Karen's Journey

Training for my triathlons through the crappy weather that was this summer, I trained for any race day weather eventuality. Biking through car wash-like downpours. Arriving home from a run just ahead of a microburst that took our power out for 11 hours. Getting to a group training venue only to have it cancelled due to thunderstorms. Cycling through rain that was being blown so hard it felt like sleet. Open water swimming through choppy water that challenged one's ability to take a breath before the next wave slapped one's face. When you're training for a triathlon, you don't really have the option to wait for nice weather. Plus if you train in bad weather, you're prepared to race in bad weather. Not that it will be fun, but you know you can do it. As it turned out, I had beautiful conditions for both races. My take away is: train for bad weather and you'll trick Mother Nature into giving you a rare surprisingly good day. Utilizing that strategy, I'v

I don't remember when my grandmother's macular degeneration began. I do remember her as a seemingly normally sighted person. I have memories of riding in the front seat of her tank of a Ford Fairlane car while she was driving -- I was five, maybe six, sitting in the middle where there was no seatbelt, and she cautioned me that if we were to crash or stop suddenly, I was to keep myself from flying out the front window by bracing my hand and arm against the dashboard. She was a master seamstress -- I'm not quite sure when I got my first store bought dress -- I remember my other grandmother taking me to the Big N and buying me one when I was in first grade or so, probably feeling terribly sorry for me. But Grandma Whitman's sewing skills were second to none, and our dresses were top quality. We had dresses that were hand-smocked. Even in her day, no one did that by hand -- other than her. And her work was exquisite. On my first day of kindergarten, Big Sis and I wore m

It started on a Thursday afternoon in July. Something didn't seem quite right about how I was seeing my computer screen. I occasionally have ophthalmic migraines, so I thought I must be coming down with one. Usually the first sign is realizing I'm missing a tiny part of my field of vision. I can't quite read a word or a number. It's not that there's a black spot; there's just nothing where something should be. I closed my eyes and looked for the telltale pinprick of light. It wasn't there. I looked at my screen again and tried to find an area of vision that was missing, but I couldn't pick one out. I was busy, so I shrugged it off and went back to work. The next morning I opened my eyes while in the shower washing my hair. Directly across from me was the white fiberglass wall of the tub. And a circular shaped burst of rays of shimmering light, like prisms sparkling in the sun. Great. I hadn't eaten breakfast yet and here was the ophthalmic migr

Because it's Gorgeous. I know, groan.  But seriously. This trail never disappoints.  The kids had a great time, although Bumblebee was heard to exclaim, "More stairs! I don't want to do any more stairs!" Even though she repeatedly had to be stopped from running up them. She would have done the trail three or four times before we wore her out. This was a spontaneous trip -- a rare chance to meet up with my family in my neck of the woods. These are times when I remind myself it's not all gun-metal gray skies and snow. Reason number two to love Ithaca -- it's a vegetarian's paradise. We were hungry and needed to stop for lunch on our way back home. Yes! On the road and not needing to hit up a Burger King for lunch! I spied the Ithaca Bakery -- where it's hard to limit oneself to fewer than five or six loaves of gourmet bread. A quick left turn and we were in the parking lot where I wanted to dance a jig for joy. Real fo

I spent ten years in an emotionally and verbally abusive marriage. Here's a small sample of the daily barrage I endured: "As soon as I have enough money, I'm going to divorce you." "You're not a good enough wife to be a mother." "How fucking stupid can you be?" "Nicole Brown Simpson got what she deserved." "If you ever pull that [trying to leave our relationship] I'd do the same to you." (every time a news story broke about a woman assaulted or killed in a domestic violence incident.) "You stupid cunt. You stupid fucking cunt." "We can't have kids until you're a better wife to me." "No one else will want ever want you." "You're the most selfish person I know." (because I went running for 30 minutes three days a week) "If you loved me, you'd spend that time helping me, not doing something for yourself." "Wake up -- I can't get t

I was blissfully away on workation last week when all hell broke loose on young black men. I stay away from news when I'm on retreat in the mountains, so I have to confess to not having an in-depth knowledge of each case. But, I know enough to be angry and I know enough to be frightened for my son. When we were considering adoption, we knew we wanted to adopt a boy. Then we were asked about race. My initial reaction was to not adopt a child of color -- whether from this country or internationally. "What do I know about raising a black boy in America?" I said to the social worker. But as things happen, we were eventually led to Ethiopia where we brought home with us one of the cutest boys ever. With skin I just want to eat up -- the color of milk chocolate -- but a color that, once he reaches a certain age -- will put him in jeopardy just because it's not white. I was hopeful -- we had an African-American president. My son has never known a president whose skin

