Emotional Container

Parenting is exhausting. So. Very. Exhausting.

I'm pretty sure no parent is going to argue with me on that. There are many exhausting things about being a parent.

Never-ending dishes from 5 people.

Toys. Oh, so many toys. Everywhere.

Constant refereeing.

The mountain of laundry that comes from having 3 little boys...the majority of whom wet the bed, nightly.

The ceaseless effort that goes into trying to raise them to be somewhat well-functioning beings.

Never sleeping in. Ever. Ever.

Yes, all of these things (and many many more) are what makes parenting exhausting many days.

But then there are those days. Days where "exhausting" doesn't even being to describe the day we've had, or how spent I feel. No, some days leave me far more than exhausted, they leave me weary.

Yesterday was just such a day. We've had many days like this. Sometimes it's because several of the many (many) appointments we have to schedule regularly happen to fall within the same 48 hours, and then, just for fun, all the boys decide to lose their minds. Other times, it may be because one of the boys is working through something difficult that we can't see, which sends him into a frenzy over the purple-ness of the berries in his cereal, which somehow today are much more purple than the every other day (yes, this actually happened). Sometimes it's a school thing, sometimes it's a trauma thing, sometimes it's a birth mom thing, sometimes it's a brother thing.

Well yesterday it was like an everything thing. It started at school -- complete defiance. All day long. Then it escalated at home into the mother of all tantrums (several hours of screaming, stomping, kicking, crying, insults, drawing on the walls, etc).

Lucky for us (and not so lucky for the babysitter), we had to go to a foster care training last night, after the worst of the tantrum was over, but before we had a chance to talk him through it. It was perfect timing in fact, because the training we are currently taking is to help better understand and respond to children who have experienced trauma.

This class is gold. There are so many helpful insights. But one thing in particular stuck out to me last night. One of the trainers, who is a former case worker as well as a seasoned foster and adoptive mom, said that foster and adoptive parents of children who have experienced trauma need to be emotional containers for their children. This means providing a safe environment where the children can feel and express the entire range of complicated emotions that comes with repeated trauma.

Often, my children respond in ways that don't seem to make any sense in a situation, or seem like gross overreactions, at best. But, then I remind myself of the things we know they've experienced, and I cannot begin to relate to what is going on in their minds because of the fact that they view the world through trauma-tainted glasses.

Being an emotional container is wearying. It's the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. But, if I do not allow my children to feel whatever they feel about what has been done to them (while teaching them appropriate alternatives to expressing those emotions), I am only solidifying in their minds the messages that their trauma has piled up in them -- you're worthless, no one loves you, you are not important.

I refuse to speak one more negative message into the lives of my precious children. So, we battle on through the hardest days. We brace ourselves, as emotional containers, for the onslaught of emotional vomit that has come as a result of years and years of trauma. And at the end of the day, we are weary. But I also know where I can find Rest for my soul and where I can find strength to do it all again tomorrow.

“Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30

I Wouldn't Trust Me Either

My children have never lived in a safe place before. I'm not talking about the kind of "safe place" you consider your best friend, where you can say something stupid and not feel judged. I'm talking basic-level safe. Like the kind of place you go when you're hungry or sad, where you get food or comfort. I mean the place you go for a bandaid and a kiss when you fall off your bike. Or the kind of place you sleep restfully in at night. The kind of place where nightmares are comforted, not created.

While some homes they've lived in offered more safety than others in some respects, they still were, at best, inconsistent in their safety and protection of my precious boys.

Everyday we try to instill in our sweet children that they are safe with us, that we will protect them. We tell them we will never intentionally hurt them, and we are quick to apologize if we accidentally hurt their feelings.

We hug and kiss our adorable little guys often and make sure to tell them we love them all the time, because they've spent so long experiencing a world vastly different from that. But four months cannot erase eight or nine years of fear; A small collection of days filled with love cannot wash away the stain of neglect.

The boys' experience shows that the very adults who should be loving and protecting them often do the opposite. The children who I feel like I was created to love have no way of knowing that I won't abandon them, or hurt them; because in their experience, people's words can't be trusted. So, sometimes, the track record of the adults in their life causes them to resist opening their hearts up to us. They feel a little too vulnerable, so they start to shut down to protect themselves.

So we keep hugging, and kissing, and building up. We keep telling them they are safe, and we'll do it everyday for the rest of our lives, God willing.

They don't fully trust us now, but everyday they believe us a little more. And I don't blame them for doubting us. Because, if virtually every adult to this point who was responsible for caring for me had neglected or hurt me, or blurred the lines of appropriateness when I needed them to protect and love me, I wouldn't trust me either.