Phew. I'm exhausted. I've spent the last two hours in the hell that is puberty and trauma combined. It is a new twist on an old song. I'm familiar with the old trauma events; they tended to center around physical violence and tears. The new, puberty fueled trauma events center around emotional assaults and accusations. I find those much harder to deal with than the physical stuff.
Of course tonight I was fairly raw going in. I've been sick with shingles and then a sinus infection/ear infection/bronchitis combo since Christmas, and I am physically and mentally exhausted. To top it off, my mom is here and earlier today I unsuccessfully tried to shut down the conversation (or monologue) where she pondered why the pediatrician who sexually assaulted me when I was 15 (but remained a 'family friend' to this day) hadn't been in touch. I commented that the only time I wanted to hear about him was to read his obituary (my standard reply whenever he comes up in conversation, which he does at least once every time we're together). Needless to say I was already running on emotional fumes when everything went south.
Trauma Kid (TK) and I were playing "guess what I'm holding" (one of our many made-up games), and she decided to pull out some slime. (For those of you who don't have a middle schooler, slime is as pervasive as bottle flipping.) When i went to poke it she told me I couldn't touch it, then slid the container off the table. She said if I picked it up I could play with the slime. I told her she was full of it, and she said, "I promise, Mom." Of course I picked it up and of course she told me I couldn't touch it. I told her the word promise means something, and she shouldn't say it if she wasn't going to follow through on it. She threw the container at me and stormed into her room. A few minutes later she came out and told me she made fake promises all the time so why was I making a big deal of it now. I told her I had mistakenly thought it was a passing thing and I had make a mistake. She got so angry she actually punched the wall and cracked the wallboard. I mustered every single iota of control I had and did NOT yell. I got her some ice, told her I was sorry she felt so angry she had to punch the wall and went to my room to cool off a little. She went into her room to sob.
After many many deep breaths, I went into her room and just sat on the floor, trying to be calm. After a few minutes of heavy sobs, she started talking, and it wasn't pretty. It was focused on how she can't talk to me because I'm so fake, I don't care about how she feels, I only pretend to care when other people are around, she doesn't even talk to me anymore because she knows I'm just pretending, she's scared that I don't really care about her, she feels bad because she's always making me do stuff I hate doing like jumping on the trampoline., and lots more.....primarily focused on my failings.
I stuffed away all my hurt (because there was plenty) and told her I was sorry if she felt I didn't love her, that I really hoped some part of her knew I loved her ALWAYS no matter what, and then I foolishly tried to address her list of "complaints". In retrospect, that was foolish. It was like addressing the angry actions /violence in the "old days". I had to get deeper, past the "let me hurt you so you don't hurt me" statements to the core......it's in there. Did you catch it? I didn't at first. "She's scared I don't really care about her." Some part of me flips out when I hear that (just internally though), and I get both hurt and angry. But the hurt and anger are my crud, not hers, so i try my very best not to level them at her. I just repeated that I really hoped some part of her knew that she was the most important thing in my life, that I was sorry if i didn't make that clear and disappointed her, but there is not a single second of my life that I don't love her and am grateful for her.
She eventually came and sat next to me on the floor. I apologized and told her I'd never raised a tweenager before and I would make mistakes, but I would keep trying to get better. She leaned over and put her head in my lap and sobbed for a few more minutes. Then she sat up and asked if we could keep talking (it was already an hour past bedtime). WHAT? You just said you couldn't talk to me so you didn't even try! Of course I said yes and I heard things I've heard before, but we laughed and moved past the trauma drama.
I admit I am wounded. The specific targeted emotional shots are much more damaging than the generalized emotional attacks of the old trauma events. I am now struggling with trying to discern what, if anything, of what she levelled at me is true and what was just trauma and puberty talking. I honestly don't know. I just know I want to run away for a few days and get away from the madness, but that's not in the realm of possibility, so, as always, I will dig deep and pull up my big girl trauma mama pants and get on with it.
Shoot me some grace to move past the hurtful words and hold onto the laughter that we shared. I'm sending you grace for those days when the emotional battle is full-on and brutal. Hang tough, Trauma Mamas. The journey keeps changing, and it IS exhasuting when your tools don't work anymore, or you have to at least tweak them to make them work. But your TK is still needing the grace of hearing they are loved and accepted just as, and where, they are. That's a grace we all need.
