Thursday 3 July 2014

Mapping the Exits


So we went to see the social worker. Two of them, actually, and they were really nice. I know what you mean they kept on saying, while making sympathetic noises. Also That sounds exhausting, (and yes, it is, thanks for noticing).

We talked a bit about parenting strategies - what we could do, what we have done, what we might try. They asked us about all kinds of things, and the words just fell and fell out of me. Usually when I talk about parenting I hedge everything around with disclaimers about how much I love my children, but this time I didn't, really. I didn't feel like I had to apologise to these people for finding things tough, sometimes- these people are in post-adoption support; I presume they already know that adoption can be tough. So let's skip the chit-chat about the cuteness, shall we? Jay talked as well, of course, but not as much as me because the attachment complications we face in our family are very much concentrated along the mother-son axis.

mother and son
I talked about how bad I feel, sometimes, when I realise that my focus on Blue - my need to coach him through the simplest things, sometimes - affects how I parent Pink.  Do you love Blue more than me, Mummy? she asked me, after one particularly hard morning. Her voice was matter-of-fact.  Of course not, I said, trying not to sound as horrified as I felt. I adore both of you. (This happens to be true). Then why do you always cuddle him so much? she asked. Because his attachment issues manifest themselves in physical clinginess,  I might have said, but didn't, of course. Instead I said well, Blue needs a lot of cuddles, honey. She looked at me and said, still matter-of-fact, But mummy, so do I. When she said that, I felt all the air rush out of me. I know you do, honey, I said, and I gave her a hug right then, but of course in ten minutes time I was dealing with him again.

And has all of this affected your marriage? asked the older social worker, and Jay said no  at exactly the same time that I said yes. Make of that what you will. I feel like it has - it must have - affected our marriage, because it affects everything else in life. I feel so profoundly exhausted so much of the time. I have no energy to cook creative meals and light candles for some kind of date night - I just want to sit on the sofa and watch Veronica Mars. I find that I am completely unable to separate out what is normal parental exhaustion (surely, everyone feels this way) from the exhaustion that comes from managing our particular circumstances (nobody else can possibly feel this way, surely?)

I talked and talked. I talked and talked about how my son reacts to certain stimuli - how it seems that his reactions to some things are way outside of what those things warrant. I talked about how I'm trying to work out which things do what, trying to work out how I can manage those reactions. I read this thing I kept on saying and it made me wonder if - there's so much to wonder about. Why the really good days, why the really bad days? What are the uncommon denominators? I have no idea. The hitting seems to have stopped; for now, at least. I'm beyond relieved, but I have no idea how it happened so I wouldn't know how to make it stop again if it were to re-start. So much to read, so much to think about, and still, sometimes, when things go wrong, no freaking clue what to do.

(Have I mentioned that I love my son? Really, I love and adore my son).

The social worker interrupted my flow of words. You said you've done a lot of reading, she said. I nodded. Have you done any reading about secondary trauma? I hadn't. She wrote something down. The way you're describing your own behaviour, she said, it sounds like what you're describing is some hypervigilance. It sounds like your own reactions have become fine tuned so that you are always waiting for something to go wrong, always unable to relax. 

Have you ever played pinball, dear reader? I haven't, but I've seen other people doing it and that moment for me was like when someone makes that perfect shot in pinball. Her words arced into my brain and then bounced for what felt like forever, hitting piece after piece and connecting a whole head full of dots that I didn't even know were there.  One thousand points, I should have told her, you have earned an extra life. I didn't say anything though, because I was too busy feeling stunned. We finished the meeting and went home and I haven't been able to stop thinking about what she said. Hypervigilance and secondary trauma. In me. 

Honestly, I don't really know why this has shaken me up so much, but it really has. I thought I had bought into the whole 'attachment is a family issue' thing, but I guess I hadn't. I guess I really was thinking of myself as a person outside this difficult situation, a person who was trying to deal with it (not always very well) but a person who was fundamentally the same person she was before she found herself in it. I'm not sure that's true any more.  And the more I think about it, the more I think that there is nothing secondary about this trauma. Secondary trauma is something that caregivers experience when they have to process the pain of what their loved one has experienced. But if I'm traumatised, I honestly don't think it's through dealing with what he is suffering; I'm traumatised because of what I've experienced myself in this situation. Dealing with the fighting, the drama, the constant push-pull, the difficulties and the neediness - I've spent the last years on constant high alert and waiting for something to go wrong. It suppose all of this has short-circuited something in my brain. Feels about right, to be honest.

