding & Attachment in Maltreated Children
          The Neurosequential Model of Therapeutics
          and FOR TEACHERS
          Children and Loss (on Scholastic's website)
          What Childhood Neglect Tells Us About Nature and Nurture

     *Treatment of Complex Trauma in Young Children:  Developmental and Cultural Consideration in Application of the ARC Intervention Model.  Arvidson, Kinniburgh, Howard, Spinazzola, Strothers, Evans, Andres, Cohen, Blaustein, 2011.  Journal of Child and Adolescent Trauma, 4:34-51

     *The Amygdala, Fear, and Memory.  Fanselow & Gale discuss the role of the frontotemporal amygdala in classical fear conditioning, 2003.

 More links are available at:  Tip Sheets for Psychology Majors.  Additionally, even more links -- more than you will ever read or need, but may want to browse for some gems -- are available at www.trauma-pages.com

What Friends Don't See

That title would probably more accurately read, “What Friends Don’t GET TO See.”

I received a lovely phone call from one of my best friends last night.  She wanted to tell me how well my two youngest kids behaved yesterday afternoon.  They were responsible and mature.  Pleasant.  Appropriate.  Studious.  They were everything a parent could possibly want in a child. 

This friend is also the mom of an older, internationally-adopted child.  Fortunately, she knows better.  She knew I’d see something different.  This behavior is not my children – not to me, anyhow.   She knew this behavior would not last once the children were out her door and in our care again.  She knew our kids would be stressed.  She knew I was stressed.  She just wanted me to know that I didn’t need to worry about how they’d behaved while she had them.  ‘Made me feel a little jealous, but it was nice to know.

The reason this friend had my kids yesterday is because I spent the day in a hospital emergency room with my youngest biological son.  He is two years older than our youngest son, but many years “older” in social and emotional development.  They are four school years apart.  Youngest son feels his most competitive towards this son.  He feels most threatened for our love, time, and devotion with this son over any of the other siblings. 

Yesterday, our 18-year-old was dehydrated from food poisoning.  He’s still pretty sick this morning.  He’s sleeping now, as I write, but it’s been a long night for his mom.  I am thankful for a school day today.  Even with all the therapeutic parenting tools in my toolbox, I don’t think I would have done well with my hurt kids this morning.  I knew there would be fallout from yesterday, but that doesn’t mean I have the energy to deal with it.  My daughter was “bouncing off the walls” hyper this morning, being too cute, and using her baby voice.  She could not leave me alone and demanded near constant attention.  My youngest son would have nothing to do with me.  He was surly and withdrawn, wouldn’t look at me, let me know he didn’t need me, and didn’t say a word to me – not even when he got the trash without being asked and I thanked him for doing so.

I have to tell you, these are the times I feel most like smacking him upside the head.  (Yeah, I wrote that.)

But here’s what I know and what my friends don’t get to see:  My kids were scared spitless yesterday.  They’re still scared today.  They got notes in the middle of class, telling them someone was getting them from school other than me.  (The note from my daughter’s school office was AWFUL.  “X picking you up.  Red Suburban.  Don’t get violin.  Come right out.  Mom with student in hospital.”  She didn’t know WHO was in the hospital or why.  To say my daughter was terrified is putting it mildly.)  Then, they got taken to my friend’s house and they stayed there until after supper.  While she explained to them what was going on and reassured them (and they behaved appropriately concerned in front of her), they were triggered by past trauma.  Very, very triggered.  They still are.

“How sick is my brother?”  “Is he going to die?”  “Can my mom take care of me?”  “Is my mom going to die?”  “Does my mom still love me?”  “Does my mom love my brother more than me?”  “Do I still matter?”  “What about me?”  “Where’s my dad?”  -- Sounds like the thinking of a 2-year-old, doesn’t it?  That’s trauma.  That’s exactly the emotional age at which my children are responding to their brother’s illness, to my being less available, to an abrupt change in their routine yesterday, and to thoughtless notes from distracted school secretaries.  I cannot expect them to behave like 13 and 16 year olds today – or probably for days to come.  Trauma stinks.

Tired as I am, they need me.  They need to be reassured.  They need me to walk them through a process of process.  Even when I don’t feel like it.

This, my fellow trauma mama friends, is why we need one another.  Do not isolate yourself.  Seek out friendship.  Find other blogs online.  Maybe even sign up for Diana’s find-a-friend project.

I am very blessed to have a good friend who is also an adoptive mom nearby.  But this is a recent blessing.  Through most of my journey, it has been (and still is) my online friends who have always “been there” for me.  YOU are the ones who get it.  You are the ones who know this walk.  It sure can be exhausting, but it’s a lot easier when you know someone has your back.

Thanks for that.  (Thanks especially to my friends who helped yesterday.  You know who you are.)

