What To Do When There's Nothing Left To Give

In life, we get many choices. One of those choices is if we want to be “all in” or not. We decide how much effort we are willing to exert based on the priority of needs we are presented with. Some people may choose to give 50% of themselves in any given circumstance. And I don’t judge those people. Not anymore. It is the Halfers that are capable of self-preservation – protecting those vulnerable, deep down parts by not giving their all.

Halfers know that by risking all they have, they could also lose everything. They weigh the pros and cons, list the checks and balances, and move on accordingly. This particular group knows how to hold back when necessary. They’re capable of watching as things that don’t work out roll somewhat easily off their shoulders. They’re able to rebound with speed and at least half of their reserved strength.

These people are survivors.

And then in life, there’s a second group – the group that makes the choice to go 200% in. The Doublers. These people are the ones that aim for the stars instead of the clouds. They give all of themselves in all of their exhibitions. When things go well, they double their strength and fly high until the next time they lose. And when they lose, they are left with nothing. They are broken and exhausted. There is no hidden reserve of care or energy, no speedy bounce back. Recovery is long and it is dreary and it is awful.

Doublers fight to the death, give away their last slice of bread despite their own hunger, and sweat blood. There is no self-preservation – no bodily armor to protect them as they live each day.

Doublers are not survivors.

I have no idea which category you fall into. You’re probably like most people… individual circumstances allow you to choose which team you will play for.

Grocery-shopping? Halfer. Math homework? Doubler. Making time with friends? Budgeting money? Resolving spousal conflicts? Your own personal health?

You see, there are no rights or wrongs. You pick your battles and choose to accept the consequences. Most of us tend to go halfsies on the smaller matters in our lives and double up on the main events, am I right?

Except here’s the problem. Sometimes, everything in life seems to be a main event. Sometimes, everything requires 200% of us. There are some of you reading this right now who feel that you are gambling so much of yourself that the consequences may even prove fatal. The risks are too great and you have no idea if you will survive.

Let me explain what a Doubler’s lifestyle may look like when everything requires them to be all in:

You are raising a special needs child. You are caring for aging parents. You are a work at home AND work out of the home parent. You have more bills than you have paycheck. You or someone in your immediate family has a life-altering health concern and doctor’s appointments are a full-time job. Your career is in a field that requires you to care for the physical/mental/emotional/spiritual health of other(s). You are married. You are single. You have a hormonal or mental health imbalance. Your children outnumber the adults in your home. You have therapies, sports, early intervention, Bible study, something that needs to be baked for charity, laundry that hasn’t been done in weeks, lab work, vet appointments, meetings, and grocery shopping all in the same day because you CANNOT serve ketchup and crackers with canned fruit 2 meals in a row.

Have I described you yet? Are you sitting there saying to yourself, Oh my gosh, I’m Doubling on EVERYTHING because there is simply no other choice! If you are, then you know you are playing Russian Roulette with your own sanity. You’re driving full-speed at a brick wall, believing that it can and hopefully will move. You’re holding onto a breaking heart so tightly, fearful of losing even just one small piece.

I know this because I, too, am a Doubler. Sure, I’ll go halfway when I can. When the house is only somewhat deplorable and I’m sorta sure we’ve got enough money in the account to put gas in the car… and even then, maybe I’ll only put in a few bucks, just to be safe.

But everything in life… it all feels so important. There’s so little that I can lay aside or put on the back burner. My kids with their mental illnesses, I can’t half that. My son with his kidney disorder and all the things that trigger it, that has to get my all. My advocacy for a foster child that was taken from me and placed into an abusive situation – how could I ever do only 50%? My husband, my church, my clients, the finances, my health, our family… who gets cut?

And what do we do when there’s nothing left to give?

I have faced this same dilemma so very many times. Because all the things in my life deserve more than all that I can give. And that is how I know that Doublers are not survivors.

They are world changers.

