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The Hole of Trauma - and How the Intensive Counseling Went

Our intensive counseling has been over for 2 months now.  Oh, it feels like so long ago.  We've had several people ask us how it went and up until now, my very intelligent, articulate response has been, "Uhhhh....  It was intense."  Nice.

The holidays are often rough for kiddos and families with RAD.  The change in routine, increase in company, foods, noise, gifts, etc. all leave our adoptive kiddos with a sense of feeling out of control, powerless and scared of what is changing.  And if they are older, the gathering of family reminds them of their loss, the family they aren't with.

The holidays were challenging for us.  As I took Little Guy to school the other morning, I was praying and asking God how to keep processing this, how to simply deal.  I share with you the picture he gave me.

*And just as a disclaimer, this picture is of the effect of trauma in our lives, not life in general.  Life is full and beautiful in many ways including health, safety, some of the most amazing and faithful friends and a GREAT GOD who is with us, both in and out of the hole.

Trauma is a hole.  A hole dug and furnished by significant hurt.  Long ago, the bottom of the hole was dark, lined with loose dirt and gravel.

With each hurt, each piece of trauma, the hole was dug deeper.  In separate corners the hurters dug and the hole grew deeper still.

At times, I tried to climb out, but I could not resist the weight of the pull of the hurt or the gravity of the situation.  

I wanted to fight my way out of that place.

At the top of the hole there was a light.  And, the hole was lined with one singular rope.  It reached the whole way to the top of the hole and went down further than the hole had even been dug - the dirt falling off it, yet still having an effect of being colored by the dirt.  It was dirty, as was I.

As time went on, the time came where I finally grew strong enough to start climbing out of that hole.  How liberating it felt to even start to climb!!  It felt like I was climbing so quickly.

Yet, at times, I was pulled back.  At times, I would climb and the dirt would be so loose and my footing so insecure that I would fall almost the entire way back to the bottom. 

As I climbed, I found notches, left along the way by helpers and blessings from my past and present that would help me climb my way out when it was time.

And the rope stayed.  Constant.  I didn’t know when I started out that it was Jesus.  That the consistent, constant thing that was dirty alongside me, was with me, with my hurts all the way down to the bottom was Him.  Sometimes the rope was hard to see.  Sometimes it seemed to disappear into the wall.  Sometimes I pushed it out of the way, either on purpose or accidentally and when I fell back again it was harder for me to find.

And sometimes, the fall back revealed the rope even clearer.

There were places in the hole that were easy to climb, but not very many.  There were places where the light at the top seemed to shine brighter and it seemed even reachable and sometimes when I could barely see it and wondered if it was still there at all.

There were places in the wall that seemed like they were packed so tightly that they’d be impossible to scale, but those were the places where the notches, left by others, became so clear.  And then there were places where I didn’t realize the dirt was so loose and didn’t see the fall of regression coming.

I don’t think I’m anywhere near the top of the hole.  For me, I think that place, the place of total healing, will be heaven.

Today I am struggling with the fact that I’m so deep in the hole.  That I’ve put on self protection that sometimes defeats the purpose of even climbing out.  That is where I am with Little Guy and relationships right now.  My self protection is keeping me from doing what I should be doing with him and I feel like he and my loneliness are pushing me down the hole, even making me look down to the bottom, all over again, so that the hurt is all I can see.  I’m struggling that these things - life, my own sin - make me fall further into the hole.

But, I’m trying to find compassion for myself and NOT LET GO.  To tell myself it is good to admit there is a hole, that the hole is messy and unpredictable and sometimes I will fall further back.  The important thing is to keep looking for the rope and to know that it is always there and that there will be notches ahead that I can’t see and one day I will get to the top, no matter what.

As I have thought on this more, through the week, I have realized that this past year, the intensive and a few other times, were times God was asking me to sit it out.  To stop climbing for a bit and just rest.  Just cry.  As I look down at the tears falling from my face, falling on to my dirty hands, I realize there are tears beyond my own.  Tears that are cleansing me.  His tears.  Times when God has been powerfully with me, crying alongside me and washing the dirt away.  The intensive was one of those times, both for me and for Little Guy.

