There are so many things I didn't know when I adopted a trauma kid. I'm not talking about the good stuff, like how this child fills a hole in your heart you didn't know existed, or how you feel you are part of a holy calling called parenthood, or the thousand sweet moments where you are sure your heart will burst with love. I'm talking about the "dark side:, the side when trauma rules, the side when it is far more challenging than you ever thought anything could be.
So here it is - the things I didn't know/ no one told me:
- How many nights I would spend crying -- because she was broken and I couldn't fix her; because changing the entire way you parent is exhausting; because yet one more friend has given up because it's too hard; because no matter how much you know it isn't aimed at you, hearing "God made a mistake when He made you my mom" still cuts to the quick; because sometimes it is just too damn much to handle alone.
- How many people I would have to try to convince that just because she's "doing fine" doesn't mean she is fine. It just means she has muscled together enough regulation for the moment. Unless you are there when the wheels come off because the regulation has all been used up, don't doubt the words of the people who live with the TKs.
- How lonely it is. Friends will try to "get it", but you have to live it to really get it. TK gets better and better at regulation, especially in public, so dysregulation surprises and scares people. (Sometimes it still surprises me). Frequently they get so freaked by it that they decide the risk is too high, so they stop inviting you to things/volunteering to help. For years there was no "safe person" to leave her with, so I just hunkered down and did it. I'd say it's worse since I'm a single parent, except I know married trauma parents who feel just as isolated.
- How many events/invites would be skipped or cut short. When dysregulation is high, you learn to skip stuff or walk out partway through, because regulation is gold. Regulation is peace. Regulation is worth (most times) sacrificing time with friends and family because dyregulation is horrific. Dysregulation is monstrous and consuming and mind-numbingly exhausting. So you turn down invitations, leave parties early, and generally tick off your friends until they stop inviting you (see previous entry).
- How scared TK is. She is almost 11 years home, but we are 7 years into the trauma journey. In the beginning the fear was evident. Over time it manifests itself differently. It turns from thrown objects and slammed doors to harsh words, negative self talk and random outbursts that are disproportionate to the event. The other day she was snitty and I lost it. (The good news is this rarely happens, so it shocks and scares her when it does.) She came totally unglued and terrified. I realized that while she is 99% sure she is loved unconditionally, that 1% is still there. There is still a small part of her that worries that maybe this time she crossed the line; maybe this time she really IS unlovable. That fear is so hard to chase out. A shadow of it always seem to linger.
- How broken I am. I've read that TKs are a gift to point out our own brokenness and help us heal it. This is certainly true for me. At some point I realized I could not help TK move forward until I myself could move forward past my own trauma. Working simultaneously on her trauma and mine was brutal, and I know there is still work to be done - on both fronts. But I am grateful for the opportunity to heal.
- How hard this is. Granted, we have made tons of progress, but trauma is still very much a part of our lives. It's there at night when I pat her to sleep and tell myself, "just stay quiet" while TK rants about something inconsequential (and often not the real issue). It's there when I pick her up from school and she goes to her room and slams her door because she used up all her regulation dealing with teachers and friends (and enemies). It's there when she blows for no apparent reason, and it takes hours of talking and detective work to discover the underlying fear.
So, dear trauma mamas, trauma dads, and trauma caregivers, there are a lot of things no one told you. Blessedly there are almost always small moments of grace that give us enough strength to keep moving forward. For our TKs are great purveyors of grace. It's there when they forgive our failings. It's there when they challenge themselves to move into and through a hard situation. It's there when they apologize after a bout of dysregulation. It's there when you find another Trauma Mama to share the truth. So I offer you the grace of my truth. May it carry you through the next "hard part", because we all know there will be one. Keep fighting the good fight, Trauma Mamas.