We see hypervigilance in our children and we understand why it's happening but we want it to stop. I have to say, it's been a profoundly humbling experience for me to see that it's happening in my own brain too. Now that she's said it, I see it all the time. I don't want to go places, I dont' want to do things because I'm worried that we're going to have a meltdown or an explosion. And when we do go places and something goes wrong, I catastrophise immediately.  This is the worst meltdown in the history of forever. I can't cope with this. The rest of the day is going to be ruined. Now that this is happened he isn't going to eat. If he doesn't eat he won't sleep. Tomorrow is going to be ruined too. We need to leave immediately. Right, let's go, let's go NOW please honey. Where is the nearest exit? It seems that, even when things are actually going fine, I'm always getting ahead of myself. I'm always mapping the exits.

Does this hypervigilance make me a better parent? Absolutely not, obviously. I've developed it as a coping mechanism, but right now it makes me less able to deal with stressful situations, less able to accurately assess risk, less able to think creatively to solve problems when the do occur. I'm trying to be conscious about this. I'm trying to at least talk to myself in a positive way - what's the worst that can happen? - was something I was using for a while, but actually, sometimes the answer to that question is pretty traumatising in itself. Ha.

It doesn't make me a better parent, but I don't think it makes me a worse person, either. The same way that we can acknowledge - hopefully without judgement -  that our kids' brains have reacted to what they have experienced, I think I have to acknowledge the same thing about myself. I'm still trying to work through how to deal with this.

So what does all this mean? Heck, I don't know. I just found her observation incredibly perceptive - if painful - and I thought it might apply to more people than me. A friend of mine was talking about something similar just yesterday and it made me wonder.

Feel familiar to anybody else?

22 comments:

  1. Oh wow. This hit me similarly for completely different reasons. Hypervigilance is spot on for how I have felt after some (unrelated to children and/or attachment) events from four years ago. I am still always waiting for something to go wrong, for the other shoe to drop, for things to be awful. I've been able to call it trauma and recognize how it affected me but I never connected the two in quite that way.

    On another note, I've lurked on your blog for years, and suddenly appreciate it more than other. I accepted my first foster placement (which is also my first run at parenting EVER) a few weeks ago of boy/girl twins. I had her for a few weekends before him. I worry that her blissful days of cuddling and bonding alone with me are gone, and that I cuddle her too much because he is not as snuggly, but now he is becoming snuggly, so I cuddle him more because he hasn't had as much opportunity. And I can pick both of them up (they are one), but just barely. If one is on my lap, I feel like the other should be on my lap too, even if they are happily playing nearby. omg I'm neglecting them and causing attachment issues. Aaaah. And yet I know we are doing the best we can, and doing well. But so much second guessing.

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  2. Yes, my daughter and I struggle with a constant push pull relationship. We are like two magnets at war with each other, we are too much alike or something. I make choices that I never feel good about, but seem to be the only way. This is incredibly insightful and I am looking at us so much differently right now. Wowza, thanks.

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  3. No way, this darn thing lost my comment!!!!

    Anyway, I basically said that lady was so insightful - no wonder you're still shocked. I think it will take time to process it all - give yourself the time you need.

    xxx

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  4. YES. I have to very consciously work on waiting until he actually does something to respond to it because I'm so afraid of what random, dangerous thing he's going to do next and it means I'm not remotely in the moment, I'm 10 steps ahead freaking about something that has not happened, might not happen. I am not the person I was pre-parenthood, not remotely. I am exhausted, mentally fried. I am so focused on what terrible thing might happen that I lose sight of the good things that are happening. I'm biting my tongue a lot. I heard myself shout his name, make myself take a deep breath and instead of whatever warning I was going to issue, ask how he is, compliment him, just say 'I love you'. My son has healed so much, and I feel like I'm the one who needs to heal now. My turn. Take care of yourself. Sleep more.

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    1. You are such a thoughtful parent.

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    2. Amen to what K said. And Claudia, I have secondary trauma too. I flinch at ever. fricking. cry. Because my brain is now wired to believe it's always going to be like this. I spend so much time flinching in response to the ugliness, before it's really even that ugly. Oh yes. All very familiar.

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  5. My therapeutic parenting skills have taken a nosedive recently, well into my son's teens, and I recognise your description of being stuck on the 'high alert' switch.... And parent on high alert + adopted teen is often not a happy combination. I also find myself having to repeat 'What's the worst that can happen?' while I try to get some professional help for both of us. Very thought provoking post, thank you, and I'm glad to have found your writing via #WASO. Have shared on Facebook

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  6. This makes so much sense. Especially that it's not secondary trauma as much as plain ol' trauma. I know it's gotten to me, and I see it wearing my husband down, which is worrisome, as he was the sane member of the family for a good long time, and I'm not sure I'm ready to take up that mantle.

