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.