trauma

The Neediest Child

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I love all my children. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep them safe. I enjoy them – watching them learn and grow and adventuring with them. It’s so cool to see how far each one of them have come. How unique each child is and how together we create this family.

There is a child in my pack that pushes my every button. It seems like every minute he’s doing something to get negative attention. It’s non stop and some days I feel like I’m about to lose my ever-loving mind. His voice reaches an octave that makes me want to chew on glass and run with scissors. He will wake up at 3am to go potty and then will decide to wake the entire house up and have a party. He won’t follow simple directions. He makes unsafe choices that make it hard to trust him. When he pees all over the toilet and bathroom floor, when he’s clumsy and breaks something of mine, when he lets the shower curtain drip water all over my bathroom floor, when he leaves the car door open all night and the batter dies, when when when… over and over and over again – I feel like he’s punishing me. I know it’s not rational. It’s trauma. The scars of severe neglect. I’m struggling. And so is he. At school he has started this thing where he’ll retaliate against his teacher by wetting his pants if he’s asked to wait a few minutes before using the restroom. He’s now no longer allowed to use the restroom alone because he violated another student’s privacy by crawling under the bathroom stall… the other student happened to be wiping at that moment and startled, got his feces on my son. It was quite literally a shit show. Once a star student, he’s refusing to do his work and disrupting his class.

It’s exhausting and I am having a hard time not feeling resentful this season. There is so much shame and sadness around this issue.

There’s no Idiot’s Guide to Fostering and Adoption. Or maybe there is and I didn’t read it? Lol. Nobody told me that there would be scenarios like this (or that laundry would be a 24/7 cycle). I don’t feel as bonded with this child. There’s a click that’s missing. He’s 7 and talks like a baby and wants to curl up and have me hold him like a baby. And I feel like such a bad mom because I’m not getting it or don’t have the emotional capacity to be what he needs in those moments. Some days I fantasize about him growing up as an only child in another woman’s home. I truly believe he should be an only child and would thrive. That he’s been so neglected, he worries that there isn’t enough love or attention or food or whatever for him. But there’s no chance of single childhood happening. If I ever recommended the thought to a social worker, we’d risk the powers that be coming in, taking the sibling group and them possibly bouncing around many homes again, separated like they were before. This child has huge trauma and people who know trauma and kids know that the kids who need the most love often ask for it in the most unloving ways. Knowing he went through a dozen homes before he walked through my door, in April of 2018, I can’t let him go through that again. I won’t let it happen.

I’ve been hearing from other foster and adoptive moms who have had similar experiences and it’s so encouraging to know I’m not alone. I’m not giving up on this kid. I truly believe these behaviors and issues will pass and things will get better for our family. More importantly, things will get better for him.

Give Me a Break!!!

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B35AFC14-1751-49C1-A902-88C16249AB8DThe kids spent the night at my Mom’s house last night! Hooray! So Mauricio and I got a very much needed date night in last night. Sadly, I can’t remember the last time we had a date night. We love our kids and we ENJOY our kids and everything we do is for our kids, so don’t feel too bad for us! 6 kids is A LOT though and sometimes (a lot of the time) I wish I had more help. I wish I had the regular date nights that our friends have. But I get it. And when you have 6 kids, it’s not an easy undertaking to secure a babysitter. The logistics of 6 kids is overwhelming. And on top of the sheer number is the fact that our kids have trauma backgrounds and triggers and behaviors and while they thrive in our highly structured environment, they are master manipulators and highly skilled at taking advantage of teachers, daycare, etc… So we have to get creative about investing in time together. Sometimes it’s an early morning puzzle over coffee, or breakfast on the deck, or an hour in the hot tub after the kids are sound asleep (or at least pretending to be). Sometimes it’s playing hooky during a week day and doing brunch and a movie or adventure elsewhere. I’m so grateful, though, for this mini break. To catch up on sleep, to unwind in peace and quiet, and to get things done without “helpers”. The house is clean, the laundry is done, back to school supplies have been organized, laminating projects for the kids’ routines are completed, and now it’s oh so quiet. (I LOVE IT!!! *Insert a thousand confetti emojis*) WHAT A TREAT!!!