I have a lot to say about the Hobby Lobby case -- piercing the corporate veil, favoring one religion over another and thus de facto establishing religion, entering a minefield, corporations being granted rights that our forefathers intended to be given to flesh and blood humans, our flawed system of obtaining healthcare coverage through our employers -- but I find the reaction of many men to be rather offensive. The comments after various articles and blogs about the topic have included gleeful statements along the lines of: -- Women need to go back to putting their legs together. -- Women will have to do as my grandmother used to say and put an aspirin between their knees. -- Women will have to stop spreading their legs. -- If women don't want to become pregnant, why should I have to pay for it? Let the whores/tramps/sluts buy their own birth control. And the very disturbing: -- "If they want to have sex, women will have to start taking it in the mouth or the butt.

View from our front yard, 1971. The row of trees follows the brook,  from which we were often summoned by the cowbell. My mother is aging and not in the best of health. We have sadly come to the place where she can no longer live by herself in the house we grew up in. She needs to downsize to move into a different situation where she can get the assistance she needs to continue to live as independently as possible. Over the course of the last few years -- at her suggestion - we have been preemptively laying claim to the antiques that have been passed down through the family for generations -- in some instances since the 18th century. It's been very civilized -- oldest to youngest and then youngest to oldest. Rockers, marble top tables, paintings, etc. have been divvied up without any conflict. We decided that since there are four of us and four early 19th century samplers, each one of us gets one.  The piano was always promised to whoever learned to play it the b

I need to review my own daily affirmations. Life has been hard lately. Really hard. Crumbling down around me hard. Who has time or energy for a blog hard. T has really come through it all like a champ, but now that the six week -- or was it seven? -- immediate crisis mode is subsiding, everyone is backsliding. I reread some of my daily affirmations and realized I wrote some good stuff. Stuff that I need to remember. How many times do you need to hear/read/say/write something before it becomes a habit? Let it go. I don't have to participate in every argument I'm invited to. Sometimes being connected is better than being right. Am I reacting from my whole brain or from my lower brain? Imprint on brain. Imprint on brain.

I will not get sucked in by my son's trauma-based mental and verbal games. Kids from hard places desperately fear having someone be in charge of them. They lived that before, and that person betrayed their trust, whether through abuse, abandonment, or neglect. One way this comes out is through brain drain. Brain drain is a particularly frustrating form of mental gymnastics designed for the child to come out on top. They will grab whatever loophole in what you are saying they can seize upon as an "Aha! You're wrong!" moment. For instance, if you say, "It's not safe to do handstands on the couch. We do handstands outside," your child may retort, "NOT ON THE PAVEMENT!!!" The natural reaction is to say, "Who said anything about pavement?" Or your child sets traps for you. This is when trying to have conversations with your child can be exceptionally frustrating, because they are not conversations, but lairs they are luring you i

When the going gets tough, ask myself, "What can I do to connect with my child in this moment?" I know we've been over this one, but things have been really tough lately, and when I'm at the end of my frayed rope, I need to remember this one. When he's asked his hundredth nonsense question or picked his thousandth argument or complained about every.single.thing.all.day.long….I need to remember this one. I've been asking myself, "What can I do to stop feeling like I want to smack sense into this child?" Not hitting him is good -- essential, but connecting with him is better. Yesterday we played cooperative solitaire. (Is that an oxymoron?) When he's regulated, I ask him what scares him about having me be in charge of him. He says he's never scared. Right. He's scared for his life every minute of the day. It's in his cells. It's inescapable. One day he was living happily with his family and the next he was dumped in an o

I will make it through this day. That's all I can write today.

My ex husband struggles with relationships, and was emotionally and verbally abusive to me, the woman before me, and the woman after me, and no doubt to the woman he is currently with. He believes himself to be smarter than everyone else, and if you disagree with him, you are just stupid. He's not afraid to treat people that way. It's made it impossible for him to hold a job, to retain employees at his not-for-profit organization, and maintain personal relationships. Even his own brother didn't speak to him for years. I once said to him, "If you are saying one thing and every one else you talk to is telling you that the opposite is true, what does that say to you?" Wrong question to ask. It means, I was told with plenty of accompanying screaming, that he is right and everyone else was wrong, and if I can't see that, I'm just stupid. He spent our entire marriage crowing about his IQ and how much smarter that made him than me. He never bothered to fi

Don't get hung up on trying to meet artificially imposed goals. Like writing a daily affirmation. I'm just going to do the best I can. But writing a daily affirmation is not worth damaging my relationship with my child. I plan to quit at 40 affirmations, even if it takes me two months. Or 90 days. Heck, I just finished getting the ornaments off my Christmas tree yesterday.

