Dual Lives: Trauma and Handwriting

Raising kids from hard places is complicated.  Raising kids is complicated. It is more than a 24/7 job. Somehow, we manage to fit more than the allotted time because there is just so much to do, so much to worry about, so much to pray about.

The thing that makes raising kids who have been exposed to trauma different is that the two don't--or shouldn't--go together. Kids are kids. They are wiggly, curious, excited, inexperienced, naive, naughty little sponges. Trauma is traumatic. It breaks and twists. It changes brains and scars personalities. It brings out fearfulness. It brings intimate knowledge of hard things, things no one needs to know. It causes people to exist in the flight/fight realm even when everything should be calm and safe.

Again, the two oughtn't go together. Kids and trauma shouldn't mix. But they do, and all too often.

Raising kids exposed to trauma means embracing the whole unwieldy mess. It means teaching kids about hygiene, handwriting, and how to greet people, but being ready to stop the world when a memory unravels them. 

When it is possible, you have to keep going with normal life. And normal life is engrossing. Brush your teeth already! Please make your lips touch when you have food in your mouth. Julius Caesar had gained popularity with the general public by winning distant wars. But the Roman governing officials didn't want a king. You may play with that after you clean up the toys you were playing with. Suddenly normal life is set aside because something is wrong. What?

It's even more complex when the memories are so buried that the child can't articulate what they are responding to. Triggers are everywhere and every-day life can feel like a mine field. When a sound, a temperature, a texture, a taste, a gas station, an atmosphere, or a smell can remind a child's body of a time when they felt threatened or unsafe, the child doesn't always understand what is happening. They fight to figure things out, when everyone around that continues to act normally, like the world isn't on fire. It is confusing and scary. And their behavior can also become confusing and scary.

As parents, we become detectives. But we must move delicately, like studying a most rare and fragile flower, or navigating a snakes'-den of wires on a bomb. Or both. 

To do it well, you have to walk the tight-rope. You need to press on with normal life, ever vigilant for triggers.  You need to continually strengthen attachment, so that when things get hard, they trust you to see them through. They can't do it alone. And neither can you.

Homeschool Curriculum

I am excited about the next homeschool year because I decided to write the curriculum myself. I am a diehard Sonlight fan and used it to school my first two children from first grade to twelfth. I shopped around and landed back at Sonlight for my girls.

When I made the purchase (with no little kicking myself for getting rid of most of it from the first time around), the price hurt a bit. Then I made adjustments to how we were schooling, which led to more purchases. At the time, I was earning a little income from the job I left to homeschool. I knew that would not be the case any other year.

I was browsing at a local bookstore with my husband and we were looking at some of the great deals they offered.  Offhand as we left, I said, "I'm going to just write my own curriculum and get books from there." I took myself by surprise because I hadn't realized how much I'd been thinking about it until it came out of my mouth. My husband protested, knowing how much I love Sonlight.

But once I said it aloud, it took on a solid form and this enthusiasm started bubbling up. I could hardly wait to get home to start planning. Guess what I will be doing over Spring Break? 

Just Be Easy!

My husband and I were talking about parenting the other day. There are times when we feel so successful, and then there are the other times. 

As we shared different stories where we failed to respond well, we saw a pattern. We took turns sharing stories, and they all seemed to go like this. 

A child misbehaves and we handle it with patience, humor, redirection, and calmness. 

That child misbehaves again--repeating the previous action or inventing a new way to be disruptive, disrespectful, or dangerous. And we handle it calmly, the child recovers, and we move on. 

Then that child is downright mean to a sibling, and we facilitate her making it right. 

After two minutes, the child makes eye contact and directly disobeys, "don't-touch-THIS?" style. We take a deep breath and respond like a pro, employing curiosity and remembering that behavior is communication of a need. We discover and meet that need with gentle questions and innovative solutions. 

