Love Stinks

Have you ever been so angry at your kids that you could scream? Or worse yet, you DO scream?

Last night Rocky spoke the words that every parent has felt at least once (only once if you're lucky): "Sometimes I hate being a parent."

Preach.

Parenting is hard and not nearly as enjoyable as often as one would hope.

Parenting our kiddos seems extra hard some days because of their disabilities and trauma history, which often results in behaviors that defy explanation and leave you wanting to explode. Or go for a long walk. Or drink a bottle of wine.

I remember as a kid thinking that my parents got some sick pleasure out of disciplining us when we were in trouble. Now, as a parent myself, I can see how wrong I was.

Having to discipline your kids SUCKS. Like super duper sucks.

In our home we have a huge lying problem. A psychologist will tell you that for normally-developed children without a trauma history, lying is a normal and positive part of a child's brain development. But for our children, who are younger emotionally and mentally than their chronological ages, and who come with a battery of issues because of their pasts, lying is a way of life. Lying means protection. Self-preservation. Survival.

Even 2.5 years later, there's still so much lying.

There's also a lot of finger-pointing between brothers. "He did it!" "No, HE did it."

It's exhausting. And pretty infuriating, because the "it" they're usually referring to is some kind of damage or destruction that will cost us money to fix or replace.

We understand as parents that things get broken in the course of life and play when you have a house full of kids. We don't purchase anything really expensive or nice because we don't want to make it easier for our kids to get in trouble or have accidents.

But our kids, well...our kids take things up a notch. One in particular breaks things on purpose. Out of anger, or curiosity, or boredom, or just carelessness, he is our destructor and it's difficult sometimes to live with him. He can be quite expensive.

Right now this kid is on the outs with rest of the family because of him repeated destructive actions.

And it's hard on all of us. My oldest misses his brother. The baby misses playing with his brother. I hate having a kid upstairs by himself because he's grounded while the weather outside is beautiful and we're all playing.

There is nothing enjoyable about disciplining your kids.

But it's necessary and good for their healing and development.

Consistency is our everything in this household. It's the only way we can undo (or heal) years of garbage these kids have learned and lived through. It is the only way our kids can eventually grow into kind, responsible, compassionate, remorseful, helpful, and successful young men.

Frederick Douglass said, "It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men."

So this is where we sit.

Building strong children through love, forgiveness, consistency, and yes, even discipline.

I will not allow my boys to become broken men.

White Flag

If parenting kids with a trauma history has taught me anything, it's that there is no magic timeline or formula for healing.

Week after week, I find myself asking their therapist, "They've been with us 2 and a half years. When will this behavior stop? When will they feel safe enough to stop doing this (that, everything...)?" And her answer is always the same, "Maybe soon, maybe a year from now, maybe never."

Never.

There's that word again.

I hate that word. It's so devoid of hope.

Sometimes things are so good here, so normal, that I allow myself to believe they are healed. Complete. Whole.

And then something happens to remind me of the possibility of never. And I want to give up. I want to withhold grace and raise expectations and demand change.

Only traumatized brains don't respond to any of that.

Sometimes I find myself thinking, "Other kids have been through far worse than mine. Why can't they get over some of this?"

My suck-it-up military upbringing doesn't help matters. Neither does Rocky's. The military and exposure to the military way doesn't exactly breed patience and compassion. I grew up with a wonderful, but no-nonsense father. "Life isn't perfect, get over it." That kind of thing. And honestly, for my personality type, that was helpful. It helped me to adjust my expectations and depend more on myself and not wallow when things went south (..unfortunately, I eventually took it too far and had to come back from the land of self-reliance and indifference). But this kind of thinking, this "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" kind of thinking, is not only not helpful with my kids, but it's like a foreign language to them. Their brains literally cannot process it.

So what's a mom to do when they keep making the same bad decision over and over again, despite all consequences and threats of consequences? What gets through to them?

I wish I knew.

That's where I sit most days.

Complete ignorance.

There is no formula.

Their brains don't absorb and process information the same way that a non-traumatized brain does. They simply can't sort it all out and make sense of it. Which makes some days feel like I am literally talking to brick walls.

It's frustrating.

And exhausting.

And humbling.

I often yell. Or worse, give up and stop caring (for a time).

I lose hope.

I distance myself.

This is too hard, I tell myself. I can't do this forever.

Only that's what parenthood is. Forever.

And kids will push you. And disappoint. And frustrate. And drive you completely insane. And that's part of the job description, isn't it?

We are currently sitting in a season of great growth and potential. Our big boys have accomplished things academically that we were told wouldn't be likely for years. They are building peer relationships. They are learning to trust adults entrusted with looking out for them. They are (more often than not) thinking before they act and making better decisions.

But sometimes, there's a setback. A setback that takes you back two years and you're hit in the stomach and your anger and disappointment wells up inside of you and you feel like never. This is never going to change.

It's that's when the therapist, my friends (and hubby) remind me of how far the boys have come. How much better they're doing. How this thing and that instance and yesterday are all examples of how much they love and trust us and are trying so hard to get well.

And then I'm reminded of what a jerk I am.

How impatient, and demanding, and not compassionate I really am.

Here I am expecting my children to improve beyond recognition after 2.5 years, and here I sit, still so easily irked, so easily bothered, so easily angered. I'd like to think I've improved, too, but I'm not so sure.

I don't know how to not want more for them.

I don't know how to trust God that He is doing everything He can to make them better.

I don't know how to believe that never won't happen.

But I'm trying.

I'm really trying.