For every person that finds themselves so close to the fire that they can feel the heat burning their skin…

For every person who battles to the death for a cause that is noble or to save the ones they love…

For every person willing to lay themselves on the line in order to keep another life going…

You may be too exhausted to see it, but you’re changing someone’s world.

If you fought to keep your wits about you when your child was screaming in your face, when you hold the hand of someone as they lay dying in a hospital bed, if you never stop loving even when you’re being thrown through the wringer – then you are changing the world.

I know you’re tired, friend. So am I. I’m so tired it hurts. But take comfort in this:

“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this world’s darkness, and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore take up the full armor of God, so that when the day comes, you will be able to stand your ground – and having done everything, to stand.”  Ephesians 6:12-13

Picture from Central Christian Church

This is not just another spiritual cliché. I’m not here to boost anyone up with feel good words and fluffy analogies. But when your child is in your face, remember that it’s not him that you’re battling. And when you’re holding your loved ones hand as they near death, it is not their spirit that is dying. And when you’ve loved with your whole heart and feel that it’s been given back to you time and again, wounded and shattered… then you know you have done everything. You have doubled up, given all that you could, and fought against all that is wrong until you’ve taken your last step.

And when you can go no further, just stand.

Because the key to changing the world is doing all that you can, then stepping aside and allowing God to finish the fight.

Be a Halfer when you can, be a Doubler when you must, and rest in God always.

If any of this hits home with you and you're looking for some extra support, click here to read about joining the Mommyhood: Striving for Sanity Membership Program.

We Are ALL Called To Take A Stand

This is not my typical post… I normally focus on hope by encouraging parents, children, and system workers. But today, I cannot do that. I refuse to do that.

You see, I have been on all sides. I have been a child, a parent, and a social worker. I have felt fear, helplessness, and injustice while living through each of those roles. Whereas it is my heart’s deepest desire to see our system fixed, our governments united and focused on safety, I could not live with myself nor tolerate my own soul if I didn’t speak truth of this very brokenness It's in my hopes that by not staying silent, we will trigger change.

Fact: There are many systems at play when it comes to keeping people safe in our country.

Fact: Those systems are inherently forced to take the word of the other systems working alongside of them, even when evidence points elsewhere.

Fact: Our child welfare organizations are given large tasks, too few hours to complete them, and are backed into corners by insurance company protocols and antiquated laws.

Fact: Our law enforcement, commissioners, CYS offices, and district attorneys are inundated with a relentless supply of complaints, tips, and reports of abuse.

Fact: Because of all these well-meaning organizations and laws, our children are no longer safe.

If you’d like to argue any part of this post, feel free to contact me and I will invite you to come and live with me, record all my phone calls, and review all the data. I will show you that CYS has told me (and others) one thing, while telling the state police the exact opposite. Whether it’s falsifying data to cover up wrong-doings, being compensated to dismiss information, or just simply lying to cover up that they have missed the mark – I don’t care what the reason is, but I do know that by advocating for abused children, you stand the risk of being told that YOU’RE the one who is wrong… that all those things you have proof of, those things that you know for certain are wrong, cannot be correct because government officials couldn’t possibly do the things I’m accusing them of.

“Because it would be illegal,” I was informed.

It would be illegal, indeed.

I’m sure this is the first time the government has ever done anything “illegal” or “off the record”. I’m sure it’s the first time an agency has “corrected” documentation dates or “doctored” reports to appease supervisors or even insurance companies. I mean, if both of our presidential candidates (the people WE ELECTED into these positions) are being accused of unlawful actions, how dare we assume that our menial little county agencies could ever do anything corrupt or dishonest?

So then why does the local CYS system turn their heads when multiple eye witness reports are made, when schools and therapists and neighbors are all reporting severe abuse and substance use in a home? Why does the CYS worker insist they’ve had an open case with a family, when myself and another person were both assured just days prior that there was no case open? Why does CYS tell the state police that they’ve received one concerned citizen phone call when, in fact, they’ve received multiple reports AND numerous child lines? Where have the child lines gone? Why did they report that they sent a caseworker to the home instead of to the school as requested, when they were told repeatedly that doing so would endanger the children?