My mom sent this photo of the kids getting their back to school shoes. So grateful for this blessing! (And lucky for them because this Mama is more of a Walmart shopper.)

Struggling to Bond with a Child Doesn’t Make You a Bad Person

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If you are a foster parent and you find it hard to bond with a foster child in your care, you are not a bad person. It is not wrong to struggle and face obstacles. What is wrong is treating a child differently than others in your care, giving them less affection or opportunities because of how hard they are to bond with. Kids with trauma are hard. Some of these kids have experienced so much neglect or abuse that they haven’t learned something that would otherwise be common sense for the average child their age. That’s why they are with you. So it’s okay if you find yourself feeling completely worn out by that child’s emotional immaturity or because they are 6 years old and can’t dress themselves or they obsess about food or they have a hard time paying attention or because teaching them about hygiene and getting them to take frequent showers feels like an enormous burden. Just remember that it’s not their fault and that they aren’t intentionally trying to make things hard for you. Try to avoid thinking in terms of “behaving badly” but recognize this as they are having a hard time. And don’t let your frustration show. How blessed are we, that we get to love on and help a child become more independent?!? That is the goal… to help a child become as independent as possible, knowing they might be returned to a situation of neglect.

As a foster parent I have been so blessed to bond with and genuinely love every child that has come into my care. My husband feels very much the same. That’s not to say we haven’t struggled or suffered. Because we have. We’ve had kids come into our home that have had us saying (more like whispering in the privacy of our bedroom) “what were we thinking?” “Can we really do this?” “Why wouldn’t the placement desk inform us of this issue?”

Remember YOU are amazing! YOU provide safety and hope. YOU have opened your heart and your home to a child in need. YOU can do hard things! YOU can love a difficult child. Keep up the hard work, YOU! YOU are creating change. ❤️

 

 

 

Happy Thanksgiving

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On Tuesday I played hooky with my girl. We went the therapy, then shopping for clothes, lunch with my mom & then painting pottery at a local studio near downtown Seattle. We needed this date; I needed it every bit as much as she did. I want to be intentional about giving her my undivided attention as often as possible and being as positive and kind and encouraging. Regretfully this past month I have noticed my interactions have been somewhat negative – “you spend too much time on social media,” “if you want to go to college, you need better grades,” “The photos you are posting on social media and in messages to friends are a little too provocative,” “please stop leaving your nail polish out where the younger kids can get into it,” “I don’t leave these cups in the sink because they are fragile and special…”

I can do better. She deserves better.

Therapy was brutal. And I’ll spare the details but to summarize things, my sweet girl is having a hard season of life. And she needs an outlet and so much love and kindness and to know that it’s okay to feel sad or angry or depressed or anxious… that is there is absolutely nothing wrong with her. That she’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.

This thanksgiving I am grateful that she landed in our home. That she’s a part of our family. I am grateful for her grace, kindness, warmth and eagerness to participate in our family. I am grateful for her laughter and love of dancing. She brings so much joy and fun into our home. I am grateful that she chose to keep fighting for herself when life became unbearably difficult for her. That when suicide was an option considered, she decided “this is not how my story will end…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trauma is _____________.