"I get knocked down, but I get up again;  you're never gonna keep me down." We all have our bad moments and days -- even the experts who write the books and teach the courses and produce the DVDs on therapeutic parenting. And all we can do when that happens is to pick ourselves up, brush ourselves off, apologize to our children, and be grateful for the grace of tomorrow. Today's ear worm. Hey, these ear worms are not such a bad thing. A good way to remember the day's affirmation.

I cannot connect with my child while I'm connecting with an electronic screen. T's screen time is strictly limited. I need to start doing the same for myself. Instead of posting photos to foap while he sits on the couch reading, I could be reading with him. Or at least reading next to him. So enough with Facebook, enough with Angry Birds Star Wars, enough with foap. I was smart enough to decline downloading solitaire -- do you notice it doesn't come preloaded on computers anymore -- deciding that if I really feel like I need to play, I can get out the deck of cards and manually shuffle and move the cards around. I understand how electronics are so addicting for him; I can barely remove myself from them. I'm sneaking this one in while he gets ready for bed. Oops, here he is; asking to go on Study Island. I just suggested we read a book together. Off I go!

If my child will not do an assigned chore, DO NOT FIGHT WITH HIM OVER IT. Doing chores because "we're a family and everyone pitches in to help out the family" is tough for a kid who  does not want to be part of this family . Simply tell him, "That's okay. I will do it. But come sit in the room with me while I do it." I tried this out last night with T, who does not want to have to set the table every night -- or any night -- and the fact that he eats the food is just too logical for him right now. When he's feeling like we're not being fair, or that he's being forced to get his ticket punched as part of our family, his brain drops into lower brain mode, where logic is a lost cause. So I told him to wash his hands anyway, and just come sit in the room with me. Of course my child wanted to know why he had to sit in the room while I did his chore. He needs a reason for everything. "Because I love to see your beautiful face and I don&

I will look for the good things in my life and my relationship with my child. Let's face it. This trauma mama stuff isn't easy. It's hard, it's draining, and it's depressing. Life often seems like a downer more often than not. Fourteen percent of moms parenting children with trauma have considered committing suicide. Sobering statistics. In an attempt to remind myself of the simple things that can bring happiness, I started a Happy Moments jar. When I think of something that happened recently that was a happy thing, I write it on a post it note and put it in the jar. T decided he wanted to join me. That made one of my happy moments notes. Today we read through our notes from January and early February. It was good to be reminded of the not -bogged-down-in-trauma-times. "T helped me with my ski boots." "I skied Cut Throat without falling today." "Mom made a great dinner last night." "T was a good helper today." Smal

I need to meet my child where he is emotionally.  Throw the chronological age thing out the window. In our online course last week, the instructor told us about letting out kids experience things that typical babies/toddlers/small children would have experienced but that our kids missed out on. She specifically brought up riding in a shopping cart. She assures us that the carts at Target are big enough for teenagers.  T did a small amount of time riding in the grocery cart seat, but growing an inch a month for seven months put a stop to that rather quickly. His feet just didn't fit through the feet holes. He begged to ride in the cart, but I had to tell him he was too big. Sometimes we got lucky and got the cart with a plastic ride-in toy car in the front, which is a bear to maneuver around the store, but he liked pretending to steer. But as often as not, those carts would all be in use, so he had to walk next to us, or push the cart -- usually with less than optimal re

What can I do at this moment to improve my connection with my child? What behaviors on this list can you relate to? Wiggly, squiggly at the dinner table Jumps over the arm of the couch to get on the couch Refuses to wear the coat that fits because the coat the doesn't fit and that he didn't like because "it's too puffy" at the beginning of the year is suddenly now his favorite coat Refuses to eat some food that he has always loved, loved, loved because now suddenly he "never like bananas" Endlessly atonally humming three notes or verbally repeating a two-word phrase Doesn't want to do chores Why should he have to set the table? Wants Mom to buy him a toy every time we set foot in a store -- any store Doesn't want to do homework Takes 45 minutes to get ready for school when he could be ready in 15 minutes Doesn't want to take the yucky medicine Sassy, mouthy, doesn't use polite words I could go on all day here. The an

It's not about T. It's about me. It's not about T. It's about me.