These are things I cannot answer. All I have are the facts. And my facts match those of the other agencies working to truly advocate for abused children. (For the record, I know many amazing caseworkers through CYS that would love to do their job in a way they'd see fit, but they're unable to due to our legal system). However, I cannot say the same thing for our local government. Tell me they’re too underpaid, but I’ve seen the salary list. I know otherwise. Tell me they didn’t have proof, but I presented it to them along with others in the community. And when a child ends up in the hospital, bloodied and with bones broken, tell me that they did all they could, because I will know for certain that “their best” consisted of little more than filling holes and covering their own behinds.

I am not a bitter woman. But I am passionate. And when a system allows children to be brutalized and repeatedly exposed to illegal substances, I couldn’t care less what anyone calls me. Because I will not go away. I will continue to watch, continue to listen, continue to pray.

My honest hope is that people get the help that they need, accept treatment, and find Jesus. But that’s a choice allowed to each person. What shouldn’t be a choice, however, is allowing innocent children to live in these conditions of fear and abuse. If we are okay with living in a society that is satisfied with that “choice”, then we are no better than the abusers themselves.

Until we all agree that we will not shut up, despite being told to stand down – until we all agree to fight for children who feel that adults cannot be trusted because they continuously refuse to listen to both their spoken and unspoken words – until we all agree that a child’s safety trumps a parents’ personal freedom of choice, our country will continue to fall apart.

If you see it, hear it, or suspect it, call it in. Call your local police, call child line, call CYS. Inform them all.

Together, we cannot be ignored forever.

#endchildabuse

In My Heart - Always Four

Words can’t describe it, but sometimes I awaken in the night with a smile on my face. The smile comes from a faraway dream, one in which I was running my fingers gently through your curls or tracing your nose and lips in a way that only a mother can. In those foggy moments between sleep and awake, I listen to you tell me stories while I calmly rock you back and forth as I had a thousand times before. I dream that you laugh, that you run to me, that you remember me.

And then, as dawn wakes me from my sleep, I realize that you aren’t really here. My smile leaks from my eyes and down my cheeks, bittersweet memories making me wish I could close my eyes forever. Because when I am awake, I am reminded that I have not seen you face in a year - that I have not heard your laugh and your lispy words since that fated day last September. Your wailing pleas to stay with me were the last you uttered, and I failed you. I wasn’t able to let you stay. And little did we know that we would never see you again.

The pain that you may think I don’t love you, that I left you in your dire circumstances, is often more than I can bear. And yet thinking that you don’t remember me at all, well… that’s my own selfish fear. Yet I would rather you to have forgotten all of our memories if it meant that you were safe, that you were happy - that you were truly loved.

If I knew you were healthy and that there was nothing to fear for your future, I would gladly awaken to those tears each day. I would comfort your siblings with ease. I would hold your other Daddy without quite as much pain. But I don’t know those things. And my children don’t. And my husband doesn’t. We are tormented with the constant knowledge that you are so close, and yet we are helpless to save you.

I have given myself over to the fact that there are others that will never understand this loss. Many have reminded me, so innocently, that I chose this. I chose to foster. That I should have expected you to leave. But what I choose is to forgive their words. I know that they don’t understand what you go through, what you’ve seen. I know they have no idea the pain you’ve endured and how that pain has affected our family, as well.

They couldn’t possibly know. And then there are others who say that we should “move on, already”… like we are capable of pretending your existence wasn’t real – or treat you as if you are no longer alive and grieve you in a way that is impossible. But again, I choose to forgive because I know that those words are spoken as an attempt to ease our suffering – knowing that people are trying to help, even if they don’t know how.

I remember the day that I told a stranger how many children I had. For so long, I had four kids. It didn’t matter their status. Adopted, Foster, Pre-Adoptive, Biological – they were just terms that confused others. But there I was, in line at the grocery store. A woman told me how well-behaved my two kids were that had come to the store with me that day.

“How many children do you have?” she’d asked simply.