Then she either does something she can't help, like burps or trips; OR she goes in for a pound and escalates to 11 with no apparent trigger.  Either way, we lose it and blow it. Inside (and sometimes outside) we wail, OH MY WORD, JUST BE EASY!

We keep on keeping on. I think we are improving--every one of us. But we still fall flat on our faces more often than we want. 

March: 2023

So, in March '22, we were living the dream. We were doing whatever we wanted to. I was looking for a different job, and trying to find a way to fit in at church, but life was easy--except for the unending illnesses we kept contracting from sick preschoolers. In the eight months I worked there, I had Covid twice, Bronchitis three times, flu, colds, pink eye... It would have been laughable had laughing not triggered breathless coughing fits.

If we fast forward to March '23, the list of changes in our lives was long! My daughter moved into her first apartment, oof! I earned a Master of Science degree in Learning Experience Design and Educational Technology. I got a new job (called The Best Job in The World--outside raising kids) working at a preschool a mile from my home as a 3s teacher two mornings a week, a 4s Assistant one morning a week, and a PreK teacher every afternoon. 

I need to pause to say how serious I am about it being the Best Job Ever. That PreK class was phenomenal! My boss was the most supportive and encouraging boss I'd ever had. And my coworkers? I've never met an entire crew of people so wholly dedicated to loving and teaching children. The board (fewer accolades there, tbh) had just approved opening a Kindergarten class for the following year, so my boss and I were dreaming and brainstorming curriculum, advertising, and schedules. So fun!

Oh, and I need to add another little change to the list of happenings from '22 to '23. We got licensed for foster care and were adjusting to doubling our household with three—THREE—little girls! What?!? How did that happen? We were done. Foster care had shredded our hearts. We were in retirement and nearly empty nesters. We were going to travel. I got a cool degree that I could use to do anything. We were dancing.

Well, I will tell you. Roe v Wade was overturned. The church we were attending had a guest speaker who said there was a difference between being pro-birth and pro-life. Being pro-birth was not enough.  To be pro-life, we needed to meet people as they were living through difficult times, "from womb to tomb." 

There could possibly be an uptick in unwanted babies born. It is an awful thing to be unwanted. My husband was deeply moved and announced that afternoon that if God allowed it, we were going to adopt so we could be a home where kids would know they were wanted. Wow! 

So here we were in March, planning a massive uptick in my commitment to work while fostering three little girls we desperately wanted to adopt. In March, we had gotten word that perhaps they would go back to their first parents. I was an emotional wreck. We never intended to actually foster again.  We wanted only adoptable kids. The girls themselves had heavy burdens of trauma, delays, and needs. Caring for one was more than a full-time job. Three? Fugedaboutit.

What a March!

March: 2021

I hope you're enjoying this walk through the years. I hope it is sparking your own memories, bringing smiles and healing. 2020 was difficult for most of us, bringing--brace yourself for that most overused word--unprecedented changes to how we did life.

By March 2021, we were finding--here's another oft-used buzzword--a new normal. I'd made over 250 videos reading books to the refugees. I was going into the homes of several Afghan families to bring books, playdough, and companionship. One family in particular had five boys who were struggling with the lockdown, so my son and I partnered to tutor them three times a week.

The church had started meeting on a smaller scale; I was coordinating 50 volunteers for only two services. I had a very unique opportunity to start a children's ministry at a well-established mega-church. It was fun training and establishing community, balancing safety and the need for community.

My husband was looking at retirement and the four of us were researching other states to find our next home. There was no way we could afford to stay in California. We were in a small window where we were going to be able to move with our adult children to start the next chapter.

And then, on March 3--my late sister's birthday--I was changing the bulletin boards late one night while my kids were attending the college Bible study. And we got a call. I'd honestly thought our foster license had lapsed. We'd been through the wringer with the agency and returned to the county. But we never got a placement. And now, two-year-old twins who needed a home tonight.