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  7. I have never heard of secondary trauma either, but it totally makes sense. Thank you for sharing.

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  8. Wow. Somebody give that social worker a raise.

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  9. I have definitely suffered from this and it has brought on depression for me. Whilst we are mostly in a much better place with my oldest son at the moment, as soon as we get any challenging behaviour I can sense myself becoming hyper vigilant. I don't think it makes you a bad person, it probably doesn't help as a parent if you can't ever relax, which is what I sometimes feel like.However, I think it's understandable given the daily strain living with trauma can put on a family. Thank you so much for sharing your post on #WASO

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  10. I already identified with this post when I read it last week but I've come back to comment (in shame) that our first movie experience so very dreaded in my post last week went great. (And by great, I mean it was terrible but for NORMAL reasons, like toddlers can't sit still or be quiet.) I thank you for always being so perceptive -- or sharing other people's perceptiveness as the case may be :) I hope you find some ways to counteract the hypervigilence and hopefully their parenting strategies for Blue were just as perceptive too!

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  11. I read this earlier in the week and now again through #WASO. It really made me think, and I shared it with a few friends. I am definitely becoming more aware of how my expectations of stressy things potentially happening actually can have the effect of making them worse, or even making them happen when they wouldn't otherwise have happened. Sometimes we are so primed to expect the worst that we don't even notice when things go surprisingly well!

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  12. I've heard that cheese fries heal secondary trauma. We should check and see. We will leave the children with our husbands, because I think the key is eating them outside of the influence of children.

    (I'm sure I have a more thoughtful comment than this to make, but we were just traveling, and there was much melting down, worse than it's been in a long time, and now my secondary trauma is raging.)

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  13. "The hitting seems to have stopped; for now, at least. I'm beyond relieved, but I have no idea how it happened so I wouldn't know how to make it stop again if it were to re-start." This. The only coherent thought I can form is to quote your own words back to you, because they ring so true.

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  14. I find myself doing deep breathing several times a day b/c I'm so tense and on edge waiting for the next crisis with my 2 adopted children. I find it so hard to be in the moment with them. Thanks for sharing. This resonated strongly with me.

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  15. Thank you for being open and honest and transparent. Parents parenting trauma need to see and hear and know about this "side" of it.

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  16. This stuff is so hard. My husband struggles with it more than me and I admit I'm not nearly as gentle with him as I an my daughter. That's how it impacts me. ...... sucks up all the energy and kindness I should extend to hubby.

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  17. There’s the great Swedish proverb I recently came across, that seems apt: “You take what you want and pay for it, says God”. It’s a reminder that you really can do pretty much anything you like, provided you are prepared for the consequences. And even if you regret your actions, you are still responsible for picking up the proverbial tab.

    Actions have consequences. You have a CHOICE (which in and of itself is a privilege, as there are loads of people who don’t even get that). You’ll eventually either dislike the consequences enough to act differently or decide you can live with the status quo.

    And it sounds like a lot of the commenters are, well, exhausted and emotionally spent – to the point of having lost the, well, give, the emotional elasticity that everybody else usually calls ‘perspective’.


    Pink made a perfectly reasonable observation: Mom spends way more time snuggling Blue, so she loves Blue more. (Or is less able to cope with a Blue meldown than an unhappy-but-not-as-dramatically-so Pink).

    Husband makes a perfectly reasonable observation: Wife takes the time to speak gently and kindly to Kid, but not to me. Wife is ranking Kid’s needs well above those of Husband (who, for whatever reason, doesn’t presently ‘warrant’ more kindness).

    Grownups are entitled to drive themselves nuts living in fear that the hitting (or whatever undesirable behavior) that recently went away could return. Any. Time. Tomorrow. After all, it could.

    Secondary trauma is watching others in pain and not being able to fix it? Um, okay, I guess.

    You didn’t, cause it, you cannot fix it and will nevertheless hold yourself responsible for it? That doesn’t sound like trauma (secondary, primary or otherwise) – that sounds like depression.

    The thought that it’ll never get better, that it’s unfixable, that the way it is now is the way it will always be. The catastrophizing? Depression, possibly with an anxiety chaser.

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    1. This is kind of an odd comment. I honest have no idea what you mean when you say I have a choice. What kind of choice? I am extremely confused. Also, what am I holding myself responsible for? Still confused. And where did I say that my husband made that observation? Oh yeah, I didn't. I think maybe you were trying to criticise me, but seriously, I'm just confused.

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  18. Thank you for writing this, for publishing it, for sharing your innermost thoughts. This piece touched me

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Over to you!