For months I had said four. I couldn’t bear to discount you, as if your lack of presence meant you no longer mattered in our family line-up. But on that day, the sadness was more than I could explain. And honestly, I know that she didn’t need to hear my story. She just wanted to buy her groceries and go home. And so I answered in words that sit clearly in my memory to this day.

“Three. I have three kids.”

I remember the look my daughter gave me as she tried to contradict my answer. I swiftly spoke over her and made quick conversation with the woman until it was time to take my bags and leave. Once in the van, I had to explain to a sobbing girl that WE still counted you in our family, but that others wouldn’t understand our story. I told her that we left you out of the equation for the ease of those around us.

But today, on the anniversary of your loss, I will not leave you out. I am aware that so many will read this – a handful will cry, some will offer words of condolences, and even more will interject more words of “let it go” and “you’re still struggling with this?”

But today is not about any of the readers. Just as we honor Memorial Day or September 11th, celebrating lives that were lost and allowing ourselves to sit with our grief without trying to brush it away to appease daily life, today is not about them.

Today is about you, sweet boy. It’s about you, and me, and Daddy, and Brother, and Sissy, and Wyatt. It’s about remembering you, whether it’s with laughter or with tears. Whatever emotion comes, I will face it and so will my children and my husband. We will look at your photos and watch home videos, sharing your memory and praying for your safety. And tomorrow, our “holiday” will be over, despite waking up with smiles that turn to tears as usual. And we will wipe the tears and go about our days, acknowledging you silently and lovingly as we pass your pictures on the wall.

But don’t mistake our silence. For you will never be forgotten, my child. You will always be one of us – one of my four.

I love you forever and always.

Mama

When Bio Parents Die

           In the world of adoption, there are so many issues that parents and children face. Whether the parent is adoptive, foster, or biological, there are numerous decisions and issue to consider. Open versus closed adoption, visitation schedules, when or if to tell a child they were adopted, what information to share about biological parents and health histories are only a few in a sea of vast choices that families need to make, depending on their particular circumstances.

            My older two children were adopted out of the foster care system when they were 4- and 6-years-old. There was never any question they were adopted, as they had and still have vivid memories of their pasts. They are half-siblings, both sharing the same mother but having different fathers. My daughter knows nothing of her birth father – he was incarcerated at the time of her birth and signed rights over immediately. My son, Cameron, however, knew very much about his birth father.

            He knew the feel of the man’s belt on his back, legs, and bottom.  He knew the signs of drug use and saw first-hand the relentless torment that an addict can inflict on young children. He knew the fear of seeing his pets killed, having his house set on fire, and being abandoned in a hospital – left wondering if anyone would ever be back to pick him up. And he knew the terror of nightmares. Ones that still haunt him to this day, reminding him that he may never, in fact, be safe enough to dream like a regular boy.

            And now, my son knows the feeling of confusion. While perusing the online local newspaper, I came across the obituary of Cameron’s birth father. In a state of shock, I jumped up from my chair, my body unsure of where it was going exactly, only knowing that it could no longer stay in its previously seated position. My husband had taken the kids to a local fair and would be returning shortly. I called him instantly, making him aware of the situation. Together, we decided to tell Cameron and his sister the news when they arrived home.

            Although some may question our decision to inform our 10-year-old of such traumatic news, it was a choice we came to easily. Cameron may not mentally be up to speed with other children his age, due to all that stunted him in his earlier years, but he knows more about this sad world than most children ever should. In fact, just a few days prior to learning the news of his bio father’s passing, Cameron was in tears at the psychiatrist’s office, reporting continued nightmares and fears that his first dad will return in the night and try to kill him – revenge for reporting the abuse those 4 years ago.

            Because of Cameron’s Reactive Attachment Disorder, he often doesn’t process his feelings well. They get lost somewhere inside, convoluted by all the grief, all the loss, and all the unreliable adults he has known. Why should he feel safe expressing feelings, or even feeling them at all, for that matter, knowing that he did for 6 whole years before anyone cared to notice that he was hungry, that he was sick, and that he was being grossly mistreated.

