Recovery.

It's okay not to be okay, or so the saying goes.

One of my passions during the time I studied for my Masters degree was the physiological effects of trauma on the brain.  It has been so helpful to me over the last year and a half as I've attempted to raise a traumatized teenager here in our home.

Trauma parenting is so different than regular parenting.  Parenting in general is hard and worrisome, but if parenting is like riding a bicycle, then trauma parenting is like trying to ride one backwards on a tightrope.  That may or may not be on fire.

Trauma and attachment issues present themselves in literally every aspect of a child's day, from getting dressed to selecting food to choosing friends and going to school.  Loss, grief and lack of trust govern much of their thought process and behavior.  They are terrified of intimacy, keep people at a distance, hide their feelings, they are prone to prolonged periods of fear, and have a limited ability to trust.  They manipulate and lie.  They take literally ten times longer than children without trauma to learn new skills (even simple ones) and new patterns of behavior. They make the same mistakes over and over (and over and over and over).

Let me be clear, because it cannot be overstated: none of these things are the fault of the child. Only deep love, compassion and the formation of secure attachments can begin to promote new brain growth and impact the biological and emotional development of trust (I am safe), self-worth (I am precious) and self-efficacy (I am heard).

But the parenting process.  It is exhausting.  It is constant.  It is overwhelming.  It is neither natural nor instinctive in many ways.  It is necessary, valuable, and worth doing - but it is all those other things, too.

Parenting is the ultimate exercise in leadership.  When we agreed to take on a child with trauma, we instantly became responsible not only for his physical well being, but also his emotional development and his relational healing.  We had to build connection when we were virtually strangers, identify and heal wounds that we didn't inflict and redeem ground we didn't lose.  We had to quickly become experts on a child whose 14 year history we barely knew so that we could become the agents of healing he needed us to be.  We became versed in neural rerouting and self-regulation and trigger responses, and most of all, we had to have the tools and time and self-reflection to develop and put in place strategies and environments that would promote healing. 

Most of that fell on me, partly because of Casey's travel schedule, but also because it is "in my zone" professionally and personally.  Meanwhile, there were three small children to be cared for and schooled, a home to be run, a pregnancy and life happening abundantly all around us.  Major transitions - whether positive or negative - are always difficult to navigate in the life of a family, and we have had a LOT of them.

And then... sixteen months later... this opportunity came up for him to go home.  He had struggled with the loss of his friends and his life as much as with the loss of his father, and now he had a shot at going back to a place where he felt more "normal."  Where he was more securely attached and hopeful.  He felt that way, and because we love him, we did, too. 

But it was a loss for us too, particularly for the kids who truly opened their hearts with love and compassion in the most amazing ways.  Love, as they say, is a verb, and theirs was so much more than just lip service. 

We feel a little like the team that goes to the Superbowl and loses: proud that we made it this far, gratified by our efforts and teamwork.  As a family, as individuals, we know that we left everything we had out there on the field, but ultimately, it didn't go the way we would have liked.

And now... we have to pick up the pieces.  To stop and recalculate.

It's hard. 

I'm physically and emotionally exhausted after the work and the non-stop stress of the last year and a half, compounded by what we went through in the spring.  The kids are sad, and we all have a little bit of our own PTSD (mild on the spectrum, but real nonetheless) to contend with. 

We are not okay.  And, while I know that we will again be okay, it takes time to get there.

We took September really slowly.  We stopped for no reason to do fun things and build happy memories.  We focused on connection above all else. 

We did things that made us laugh. 

We took lots of breaks and were very intentionally aware of our commitments.  We applied grace liberally to every aspect of life. 

We got out of our routine and enjoyed beauty.  Because we can.

We focused on joy, peace and rest.

I don't see much changing for us in October.

In many real ways, we're rebuilding our family.  We are different people on the other side of this experience.  I know that our foundation is still there, and that foundation has proved, and continues to prove, incredibly strong.  But it is again a matter of establishing our new normal. 

We will get there, and we will get help if the path becomes too difficult.  We are worth fighting for. 

And while it's hard, there is grace.  And Halloween Bingo.



For parents dealing with attachment and trauma: Don't miss these amazing resources!  THIS is what we used during my MA program as foundational for connecting with "kids from hard places."  It is a game changer.  Also: this, and this are phenomenal. 

On Hope and feathers

Hope is the thing with feathers

that perches in the soul

and sings the tune without the words 

and never stops at all.

                           -Emily Dickinson

Our family is embarking on another big transition: Jacob has an opportunity to move back to his home town.  As with so many things in this chapter of our lives, it is not my story to tell.

But, after much prayer and consideration, it became clear that this was the best move for all involved. 

Our goal from the beginning has been to take the next right step, out in faith.  We are convinced that this is the next right step, too.  After all, we were only ever standing in the gap to help this young man.  

Hope has made such an enormous difference. 

We love you, Jake, and wish you well!

Labor hopes & wishes

I know, I know.  Labor does its own thing.

Believe me, I learned last time: there's not much you can control if your body refuses do what it's supposed to do, unlike some people I envy know.

But we also learned a lot that I hope will be positive in helping me reach a different outcome.  A lot of the proverbial what not to do's.

So, in no particular order, here are a few of the things I'm keeping all my fingers and toes crossed for on D day:

1. My water doesn't break before labor starts.  Because, though I'm pretty much resolved to ignore the doc's advice to come into the hospital right away, there's immediately a ticking clock on labor if that happens.  I'll only have so much time to get it going and get it going strong before I do have to go to the hospital, which means that I'll be subjected to all the monitoring and checking that comes along with it.  All of which may effectively shut down any labor progress I've made.