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Trauma is a kiddo melting down while at the happiest place on earth. Shriveled up in a ball, body shaking, crying so hard it hurts his head, burns his throat, and makes him nauseous. Trauma is the scariest thoughts or feelings at the most inconvenient of times. It looks like a foster kiddo peeing his pants in fear at the sight of a police officer because that police officer reminds him of that one time his dad beat his mom, almost to death, and as a result, he lives with strangers. It’s having to immediately pull the car off the freeway because the siren of a passing ambulance triggered unbelievable anxiety and fear for the 7 year old that moments before was playing legos in peace. Trauma is the child that stands over my bed at 3am, making sure I haven’t left him. Trauma is that child that asks me hundreds of times all throughout the day if we have enough food. “What’s for breakfast?” “What if I want more” “Will there be milk?” “Will we have snacks?” “What kind of snacks?” “What’s for lunch?” “Mom, did we have dinner? I can’t remember!!!” Trauma is the child that’s scared to leave my arms at school because she doesn’t know if she’ll ever see me again. Trauma is a child calling me “Mom” after only knowing me for hours. It’s a child begging me to stay forever, after less than a week in my home. Trauma is the girl that screams all throughout the night, haunted in her sleep by god knows what and we hold her and rub her back and we pray for the nightmares to end. God, why won’t they end? 😫 Trauma is a little girl living with strangers because her parents sold her to pay for basic things that you and I take for granted. It’s ordering a seatbelt cutter off of Amazon, hoping it arrives the same day, while holding a precious young teen who is experiencing suicidal ideation because their world feels too heavy for them. Trauma is mean and ugly and raw. It rocks its victims to their core, taking their breath away, stealing their feelings of safety, security, warmth and love. It’s a kindergartener throwing chairs at his teacher, ripping posters and artwork off the walls of the classroom, destroying everything he can because he’s angry… his emotions are too big for him and he doesn’t know where these feelings are coming from or how to deal with them. It is that child that pushes me so far to see how I’ll respond because everyone before now dumped him off at the social worker’s office when things got hard. Trauma is the child that arrives at my house in the middle of the night, reeking of cigarettes and urine. “Hi, my name is ____________.  The kids call me ___________ or ___________. Are you hungry? Here’s your bed, here’s the bathroom, here’s your jammies, this bear is yours. Do you want a hug? Can I rub your back?” It’s a child acting out on a family vacation because in his last placement, he was moved again to another strange family’s house immediately following a family vacation…just when he was starting to feel at home. It is that child that hoards food so bad you find a stash of fermented shelf unstable food under their bed along with ants. It’s is trying to breath through your mouth and act as nonjudgemental as possible while you clean up a child that made themselves vomit. It is crying into your pillow for one minute after bathing a child that responded with such terror and horror at the sight of a shower / bath. As if they were in severe danger. It is hearing a child say they’ve never had a bed before. It’s is muttering “efff it” and giving the kids their favorite cereal for dinner because they’ve had a shit day… and you did too… and you’re not about to make them eat another one of your “healthy” paleo experiments… and besides, you didn’t have time to pick up groceries on your designated shopping day because the school called 6 times and you had to go deal with a kid getting expelled from school, and work sucked and “did I pay those bills yet?” and the house doesn’t meet your cleanliness standards, there are 12 loads of laundry that need to be done, 4 beds that need to be made because the kids had accidents, and you are tired and angry and empty and wondering “why am I doing this? I miss my care free life. And traveling. And reading novels in a nice quiet bath.” It is watching a child flinch because even though you were only redirecting their negative behavior, they were expecting you to hurt them physically… because that’s what they are accustomed to. It is checking your teen girl’s tablet to make sure she’s not at risk for trafficking. Checking her wrists and legs to make sure she’s not using her shaving razor to cut. It is stripping a baby down after a visit with their birth family to check for marks on their body, praying to god there are no burn marks, bruises or signs of abuse from the 3 hour unsupervised visit they returned from. Trauma is relentless; unpredictable emotions, uncontrollable feelings, flashbacks, distractions, grogginess. It is a random recipe of self preservation, hyper-vigilance and dissociation. It is deep emotional scars that affect learning, relationships and growth. Trauma is trying to ground yourself in the midst of a panic attack that creates such intense physiological symptoms, that you think you are dying. But you’re not. And you know it; you just have to push through it. Keep going.
Trauma is processing events with a professional and seeking guidance so as not to trigger our kiddos.

Trauma is an invisible wound. Purveyor of billions of dollars in research, services, billable hours. It is an overwhelming amount of booze and pills and habits that would break your mother’s heart. It is shame and lust. It is begging for mercy. It is trying to keep it all together. It is the kid that’s hardest to love and bond with. It fuels burnout, making this foster life so difficult.