More About Grief & Loss: Dreams

Wow, how about this?!  Two posts in one day from Trauma Mama T.   Seriously, I didn’t think I had it in me.  But really, I struggled with whether or not to post what I’m about to write.  It’s a bit personal.  Still, I think it may be helpful for me to write it down.  Writing helps me to process things.  What I write may also be helpful for some of you, dear readers.

I’ve written about grief and loss in adoption on my blog before.  You can read that post here.  Today, though, I want to talk more about anniversaries.  You see, January is the anniversary of a significant traumatic incident in my kids’ lives – and especially in the life of my youngest son.  He’s 16 now.  He was 6.5 when this very significant trauma happened.  My son’s first father died at his own hand, and my son is the one who found his body.  This may shock some of you.  Others are no longer shockable because they know this or worse.  But this is our life.  This was my kids’ life.  It’s not something anyone “gets over.”

I have two pictures of my youngest children’s birth father (one of their birth mother).  In one photo, my kids’ first father is standing proudly, looking very Eastern European, not smiling, of course, and is behind his sister as they pose for her wedding picture.  He is young and handsome.  His hair is wavy, just like my son’s.  He looks a lot like my son.  In the other picture, his birth mother is also visible (though grainy).  My son is in this picture, as well as many of his birth father’s family.  They are standing around his father’s coffin.  The coffin lid is open and they are saying goodbye before they bury him.  His face is clearly visible.  (My daughter would have been 3.5 at the time.  She did not attend the funeral, according to my son’s paternal grandmother.)

I haven’t been sleeping well lately.  I’m stressed about several things.  Financial stuff, mainly.  It happens.  Anyway, I came out to the sofa two nights ago so I wouldn’t keep my husband awake with my tossing and turning.  At about 4 a.m., my son came out and turned on the computer.  He’s not supposed to be on the computer unsupervised.  (It’s password protected, but he keeps figuring out the password anyway.)  He’s certainly not supposed to be up at 4 a.m., wandering around the house.  He didn’t know I was in the room.  He was very focused, it seemed, on just getting to the computer. 

I asked him (sternly), “What are you doing?”  He replied, “I’m going on the computer.”  I told him to get off the computer and go back to bed.  When we got up to get ready for work/school, he told my husband he’d had a bad dream.  He didn’t remember actually going to the computer, he said.  He just remembers being told by me to get off the computer.  He said he’d had a bad dream about his biological father.  His father was chasing him and trying to hurt him, maybe even trying to kill him (we have no record of his birth father ever trying to harm him other than neglecting him when separated from his mother, though we do know one of the men his mother ran around with was very violent).  He said his father told him he had to get a paper off our computer to prove that his father was really alive.  Our son said he thinks he must have been sleepwalking.  I didn’t believe him, frankly.  I still don’t.  He’s lied so many times to cover his actions.

He didn’t seem “with it” before school and I asked him if he was okay.  He seemed almost ill.  I asked him if he wanted to stay home from school.  He did not.  So he went to school.  Later that evening, when my husband was home from work and dinner was over, the three of us sat down to process the dream.

Our son said he’d been thinking a lot about his birth father lately and sometimes he has a hard time believing the man is really dead.  I asked him if he remembers the funeral and he says he does, but that seems like it was a dream, too.  I asked him if he wanted me to show him the photograph and/or the copy of his birth father’s death certificate.  He did not want to see either.  So we talked. 

I reminded him how we’ve learned in therapy that anniversaries can trigger big feelings even when we’re not aware of them.  I reminded him that January was the anniversary of his father’s death and, just like I had a hard time last December 1^st (the 10^th anniversary of my mother’s death), he was likely having a hard time with the anniversary of his father’s death, too.  It was normal.  It’s what the middle part of brains do when we remember traumatic things.  We told him how sorry we were that he’d had to go through that.  We said no kid should have to go through what you went through and what you still have to go through now.  He’s a big, very strong, 16 year old boy.  But in that moment, as we talked, he was a very sad 6.5 year old again who needed to be held.  I asked him if we could hug him – something he usually resists.  We stood and he melted into my husband’s arms, my arms around the both of them.  He sobbed for a long time.  He did not let go of his Daddy.  It was pretty amazing.

I could have pushed the computer issue.  I could have challenged him and said he was lying about sleep walking.  I do believe he really did want to get on the computer and see if there was some way he could prove whether or not his birth father was alive or dead.  But this wasn't about lying or covering his tracks.  It wasn’t about using the computer at 4 a.m. without supervision.  

It was about grief.

Him.  Holding my husband.  Allowing my husband to hold him.  A.  Long.  Time. 

Wow.

Again, I know this is pretty personal.  One of the reasons I blog anonymously is so that I can help others as I process big things myself.  I trust that those of you who know me (and thus already know the basics of my kids’ stories) will protect us as well.