Or maybe they were 18-month-olds? No, they were three. Whatever, after praying together, we said yes. I grabbed my kids and we ran to Wal-Mart on the way home to buy two car seats and a crib. They wouldn't fit in the car with the door closed, so my kids had a harrowing ride home, holding unwieldy boxes and the back hatch.

We threw that crib together, racing the clock before the girls showed up. My daughter and I met them in the parking lot. When we heard their spunky names, we were suddenly unsure of even their gender. 

But girls they were, and after a few days we learned that they were 14-month-olds. Born in late 2019, with four older siblings schooling at home on Zoom, they spent much of their life at home in a pack-and-play, so their development was a little delayed.

And that was our March. Learning how to parent twin toddlers who we jokingly called ricochet for all the bouncing their heads did off our walls as they learned how to talk. Biological family visits, illnesses, doctor and therapist appointments, and court dates. It all came back.

Our daughter moved in with close friends because of the legality of the twins sharing a room with an adult. I continued working at the church. And we continued our work with the refugees.

What a March!

Doctors, Specialists, and Therapists, Oh my!

I'm processing a lot since our girls' last doctor visit.  We have been on waiting lists for various therapies for the entire two years that they've been living with us.  That is a long time.  However, the number of people trained in the treatments recommended for our girls does not match the number of people needing the therapy. And there is an apparent baby boom among these golden ticket therapists, so it seems there are more on maternity leave than there are taking patients.  It's a frustrating situation.

But I am a card-carrying homeschool mom, so I read books, watch videos, and do my best to meet their needs.  I've done this before when my son needed speech therapy, and I got tired of sitting behind a mirror at a university speech therapy program 100 miles (no lie) from home three days a week just to watch people not understand him.  So, I decided to do it at home. The first time that boy said "k," I could have flown!

Later, I discovered my first daughter has the most severe dyslexia of all the dyslexias.  This goes with her over-achieving, competitive personality; if she's going to be dyslexic, then she's going to out-dyslexic all the dyslexics! All the therapies available were through the public school system in our area and I was invested in staying out of that dysfunctional rabbit hole. So, I decided to do it at home.

We participated in therapies for our first foster children and the experiences were overwhelmingly positive.  I learned a lot. Since then, I got my degree in education, with dual emphases in Gen Ed and SPED. The various diagnoses and possible diagnoses of our girls don't scare me very often (mostly).  I feel like I can tackle them with some competency.

Put that on the shelf for a moment with me while I discuss a deeper thing that I don't like talking about.  I have said before that our interactions with therapists and medical personnel for all our foster placements and adopted girls have been positive. But my experiences with doctors for myself and my children have been wildly different. Ask me how long it took to be diagnosed with POTS, and how I was treated until I was. I had an eye doctor throw a pen across the room and storm out because he conducted the entire exam not knowing my contacts were in.  There was the dentist who rested his tools on my chest and grabbed 'widely' to pick them up.  I can't forget the gynecologist who argued with me to get an IUD while he biopsied my uterus.  When I wouldn't give in, he tore off his gloves and dropped them on the floor before walking out.  He left me bleeding on those gloves, shaking.  Whenever my friends went for their visits, he told them that they should tell me to come back to get the IUD, hipaa be damnned. Thankfully the experiences with my kids' doctors tended toward mere incompetence and arrogance.

My point is that I'm scared. So scared that I didn't even recognize it. The girls' current primary said she would try to push some referrals to get therapy going.  I'm grateful.  Relieved.  I need help.  They need help.  It's a good thing.  

But I was cooking dinner that night and making mistakes that would make my poor grandma roll in her grave.  My dinner roll dough took my KitchenAid for a walk across the length of my counter.  I burned my fingers as I tried to get the meat from the drumsticks I cooked.  The entire room looked like I violently decorated it with a 20-pound bag of flour.  I got overheated, so layers of clothes littered the floor because I'd ripped them off and dropped them where I stood.  And then I cried.  And cried.  