I was told by one of my kids’ therapists this week, “You should consider seeing a therapist just for yourself. The things you witness and experience as a caregiver for kids with trauma may be creating your own trauma.” I laughed because realistically where am I going to find that kind of time in my INSANE (ly wonderful life) and because there is some truth to what she’s saying. BUT instead, I bought a subscription to Sirius XM Satellite Radio so I can listen to the comedy station non stop in my car…. because laughing is cheaper than therapy. And it’s fun. And because trauma is sometimes avoidant coping. We laugh, we smile, we tell the world everything is fine … even when it’s not. Even when we are choking up water from the sea we are drowning in. It’s okay.

Trauma has made my kids resilient. They bounce back. They are tough as hell. They are brave and funny little warriors who understand far more pain than the average human being. They crack jokes at moments that would bring another to their knees. But not my kids.

Resilience.

 

Broken & Hopeful

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The Japanese have an art called Kintsugi by which broken objects, such as pottery, are repaired with gold. Instead of covering it up or trying to make it appear “brand new” again, the flaw is seen as a unique piece of the object’s history, adding to its beauty.

Brokenness. Another “side effect” of fostering. All day I have been preparing for the hurricane that is DEPRESSION. Self diagnosed, of course, because I’ve never actually taken the steps or time to see a clinician about it. And I probably won’t for a while. Maybe never. I made a pact with myself that I would reach out for help if I ever felt unsafe or helpless. But I know it’s there. And I know I suffer from it. And there are some things I can do to help lessen it’s effect: keep my house clean, keep sugar and caffeine intake low, keep my essential oil roller blends close, drink plenty of water, and get at least 8 hours of sleep. It’s like watching dark thunder clouds roll in before a big storm. This morning I woke up and just knew; the clouds are coming. Activate self preservation mode.

We have bio relatives for a sibling set of 3 visiting these next two weeks. Everything leading up to the moment they got on their plane last Friday indicated that they were going to be involved, intentional and serious about getting acquainted with the kids we are caring for. I made plans over a week in advance to meet them over brunch… I had orchestrated, in my mind, what was to be the “perfect” day and more importantly, a magical day with low pressure and fun opportunities for the kids to connect with their relatives. The grandparents blew us off… then met up with us later, spent 2 hours with the kids, and then decided they were exhausted and done. The next day was similar… and then the following day they decided to “take off” and have a break…. another day has passed that we haven’t heard from them. These grandparents, who are like 150 years old, are supposedly in the process of getting their license so that they can take the kids. There are so many twisty side stories about this whole situation, but you get the gist – 3 kids who have endured hell and all signs lead to “Hell Ahead.” I don’t get it. Maybe I never will. I just want so damn bad for these kids to have a happy ending. Parents to show up for them at their graduations, to push them to reach big goals and dreams, to take them on magical trips around the world, to teach them, to love them, to give them a lifetime of memories… nothing that’s happened to them makes sense. Nothing about the current plan for their future makes sense. I just can’t understand why these amazing kiddos have had it so hard. Or how anyone can imagine this potential upcoming move to be good for them.

We have three kids who are terrorized in the night by their dreams. The youngest often screams throughout the night – the oldest frequently runs into our bedroom, mid night, covered in sweat, stifling his cries, making sure I’m still there. The middle child falls asleep sometimes at meals or in school (of course that is after he’s finished running down the halls, asking teachers “what does this mean?”, waiving his middle finger high. He keeps us on our toes!) There is beauty to their brokenness. Just like the broken Japanese pottery repaired with gold, they are extraordinary beings – sharing a deeper connection with one another, empathy towards others, and seeking love and affection and fun in (mostly) healthy ways. I dream of the day when they will sleep peacefully and feel 100% safe. I wonder how much trauma this potential future uprooting will cause / set them back.

I AM hopeful for them. Because of their resilience, these kids WILL be okay. They will make do with what they are given. They will survive wherever they end up. And they will know that people like us LOVE them. And nothing is set in stone yet… maybe a more suitable relative will step forward for these kids. Maybe.