            My husband and I sat both kids down at the kitchen table upon their arrival home. It was then that we told them the news we'd learned only an hour before. Wanting this to be a teachable moment for both of my children (as they both struggle with RAD), we talked about how it’s OK to feel more than one emotion at the same time. We talked about how it’s OK to feel sad, even though this man was associated with so many bad memories. We also talked about how it’s OK to feel relieved – happy, even – knowing that this man will never hurt another child again, and knowing that Cameron could now sleep easy.

            My son sat there, taking it all in. He went through a few of the grief stages right away, starting with denial. He hit on anger a bit, too. There was also sadness. Confused about this strange amount of biological loyalty suddenly appearing within him, he tried to brush it away before I reminded him that his first dad, although incredibly flawed, was also loved and created by God – the same God that loves and creates each of us. And to feel saddened by his death is very normal. And in the same breath, I told him that he could feel happy, as well. He was allowed to feel safe. Free. He was able to put the past to rest and find new dreams to occupy his sleep.

            Cameron and Taylor both peppered me with questions and a wide variety of emotions that evening. Cameron even went as far as to make me promise to read the obituaries religiously, just to make sure we don't miss it if his baby brother dies, the little boy that has been missing from out lives for nearly a year.  But what I wanted Cameron to see the most was the obituary itself. In the list of this man’s children was Cameron’s name.

            What you have to understand is that my son’s first family was very bitter that he caused them the inconvenience of all the court hearings that followed. Not only had they refused to attend the CYS-scheduled visits with him, but they refused to acknowledge his very presence at each hearing that followed. They would glare at him from across the courthouse lounge or lavish his sister with attention, ignoring my son completely when he would sheepishly try to say hello. They even went as far as to refuse to give CYS the family’s medical history, which has been a significant stumbling block as we’ve faced all the health scares with Cameron’s kidneys.

            And as he sat there, slowly reading through the many words he didn’t understand in his bio father’s obituary, he finally came to a name he knew. Seeing his own name in front of him, his head popped up suddenly.

            “They remember me? That means they don’t hate me anymore!” he said as tears slipped from beneath long eyelashes. He showed more emotion from the relief of simply being acknowledged than he did at the news of a close relative’s death. Because from the start, that’s what all children want. They want acknowledgement, assurance, care, and love. And from his first family, he didn’t get any of that. So, in one small gesture, a family that could have left his name out of the newspaper, chose to include my son and heal a small part of his heart – a part that I would never have been able to heal.

            I don’t know where this man stood with his Maker when he passed. Quite honestly, we had stopped praying for him a couple years back when Cameron made it quite clear that he didn’t want to do anything that would make him remember the man. And as time went on, he was only mentioned in therapeutic moments when being listed as a source of so much early childhood trauma.

           Also relieved at his passing, I am grateful to the writer of the obituary. I am overjoyed that Cameron was not passed by once again. And I do pray that this man, Cameron’s biological father, was able to find peace in God at the end.

Less Than Quality Time: The RAD Dilemma

            Raising children where quality time always ends in tears? This is my life. This is their lives. And maybe this is your life, too. I’d like to think that after 4 ½ years of living with me and my husband, I would be able to do JUST ONE activity with my kids without RAD showing up to join the party. But sadly, that is not our reality.

            I’ve noticed that I’ve been conditioned by their emotional outbursts to avoid quality time at all costs. It’s my survival mechanism. Now, as their mother, I obviously can’t do this. And as a therapist, I obviously know that I shouldn’t do this. However, deep inside, I know that if I engage with one or both of my older children doing something they’ve requested, inevitable tears or tantrums will follow. It somehow won’t be good enough, I won’t have helped both children “equally”, or their high expectations will be disappointed with my imperfect parenting performance.

            Therefore, I feel exhausted before we ever begin a craft, a Lego project, or a tent made out of blankets. I am often ready to quit by Step 1, even though being the Keeper of the Children, the one responsible for teaching them all these seemingly impossible things, doesn’t allow for me to be the one to quit.

