As a trauma mama, I try to minimize holidays (except for the ones that center around Trauma Kid (TK), like her Gotcha Day and birthday). The high expectations around holidays almost guarantee a meltdown.
We made it through Mother's Day relatively unscathed......up to a point. The day started early....extra early if you count the two times she was up with nightmares and the 3 AM wander into my bed. I gave up and got up at 6; she soon followed. We had plans to try out a new church today, but she told me she wasn't ready so I let it go. I was doing my best to keep things on an even keel. We went to run a few errands and all was good (largely because the errands centered around spending HOURS shopping to spend her gift cards from her birthday party yesterday). After we got home she started crying. "Mom, I didn't ask anyone to take me shopping to get you something for Mother's Day. I didn't have a chance to get you anything." I told her honestly I would love a handwritten note more than a present. That seemed to work, but I could feel the ghost of tumult in the air.
We headed outside where I spent 3 hours bailing out the remaining water in the pool (because of course the drain is on the uphill side.....it was level when I put it up, but it settled the wrong way, of course), scrubbing off the algae and fishing out the 100 dead worms. This took longer than it should have since TK was on the trampoline with the sprinkler yelling, "Mom, watch this!" every 5 minutes. And I did. My goal was to keep that ghost of tumult in the neverworld, so I did my best to stay regulated and emotionally engaged.
Fast forward through a relatively calm evening to 8PM - 1/2 hour before bedtime. TK told me she would cook whatever I wanted, so what did I want. I told her I appreciated the offer, but wasn't really hungry. She stormed off to her room, where she upended almost everything in there. I knew I should follow her in, but I needed time to get regulated. Because yes, I was frustrated......REALLY frustrated. Why on earth is me not being hungry cause for a meltdown? (yeah, yeah, I know, rejection.....but SERIOUSLY!) I was exhausted, hurting (my fibromyalgia has been killing me the last two weeks, but I've been ignoring it and pushing through, because what choice is there?), and some small part of me still felt entitled to some sort of Mother's Day dispensation from trauma stuff. (I know, but a girl can dream.) I went in and apologized for hurting her feelings; she told me to "Get the hint and get out!", so I did. I know I should have followed up a few minutes later, letting her know I was still there, still loving her, but I didn't. To her credit, she came out about 15 minutes later, started banging pots and pans and told me she was making me something special. (It is now 10 mins before bedtime). She brought me a piece of bologna smothered (like 1/4" deep) in thyme and basil. I told her I loved the combo but it was a bit too herby for me, She snatched the plate from me, threw it in the sink (thank you, Lord, it didn't break). To my surprise, she made me a new one (oh goody) with less herbs on it. (Luckily the cats were nearby and are big fans of bologna!) I told her it was past bedtime and to get herself ready. More banging, more tossing of things into the sink, and a slammed door from TK. More sighing and praying for patience from me.
I waited a few minutes, trying (and failing) to get myself into a regulated compassionate state. When I got in her room, I asked if she wanted help picking up all the things on the floor (including the pillow and the blanket). "What do YOU think? Does it LOOK like I want them on my bed?" Flip goes my switch (mental dialogue epic fail - "Happy mother's day my foot. Thanks for spending hours taking me shopping, mom. Thanks for cleaning the pool in 90 degrees so I can swim next week". The only grace I mustered at that point was not saying it out loud. Meager, I grant you, but I'm still claiming it.) I left her room, told her I'd be back when she was ready to be nice, and went out to fold laundry and sulk (sad but true). She wandered out about 10 minutes later, tear stained and sniffling. "Are you going to read to me?" So I did. She told me she was upset that I didn't ask her what was wrong. She's right, I didn't. I assumed she was angry about my rejecting her food offer. But I didn't ask, and there was probably something else going on. So epic fail on my part. I asked her then, but it was too late. She had decided I didn't care and was going to stay in that place.
After I read I told her I loved her face and everything attached to it, and she giggled a little. Then I patted her and kissed her and she fell asleep.
I'm not sure how to sum it up, other than to reiterate how much I hate holidays. There were some sweet moments, some epic failures (largely on my part) and some small graces (like giggles at bedtime). And after we get through her birthday this week, we have a break until we wade the murky sea of Father's Day (always a challenge when you don't have one). That is, of course, ignoring the end of school, the change in routine, the "what do I do" of summer (but if I start to think about that now I will hyperventilate, so I'm choosing to ignore it).
Happy Mother's Day, Trauma Mamas. I hope you got through your day with larger graces than I; if not, grab those small ones and hold on tight.
We need another, quiet day, with no expectations, no pressure, and NO DRAMA! We'll call it Warrior Day. I declare it to be tomorrow. So take some time tomorrow to appreciate you, mighty warrior, fighting this fight for your TK, going to the mat day after day, rising above your own traumas to conquer theirs, and always, always, choosing the greatest weapon of all - love.
You are all my heroes, and you are your TK's heroes. Find the grace in knowing you are exactly what your TK needs. No matter
how badly you blow it, they feel the love under it all, and that is
enough.
Wake up tomorrow and tell yourself happy Warrior Day!
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