The intensive counseling shined the light into Little Guy's hole, my hole and the hole of our family, in greater ways than we had yet seen.  Oh, there were places that were so dark!  And yet, the rope became clearer still, as did the notches, our loved ones and supporters.  It was a tremendous time of growth and gaining of wisdom and even hope.

We will keep sharing as God reveals.  We are grateful for each and every notch and I doubt many of you even know you're leaving them.

Much love to you.
Karyn

Making His Works Known - Triggers, RAD and Hope

"Give thanks to the Lord, call on his name; make known among the nations what he has done." 

 1 Chronicles 16:8

Things have been so hard with Little Guy.  After an explosion, by me, 2 weeks ago, I had decided that I was finished.  I wanted to disrupt our adoption.  I needed it to end, for both of our sakes. 

Little Guy had been trampling on every trigger he could find in me all week.  Whether or not it was purposeful didn't matter.  It was happening.  Simultaneously, I realized, through an unrelated event, how past abuse truly was stored in my body.  And powerfully so.

They say that trauma is stored cellularly in the body.  At first I thought that was a whole bunch of "weird".  But after living this for the last year, I believe it.  Case in point.  I tell my children of the time I left water in the sink overnight and the next day, when I emptied the water, I pulled something out of the water.  Wait.  I pulled a MOUSE out of the water.  UGH!!  Look at me, right now, rubbing my hand on my jeans trying to get the mouse off.  Right there --> stored cellularly.  Now, that's not exactly trauma, but if you can relate to that, then you'll understand why maybe it isn't so weird. 

The realization of the stored abuse, so easily triggered, provided a realization and feeling of hopelessness.  It was no wonder I was struggling so much with his behaviors.  The feeling and sting of rejection from Little Guy, his "parent shopping" and disconnect further sunk the boat I was on.  The "one more" act of defiance made it flip.  I needed out.

The next week got harder in different ways.  Husband seemed to agree and then started disagreeing with the disruption course.  I completely disconnected from Little Guy.  I bitterly and angrily told God and others that I did not want to do this. 

Things, however, kept pointing toward him staying.  My feelings did not.  I kept saying to God and Husband that I could not do that life again.  I didn't want to do the life of abuse and entrapment again.  I started being really honest with people around me about how things were going and how I was dealing with it - because hiding it was getting me no where. 

During that time, and many times before, I asked God, "How are You strength in my weakness?  Why don't I feel that?  I know that isn't happening here!  I have never felt that, despite all my prayers and my hopes that I am Your child and your promises apply to me, too.  How could You want me to live defenseless again?  To feel so weak again?"

Another week came and left.  The disconnect and defensiveness I was feeling toward Husband grew, simply because he was letting Little Guy stay.  I was longing for a protector and defender and he was defending and wanting Little Guy.  I started deciding how to give up.  How does someone leave half their family?

While browsing through a bookstore over the weekend, I found 2 books that discussed the repercussions of abuse.  I've read and known some of the things they relayed, but these books were worded differently.  Or perhaps this time, my heart was open to hearing the particular words I did - the words of how abuse makes a survivor crave a defender, protector, someone to be affirming of what she is admitting and believe her.  How her voice and means to protect herself with it were gone long before the abuse started and how she needs her voice to be heard and believed now as a result.  How touch could feel so assaulting.  And how triggers could occur and bring up those same feelings as the abuse did, even if the abuse happened long ago.

And how the only way out was to speak truth.  But, if the truth was not believed or validated upon sharing, how much more it would hurt.

So much of that translated over to what was happening with Little Guy.  I needed Husband to understand why I was afraid of exploding.  I needed him to believe what Little Guy was doing when Husband wasn't looking.  Why it was now impossible to keep bringing him in when so much of me works so hard to defend myself. 

As a side note, God has done much healing in my life since the time of the hurt.  Just a month or so ago, I was thinking of the phrase I have often wondered to myself - "Why didn't anyone see?  I wanted someone to see me."  I was just thinking of it - not in desperation.  And, the voice of truth was heard in my head, "I saw you."  And I knew it was true.  That, alone, has created healing I have not expected.  And that has happened many times over the years.  

