I am a trauma mom. My kid is a trauma kid. It took me a long time to say that without crying, and even longer to say it without defensiveness. But there you have it. It’s not what she is, it’s who she is…but she is so much more than that.
Let me back up to the beginning. I adopted an almost 1 year old from Eastern European Russia in 2006. It was pretty smooth sailing (other than the normal challenges of adopting from Russia). We had some transition and overstimulation issues, but with the help of an amazing pediatrician who specialized in international adoptions, we managed our way through it.
When my amazing girl was 4, her world shattered. I became virtually incapacitated from debilitating fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue, and had to leave my 26 year federal government career on disability. It took about a year for my disability to be approved, and it was a huge pay cut. So we left our home in Northern Virginia and headed on a wing and prayer to Spring Hill, TN (just south of Nashville). 2 months before we moved my dad died. Since I had adopted as a single mom, my dad was the closest thing to a dad that my girl had. So in the course of two months, she lost her “DadDad”, her house, her friends, her (pre)school, and the life she had known with a functional fun mom.
Then the bottom really fell out. My sweet girl turned into trauma monster. I had no idea what a trauma kid was, and it was a rude awakening. She had tantrums that were amazing in their strength and duration, breaking things, breaking doors, hitting, spitting, yelling the nastiest things she could think of, and basically doing whatever she could to hurt me. This happened 5-15 times a day, and it was utterly unpredictable. We had no family or friends nearby, and no resources to call on to help. Finally we found someone to help, and I truly began my journey as a trauma mom. I learned my sweet baby was terrified and her behavior was driven by fear, not willfulness or meanness. (I'll post more on trauma kids later.) Learning that she was scared and not “bad” was a huge awakening and a major paradigm shift. So we slowly (very very very slowly) began our journey toward healing the fear and healing our family. It was exhausting and never ending, and as a single mom it was up to me, with no break, virtually no help, and no one to dry my tears at the end of the day.
The first two years we were here we were in survival mode. Her behavior was unpredictable and people were quick to judgment. I heard many times what an awful mom I was, what a horrible kid she was, and we became virtual pariahs. I found one good friend who took the time to learn what was going on, and she is still the person who “gets it”. She was, and is, a gift from God. It was an incredibly dark, lonely, scary two years.
When we finally began to heal, the past haunted us. Those who knew us in the full on trauma days had written us off, and there were no second chances. I became extremely guarded and protective, for the rejection devastated my social butterfly wannabe, and it broke my heart.
It is now almost 5 years from the beginning of this trauma journey, and we continue to heal. It is still very much a journey, and I will continue to write about it in the hopes that someone will take courage or refuge in knowing they are not alone in their trauma journey.
Be strong, trauma mamas. And above all, give yourself a little grace. You deserve it.
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