            Here’s what I know about my kids and their Reactive Attachment Disorder issues:

1)      Self-sabotage is REAL and it shows up whenever we do anything that requires thought, creativity, talent, or social skills.

            All things that my children perceive they may fail at becomes an instant enemy… even if it’s something they, themselves, have chosen to do. A perfect example of this is my son. At 10-years-old, he has struggled to find his strengths in life. Sure, he brags to his friends that he can do this or that, and he tries to show off in the most awkward of ways, but in his heart, he believes he is a failure. So when we attempted to do a craft of his choosing this afternoon, he blew up within the first 3 minutes. After he “calmed down”, he then proceeded to work far below his capabilities on the rest of the activity. Finally, after I’d helped him and assured him that it was wonderful and that he is talented and that he is loved and ALL the things that he needs to hear each and every craft we do, he tossed his finished product into the trash.

           It is easier to sabotage their work than to try their hardest and others realize that they aren’t perfect.

2)      Sabotaging others is a definite, particularly if the other person is currently receiving praise or attention.

           This is the case with my children, 100% of the time. When one is accomplishing something and gaining praise from an adult, the other “accidentally” breaks the successful child’s trophy, art project, report card, or fort. Without fail, if one child tries and succeeds, the other child tries even harder to spoil their efforts.

            It feels better to know that someone else is miserable right along with them, even if they have to create the misery themselves.

 3)      The more love they’re given, the more they believe they are unloved.

           I know, it makes no sense, but it’s true. When my children are given any amount of extra attention, it somehow serves as a mirror to their pasts – reflecting back to them any other moment when they felt betrayed, cast off, or unwanted. So, the more I cheer at a swim meet or gymnastics event, the less my children try – the defeat dripping off them with slumped shoulders, frowns, and all-out quitting. Immediately following a good report card, I am constantly peppered with self-deprecating statements such as, “I know you like her better, don’t you? Just admit it!” or “I’m stupid and you know it. That’s why you wish you never would’ve adopted me.”

 Believing they are unlovable is easier than believing they’re capable of being loved.

Photo by http://www.fathers.com/s5-your-situation/c18-divorced-dad/rj-jaramillo/

           Parenting a child with RAD often means choosing not to get overly excited when they do something well in order to prevent the self-sabotage.

           It means celebrating holidays and birthdays with minimal excitement or stimulation in order to prevent tantrums.

           It means keeping my own emotions level, even when I want to show excitement, grief, anger, or happiness during basic life events. I do this in order to keep them from ruining the moment with their need to try to mimic my emotions inappropriately or, worse, act out behaviorally so that the attention is back on them.

           It means loving them carefully, almost so they don’t know they’re slowly being loved and the self-deprecation can’t take over.

           It means making myself still build forts and Lego constructions and art projects, despite knowing that it will likely end in disaster.

           It means preparing for fall-out when a stranger compliments one of my children and not the other.

           It means gluing together all the broken things that were ruined by a jealous and insecure sibling.

           It means choosing the days wisely – picking quality activities on days with enough time to also deal with the following melt-downs.

           It means looking at other families and being envious that they get to go on vacations and holidays and day trips – jealous that they get to enjoy their children, not just survive them.

           And it means saying “I love you” even when it will be returned with “No you don’t.”

           Parenting a child with RAD means writing blog posts and hoping that someone else out there will say, “Yes! Me, too!” and that we can be a reminder that we’re just doing our best – trying to love and teach kids that don’t always know how to accept our offerings. Because at the end of the day, we actually aren’t responsible for their successes or their failures. We are only judged on our own actions and efforts – our choices to build the forts and create the weird-looking art projects that would NEVER be shared on Pinterest. We are accountable only for our love, not theirs.

           And parenting a child with RAD means building up those walls of support, speaking those words of encouragement, providing those breaths of fresh air to our fellow parenting Warriors.

We love. And that is enough.