On the way home from the bookstore, I started talking to Husband about what I had read and of the feelings that were going on inside me.  What happened to me so many years ago could have been so much worse!  I felt/feel ashamed of having this hard of a time over it - that it is showing up so powerfully right now.  I feel selfish and like a wuss who needs all kinds of attention. 

Instead of his defensiveness growing, Husband reached over and held my hand and listened.  I told him I realized a lot of my feelings and desires sounded contradictory.  I wanted to have Little Guy stay for their sakes and encourage their connection, while also wanting Husband to hate him for hurting me and protect me from that.  I wanted to grow and muscle through, while knowing that the strength to do so was really all gone.  I felt crazy ashamed to not be able to do this anyore, but I knew I couldn't.

Through the course of the evening Husband was more open about his frustrations with Little Guy's behavior, his feelings about me, the other kids and life in general.  There was more gentleness in his communication and every time there was an interaction with Little Guy that was negative, he was alongside watching and sharing his thoughts, doubts and questions with me.  What a huge difference that made!  I felt safe to admit my weaknesses and try and even fail in front of him.  It felt like we were running the race together.

That night, as it was nearing bedtime, I started to forewarn Little Guy that he was going to need to start getting ready for bed soon.  It didn't take long for the rage to start.  I followed our counselor's advice, remained calm, held him at bay so he couldn't hurt me, etc., but he continued to escalate.  I finally had put him in his room because he wouldn't calm down and I couldn't block his hits enough.  When I left his room to take my deep breaths, he started throwing something heavy at the door.  I went back in, you know, because that's not okay.  He ran at me and again I held him by the shoulders and tried to calm him down.  At one point, something changed in his cry that sounded like fear and something happened in me in that instant.  I held him by the shoulders and yelled, so he could hear me above his screams, "Mommy loves you and I am not going to let you act this way because you are only going to push people away."  And I meant it.  I actually felt love for him!  When he heard those words, it looked like relief in his eyes.  I continued to look at him and said, "I will stay if you will take a deep breath."  Twice.  And he did.  Then he took another one - and stopped raging.  I told him to fix my sweater (during his rage he had pulled on it and stretched it completely out of shape) and he "fixed it" by rearranging it.  And I pulled him in to hug him, putting his arms behind my back.  He responded and put his head on my shoulder and relaxed.  Relaxed!  I sat on the floor, pulled him on to my lap and held him for several minutes until he sat up.  I looked at him and said, "It is time to get ready for bed.  Are you going to stay here while I get your pajamas?"  He nodded and laid down on the floor and waited - waited - calmly while I went to get them.

I was shaking on the inside.  What had happened in those moments had never happened before.

I characteristically wrestle with a lot of self defeat.  I sat in the counselor's office the day before and told her how I could not do this.  I had way too many issues.  But, as I sat against the wall in his room that night, a voice of truth, light and hope spoke to me.

I am not cut out to deal with rage and anger.  But I AM cut out to hear and respond to fear in desperation.  My past hurts had allowed for that fire to be lit in me and it brought a determination and courage I had never felt before.  It was strength in my weakness.  His beauty in the ashes of sin. 

I don't know if that will ever happen again, but I have drawn so much strength from that experience.  For the moment, Little Guy continues to be calm, heeding my voice and receiving affection.  I will take it, give thanks and hopefully make Him known.

I'm at the end of my rope with Little Guy.  The triggers he experiences are daily.  Being told no, being hungry, being tired, having people come and go from the house (because we do things outside our home), are all natural things that happen on a daily basis.  And, in response to his triggers, he gets aggressive.  He yells, hits, scratches, throws things, etc.  All of those things are triggers from my past and I respond with defensiveness and pushing away and the cycle continues.

There are times I am able to therapeutically parent him, which means pulling him in no matter what.  But, those times are becoming fewer and further between.  The hurt is just becoming too great.  The reminders of the past too much, too often.  And I can't keep walking into it anymore.