I missed a couple over the weekend. It was crazy and I wasn't feeling well on Sunday. I know what I was thinking those days, so I will get back to them if I can. Today though, the first day of DST. Repetition is good. Repetition helps lock things into the brain. So today we are revisiting: This is Daylight Saving Time Spring Ahead Week. (repeat, repeat, repeat) It's a tough enough week for me. I feel jet lagged. And its corollary: Being on time to work/school/doctor appointments/birthday parties/family get-togethers is not worth damaging my connection with my child. So he was a little behind schedule this morning. It was by less than ten minutes and he was in a good mood. At least three minutes of the delay was due to him asking me to cuddle with him on the bed after I helped him make it. Those were three precious minutes I would do over again in a heartbeat. That I personally wish I could have made go on for longer. Connection time. That he asked for.  This

I don't know of all my son's triggers, but those I do know about from past experience, I will be mindful of.  This weekend is Spring Ahead. Ugh. When my son is struggling next week, I will keep reminding myself that he is reacting to the schedule change. His internal clock will be out of whack with the the clock we have to live by and he needs time to reset his brain. I've already emailed the teacher to give her a heads up. The past two times there have been changes onto or off of DST, we've had a rough week in school. I forgot to alert her back in the fall. So I'm patting myself on the back for remembering to do so this time. And then there's St. Patrick's Day. Last year while the kids were at lunch, a "leprechaun" came into their classroom and tossed chairs and desks around the room and scattered school supplies all over. T came unglued with that one. It looks to someone who doesn't know him like he's just wound up and overexcited

Being on time to work/school/doctor appointments/birthday parties/family get togethers is not worth damaging my connection with my child. This was tested this morning by Mr. Sleepy Head Super Slow Mo. Hubs and I both kept our usual nagging in check. We just focused on breathing while T plodded through getting ready for school at his own pace. This means Hubs and I will both be late to work. But I got a hug and an "I love you" and a "See you later alligator," on the little guy's way out the door. Most definitely better to be late for work and connected to our child than on time for work and all of us reeling from feeling emotionally beat up. Tomorrow we will just get him up earlier.

Long time readers will remember that instead of giving up something for Lent, I try to find something positive to do. I wasn't raised Catholic and am not particularly religious, but I think spending 40 days working on making a positive change in yourself or the world is not a bad idea. This year, I am going to focus on daily trauma mama affirmations. That is, each day to repeat to myself throughout the day a wise nugget of parenting advice that can help me on my journey of parenting a child with trauma. Today's affirmation is let it go . "Let it go" means not taking T's behavior or words personally. He got a crappy draw in life and he's justifiably angry about it. So when his anger comes out at me, I need to just let it go. Which doesn't mean ignoring it; it means recognizing and affirming it, but not taking it personally and not letting it push my buttons. Let it go. And you knew this was coming. But it's a good earworm for me today and ever

I appreciate all the kind comments I received from my last post, and it was heartening to hear that some felt my posts over the years have been helpful. After some time processing my decision to stop blogging altogether, I'm thinking of making this a fork in the road, not a dead end. T has many trauma related issues. This was evident from Day One in the "Big House."  But here's the thing. So do I.  So instead of this being a blog that primarily focuses on T and our efforts to "heal" him or "change" him, this may become more a story about me and my attempts to change me .  I had come to the point of realizing I couldn't change him and that all I could do was change how I react to him. I've now moved past that and recognized I need to fundamentally change me -- not just how I react to T -- but how I act in all situations. How much will I let my past affect me?  The trauma train has tracks right through my family -- ge

I am reprinting here what I wrote back in April of 2010, nearly four years ago. I was so full of hope and naivete. The truth is that I have been unable to help T move forward in any way. I wanted a happy ending. I wanted him to learn to love me as his mom. I don't think either is possible at this point. He has most definitely not accepted us as his family. There has been nothing awe-inspiring about this journey. It has just been hard and bleak. As he gets older, the problems are becoming more difficult and scary. I don't blame T at all. My empathy for him runs deep, deep, deep. I feel tremendous sadness for that scared little boy who was ripped from his mother's arms as she screamed, desperately trying to hang onto him, and then sent away without a word of explanation to live with strange people in a strange land. That he has not been able to cope is not his fault. And I am tired of people who seem to insinuate that his inability to be resilient and come out of h