My sweet husband came to my rescue, asking me what was wrong.  I asked if we could just pretend that I was on my period because whatever was going on was just as reasonable as that.  He stifled his laughter as he watched me tear at drumsticks and cry that it looked like meat stuck in a dinosaur's maw and that I didn't want to eat dinosaur food.

It took the next 24 hours for me to realize that I'm scared of getting entangled with therapists who'll make my girls' lives harder.  I'm scared that helping in one area could exacerbate dysfunction in others. I worry about getting entrenched and not knowing how to get out.

I have no pat answers yet. It astonishes me that God works on me while I am trying to raise these girls well.  I didn't think this was something I needed to address.  It just is: I don't trust doctors, but I do what I need to for my kids. But maybe changes are coming?

Going to the Doctor

 We made it through three well-child visits! As a side note, when the office called to make the appointments, I misunderstood her and thought she wanted to set up wild-child visits. I thought it was a great term and told her so, asking how she knew how appropriate it was. It is NOT what she said. 

Some of our past visits were fiasco-adjacent. I hoped to establish a solidly positive session to create a frame of reference for what a doctor visit COULD be. We talked about expectations, did some role-playing, and equipped them with the times they could ask to hold a hand, sit on a lap, or say no.

And we did it! My girls are watching Dora as I type this and I want to exclaim, "Lo hicimos!" We left the building with three smiling little girls and two gushing-with-praise parents!

We need to make vision appointments, because it is time, but also as a first step to investigating headaches in one girl. There is a good possibility that they will all need glasses, so we'll need to keep monitoring that.

One girl had a rough visit with an insensitive tech a while back, so she was very nervous.  On another side note, the medical staff we have encountered since getting the girls have all been wonderful.  Most are good at speaking in code above the girls' heads to discuss possibly scary or triggering topics.  All are positive and supportive of adoptions. And they are really terrific with the girls.

Anyhow, the one wonky tech left my girl feeling really scared about going, but after all the prep and the amazing primary we see, she did really well.  Our daughter allowed for the exam and test, so...triumph! 

We have a referral to OT.  We have confirmations on other diagnoses and support for our chosen treatments. And we have a plan for behavior that can't be diagnosed yet. Everyone was on board with avoiding shots to keep things positive, so... triumph again!

We have one little miss who has struggled massively with past visits who did very well and said no when she needed to to certain procedures. But she is triggered, so we will spend hours snuggling, affirming, and watching to see her through whatever is going on in her mind and body that she can't articulate yet.

I have to make myself not cry whenever I go to the doctor with them.  It is overwhelming for me.  I love them. Even with a wildly successful visit as this, the tears threaten. I am proud of their bravery and growth. I grieve the gaps in my knowledge. I grieve the brokenness still evident.  And I am hopeful and thankful that we can do this with the help of a team.

I trust God is never surprised by any of this and is always present.  I go through this life ignorant of so much. But I know a God who knows.  He is enough.  I'm thankful that even though I am failing and stumbling, God is bigger than it all--including my flaws and stubbornness.

Homeschooling Schedule

I have the privilege of being a new homeschooler and veteran homeschooler at the same time.  I started homeschooling a few weeks after my second baby was born so that my 2.5-year-old would have dedicated time with me.  We kept going until that baby graduated high school.  Through those years we moved twice, changed churches a few times, and lived several different lifestyles.  I founded and ran a homeschooling group with friends.  We did tours and playdates.  I wrote entire programs for us to carry out in co-op-style classes.  I also counseled new homeschoolers, getting them set up to school their kids successfully from home. Throughout all that, we had different children in our home because I was either homeschooling or nannying them.  

I've got some experience! But, true to the assertion that there are as many ways to homeschool as there are families, this is new and different.  Schooling three kids specifically NOT from the beginning with more special needs than my first crew and in relative isolation is different. So, true to form, I am learning as I go.