I am not parenting this child well.  I am not able to rise above his personal assaults anymore.  I can't not take them personally.

I am beyond discouraged and truly don't know what to do anymore. I feel like the strength is all gone.

One Year Home

the time since we arrived to the airport on July 11, 2014 until now has not been at all what i expected.
i did not expect Little Guy to not talk to us for the first three weeks. i didn’t expect the joy in his eyes at being told no, the lack of empathy when he hurt someone, the raw and primitive desire he had to be in control of EVERYTHING in his environment. i didn’t expect the hyper vigilance, the panic, the fear. i didn’t expect him to reject us and try to hurt us and push us away. i didn't expect RAD. i didn’t expect my own history of pain to be brought up and relived through his pain. i didn’t expect to see my own hyper vigilance.

i didn’t expect to lose 4 of the dearest friendships i thought i’d ever have.

i didn’t expect to be diagnosed with cancer 3 weeks after we got home.

i didn’t expect to leave our church home, that we have been a part of and figured we’d stay forever at, since moving here.

and i didn’t expect the anger toward all the factors that caused all those things. my sin. other’s sin. stupid choices. the fact that we are just fallen.

i didn’t expect these things either:

our marriage to grow.

friends, one a continent away, another 15 minutes away, who would drop everything when I was truly at the end of my rope. the one who was able to sit with me until it was safe not to.

new friends that can deal with and hear all the “hard” i can spew out. and who spew it back. people who would reach out in ways we didn’t expect - dinners out, taking the kids out, phone calls, texts, messages, meals, countless prayers.

to be welcomed into a group of adoptive mommas who would know in advance how stinking hard this would be and be there for every comment, every fear, if only virtually.

friends, who i have either never met in person or have spent very little time with, to be able to be there, truly, when life was falling apart. and somehow, love well, even from afar.

to grow more in love and appreciation of the children we had before Little Guy was here.

 to need to walk in humility to our children’s teachers to ask them to keep an eye out to make sure our kiddos were okay, along with us, because we were so overwhelmed. and to be understood and treated with grace and compassion in return.

very little, if anything, is the same as it was a year ago at this time. it brings an unsettling realization that life goes on no matter what is happening in my life, but it also brings peace that life does indeed keep going, even when you’re sure it can’t.

what i’ve learned....

that relationships are often cyclical. i hate that, but it is good to know that things can cycle back. just because they get off track doesn’t mean they’ll stay that way.

that it is okay to admit your own weaknesses. to be vulnerable. i have never cried like i did that one weekend in february when i was ready to end it all. and i will never again judge the emotions of anyone who considers suicide. because when you’re at the point of ending it all, there is no more judgement, there is no selfishness. it only makes sense. it actually feels like the right thing to do. and you truly can’t think of anyone to call. i was able to reach out to 2 women and they treated me with love and acceptance, despite all the things i was thinking, all the things i believed, all of my questions.

i have never been as vulnerable with people as i have in the past 8 months. admitting how terrible life felt, sobbing on the phone, even. you know what their response has been, in almost every circumstance? acceptance. and vulnerability back. when life feels like it is ending you just can’t put up a front anymore and it really seems to lower everyone else’s. i mean, no one, not a single person, could come to our house or look at me, and think everything was all together. so, they didn’t act like they had it all together, either. it was, shockingly, the most freeing thing. and i expected the exact opposite.

what i need to learn....

compassion. hurts die hard in my heart. i need to find a softened heart.

self worth. this is a blazing sign in front of me almost all the time. i am so insecure. and it isn’t doing me any favors.

who God really is. i’ve created this entity in my mind that God can not be if the Bible is true at all. i need to learn who He is and worship that instead of what I have made Him out to be.

this isn’t about to be wrapped up with a pretty little bow. it is a “to be continued” story. i don’t know what is next, how long it will be until our next rut (no, i wouldn’t say we are out of the one we found ourselves in in july), or what i’m going to face that is, again, unexpected. i am working on not being afraid of what is next. but, somehow i’m grateful for all this and i didn’t expect that, either.