Oceans

Having pregnancy hormones while simultaneously dealing with major regressive behavioral issues with one of my kids makes me want to scream and cry into a pillow.

Also, my 15-month old has started throwing epic tantrums where he screams, throws himself on the floor, throws things and hits me.

Good times.

I'm exhausted. I feel a bit hopeless regarding one of my kids.

Unprepared, beaten-up, angry, resentful, tired.

It's hard to explain to outsiders what it's like to live with a child whose medical diagnosis, psychological diagnosis, and trauma history combine to form the perfect storm of emotional and behavioral junk on a daily basis. Visitors and extended family see such a small snapshot of our lives, and oftentimes, kids modify their behavior for such occasions. I am so thankful for our community who lives life with us and sees everyday what we go through. I'm definitely not looking for sympathy, but understanding is such an appreciated support. I am so, so grateful for understanding, kind words, respite, and encouragement.

Even if I've said it a million times, I will say it again: If we didn't love these kids I would give up.

That's how hard it is.

And the reality is, it could be this way for a really long time.

I have realized (again) that I am not very good at self-care. And when I'm not good at making time for myself (which sometimes is literally impossible to do), my sanity suffers, and in turn, my children suffer because I lack patience, and grace, and understanding, and compassion, and all the things they need to heal and grow. I know I am in serious trouble when I dread seeing or interacting with one or more of my kids.

And I'm in a season of big trouble right now.

One of my children needs what feels like too much from me, and I feel adrift on a sea of never-ending sacrifice.

Rocky is so busy working to provide for our family and he's doing an amazing job at that while also trying to be as present as possible with me and the kids, but there isn't a lot of time on the schedule for him to relieve me. My mom is out of town for the next few weeks, and honestly, I hate burdening her with regularly watching the kids anyway, so I don't even take advantage of her help when she's here. My friends have tons going on, and lives of their own and medical issues and jobs and family stuff and they can't be available or expected to regularly take my kids off my hands so that I can breathe for a few hours (although they offer, ALL THE TIME because they're amazing friends.)

I am not overwhelmed by the number of children I have.

I am not overwhelmed at being a parent.

I am overwhelmed with caring for and raising a child that has life-long issues that I was not ready for nor wanting to deal with.

This is exponentially harder when the child is coming out of foster care and going through adoption.

Lots of emotions. Lots of anger. Lots of questions. Lots of big feelings and an inability to manage and verbalize them.

It's hard to constantly feel like you're in a position of having to give your all to one child who is a bottomless pit of need, when you have two other children (soon three!) who also need you.

It's difficult to feel like I need to defend and protect my other children from one child's actions, bad decisions, and mistakes.

Most don't understand how severe his issues are when compared to a "neuro-typical" child (as we're supposed to call them). I won't list all his issues here for the world to read; that's not fair. Those closest to us know what they are. It's the whole "need-to-know" list of people. But trust me when I say that his issues are many, they're real, they're debilitating to him some days, and they're exhausting and frustrating to us everyday.

And I'm just trying to get through the day with more patience and grace than the day before.

I'm trying to understand that I can't ask him, "Why?" because he simply does not understand that question and doesn't know the answer to "why?"

I'm trying to push my expectations for him and his future aside and accept him as he is, limitations and all.

I'm trying to be honest with my village and my husband about my mental and emotional health so that they can encourage and pray for me.

I'm trying to put myself in his shoes (this is so, so hard for me to do) so that I can grow in compassion for his struggles.

I'm trying to find a way to make more time for me, and my marriage, so that I can recharge and refocus and get cared for myself.

It's all so very hard for me sometimes because I'm here in the trenches everyday and I don't want to complain all the time and I certainly don't want to greet my husband after a long day's work with griping. There's a fine line for me between being honest and vulnerable and being negative. That line has grown finer the last few weeks, and I've crossed into the negative more time than I'd like to admit.

The truth of the matter is is that I didn't sign up for this challenge and so I find myself walking through the stages of grief.

What are they again? Oh yeah, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

I think I'm in the anger stage right now.

I was probably in the denial stage for the first two years we had the boys. Denial of the depth of their wounds and the lasting impact it would have on them.

I'm angry at the boys' birth mother for damaging them so severely. For leaving one of my children with a disability of which he cannot overcome and will struggle with for the rest of his life.

I'm angry at my child (I know his disability is not his fault) for knowing the right choice and still making the wrong one, sometimes defiantly and deliberately to hurt others because he himself is hurting and he's unable to cope appropriately.

I'm angry at the loss of milestones and achievements that my child will not experience with his peers because he is considerably younger mentally and emotionally than his age and height would allow you to believe.

I'm angry at myself for being angry. For being disappointed in him so much. For wanting him to be different.

That's the hard truth of where I'm at. And I know I'm not alone in this...I have a small community of other foster parents that are in their own grief stage, knowing that the life they wanted for their child and their family will look much different from what they had hoped. And it's hard when you know it's not going to get easier, at least not soon and maybe not ever. That's a hard pill to swallow. I'm trying to swallow it, allow it to sink into my bones and become a part of me so that I can let go of what isn't and make a plan for gracefully handling what is.

One thing is for sure.

I need help.

I need prayers.

I need Jesus.

There is no other way.