I recently changed our homeschooling schedule because I was really overtaxing all of us by trying to do a little bit of everything each day.  I thought the consistency and small bites would provide routine so that growth would be steady and the predictability would give the kids a sense of safety and ownership of their days.  It's a good thought worth its place, but it was time to wriggle things around.

So now I have staggered days. On Mondays and Wednesdays, we do core work using Sonlight curriculum. That is Bible, Social Studies/History, Literature, and Science.  I use the four-day schedule, so we double up and still complete a week's worth of work in a week.  On Tuesdays and Thursdays, we do extracurricular activities like Spanish, Piano, and Recorder.  Fridays are special because my husband is home every other week, so we go on outings with him.  When he is at work, we do arts, cooking, and messy science projects.  Each day we do Movement, Reading, Writing, and Math.  We also do a preschool-style circle time each day with things like prayer, calendar, weather, and Bible verses and stories.

So far, it's working out pretty well.  I might flip-flop the pairs of days because I chose hefty work on the days we are committed to Choir and AWANA.  But I'm going to wait.  Because the change is about looking at the week as a whole, I'm giving myself a solid month to adjust.

Our daily routine still exists regarding blocks of time.  I am eager to see how the opened space allows for more connection and breathing room.  

The Power of Yes

 Are you familiar with the term TBRI? It stands for Trust-Based Relational Intervention.  Karyn Purvis is credited with its creation, and you can check her and her ideas out at the links below.  It is worth your time.  While taught to adults who love kids from hard places, the ideas apply broadly and are helpful across the board.

One of the ideas I learned was the notion of yes. I will speak in generalities, but concrete information is available in those links.  Basically, we all need to hear a mammoth number of yeses in our first years. This sets us up to develop successfully through the stages of early childhood.  It touches on Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs and Erikson’s Stages of Development.

Maslow teaches that until the basic needs are met (along the lines of shelter, food, and security), we cannot develop at higher levels (like academics and morality). You can check out more at Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs.

Erikson teaches that in the first five years, kids need to learn that they can trust their caregivers, that they are themselves capable people, and have a purpose. More on Erikson’s stages can be found here. Erikson's Stages of Psychosocial Development - StatPearls - NCBI Bookshelf

The idea is that kids need to hear yes (in word and action) thousands of times for them to move through these critical stages of development successfully.  Meaning that they will be equipped to tackle the next stages with confidence and a sense of self-efficacy.  The stages build on one another, and without firm foundations, they are left limping through life.  In short, the yeses count.

Kids from hard places, who’ve experienced trauma, abuse, and/or neglect, lack the necessary number of yeses. To build their resiliency and provide them with what they need to continue to grow, we need to make up for the loss of yes in their lives. How do we make up for all the yeses? 

It’s a big and essential task. In the TBRI training, we learn to do our best to create opportunities for yes.  An example is to have snacks available all the time, but require the children to ask for them—so that you can tell them yes! To help children feel safe with us as caregivers, we need to find ways to provide nurturing that they either missed entirely or lost when they were removed from their first caregivers.  That can mean massages and snuggles.  It might also mean feeding the kids—in a straightforward manner or playfully like throwing popcorn for them to catch in their mouths. 

In my family, I am still very hands-on in the bathroom with bathing and toileting.  They need the extra touch time and nurturing that comes from applying lotion and assuring basic hygiene practices are followed.  I frequently feed my youngest and try to give a cup of milk to her on demand.  She needs this the way an infant does. 

Because that is another thing we learned. When kids come from sustained trauma, new caregivers need to cut their chronological age in half (and round down!) to understand where they may be developmentally.  That means the two-, five-, and seven-year-olds who arrived in our lives were more like one, two, and three! 

This drives home the wisdom of a friend who was comforting me when we had had the girls for about ten months.  She told me we had ten-month-old triplets who happened to be two, six, and eight. This was the most accurate (though seemingly paradoxical) description of our situation.

https://youtu.be/7vjVpRffgHQ?si=w9IcgVVUa9zjEOU4

Karyn Purvis Institute of Child Development