11 p.m., just a couple of hours before leaving for the hospital.  If only I'd known what was in store.  I SO wouldn't have been smiling.

2. To be well rested beforehand.  If last time is any indication, my labor is a marathon and not a sprint.  Maybe that's not even the comparison - I'm a little closer to the Tour de France.  Sure, I may shave a few hours off of the 24 it took to git 'er done last time, but I'm pretty sure I can be a whole lot more effective in the birthing process if I haven't been awake for like 40 hours in a row.

Ahhh... 3 a.m.  Seriously, quit smiling, kid.  You have no idea.

3. That I can move around.  A lot.  This is one I definitely learned my lesson on last time through.  Sure, we walked.  I bounced and bounced and bounced on the birthing ball.  I tried to move and change position.  But because I'd already been up for nearly 24 hours and it was 2 a.m. before I even arrived at the hospital and I wasn't progressing very quickly, I also rested.  Maybe more than I should have.  It was a delicate balance between moving to help labor progress and trying to save my energy - a balance I'm hoping I can do a better job of achieving this time through.  Not to mention, without being tethered to a gazillionty wires (all of which definitely hinders the entire process).

6:00 p.m. and we're finally getting somewhere.

4. That I can eat during labor.  Again, if I'm in the hospital because my water has broken, this is a no-go (though... I'm pretty sure this is another rule I may flirt with breaking).  Remember that marathon comparison?  Nobody does that without being properly fueled.  There's lots of good research that cites the importance of eating during labor, and the ways it can contribute to positive outcomes for mommies.  I'm so getting on that train.

5. That gravity will be my ally.  At the end... after 23 hours and a whole ton of stuff had been done to me, I still had to push for over an hour.  And, like an idiot, I chose to do it on my back in bed (largely, probably because I couldn't feel a lot of what I should have been able to feel because of all the trial and error issues with the epidural.  Ideally, that won't be the case this time because there won't be an epidural).  Yeah, let's not make that mistake again!  NO VACUUM!  NO VACUUM!  Poor, poor little Logan.  No vacuum is up there at the top of the list of things I hope I can rectify this time around.

This moment.  Breathless.  Tears.  So worth every second of pain, before and after.

 I've been doing a lot of research on what is and isn't part of "evidence based care" as opposed to the "cover your A" care often enacted in hospitals due to insurance or legislative restrictions.  It has been extremely eye-opening, and maybe more than a little worrisome.

For example:

Evidence-based care for you means freedom of movement, freedom to eat and drink as you like, intermittent auscultation to monitor your baby’s heart rate during labor, one-to-one continuous support by someone who is educated in childbirth, water immersion for pain management, privacy so you can focus, no vaginal exams during labor unless there is a specific reason for it or you want to know your dilation, and freedom to push in whatever position feels comfortable to you.  It includes interventions when medically necessary and not before.

Contrasted with what we typically (and I, certainly - pretty much exactly this) experience in hospitals:
...Strapped into bed with belts for continuous monitoring of your baby (this kind of monitoring has an over 99% false positive rate), no food or drink allowed (they might give you ice chips), no one-to-one support, maybe a tub for water immersion, but you can’t get in if you’re on monitoring belts, an automatic IV into your hand that hurts and makes it hard to move, lots of interruptions by people wanting to give you vaginal exams (that serve absolutely no medical purpose, but increase your odds of infection down there), and constant pressure to “hurry things along” with medication or “give you a break” with an epidural.  It’s unlikely that anyone will tell you the significant risks of medications that speed things up (Pitocin causes fetal distress, which is a #2 cause of C-sections) or the downsides of an epidural (primarily, that you won’t be able to move around to get baby positioned better, which makes it much harder for him or her to descend through the birth canal and can result in a need for episiotomy/forceps or vacuum or even surgery!). (via)

Most of all, though, the thing I hope and wish for at the end of the day is a happy, healthy baby. 

I'd like to be happy and healthy, too if we can swing it. 

So although I've said all these things, my number one concern is going to be for the baby, and all other decisions will be made out of that very important perspective.  All the rest of these are just ideas to help me even up the odds a little in the face of what will probably be a difficult day.  I'm not heeding my own advice from two years ago and electing for a c-section, so fingers crossed that one doesn't come back to haunt me.  

And, I now know enough to know that if I'm just not progressing, it's okay to do the epidural and then pitocin - in that and only that order.  

I'm kinda, sorta ridiculously excited.

On contentment amidst anxiety.

1/10/12

Tomorrow is the day.  I said it almost two years ago: "It's baby day!" 

Back then, it was Leah's birthday.  Tomorrow, it's our first ultrasound.  Our first glimpse literally into the future.

I can't even begin to describe my anticipation.  To hear those first little beats and see that tiny figure that looks nothing like the miracle it will ultimately become.  My own level of absolute awe that, after 8 months of struggle and heartache, this day is about to be here. 

The beginning of this incredible journey.  My heart is bursting with joy.  Leah's baby brother or sister is in there, and I get to see him or her.

Yes, there is still that gnawing sensation that this could all be for nothing.  But it is outshined by my own faith and contentment.  It's not even a question; somehow, God and I are on the same page on this one.  I can feel it.  He has promised this baby to me, of this I am sure. 

At a time when my anxiety should be raging, it has faded to a whisper. 

We are delivering this baby.  And I'm even going one step further to predict that we're delivering it in September.  :)  In the mean time, I can't wait to enjoy the ride.