She said other adoptive mama's call it trauma-versary.
And it all makes a little more sense. And it's probably why I haven't been able to write about it, even a little bit -- until now.
I heard that a fostered or adopted child can suffer more from PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) than a soldier on the front lines.
So it's no wonder that December is tough.
And we all nearly crack under the weight of it.
And there's a tension that anticipating Christmas should be nothing but excitement, and joy, and hope --
But instead, if I'm laying it all out there, it's emotionally and physically exhausting.
OK so maybe I do. Crack that is, wide open.
And the feelings of what are we doing wrong, and are we getting this right, and what do we say and do, and do we discipline this or that or let it go.
But it's all in fear.
He's scared. And we're scared we're getting it wrong.
I haven't asked him yet. If he remembers the time he left birth mom's, and his life was turned upside down. The air would have been chilled, and perhaps there was snow and Christmas lights. And when he experiences these things each year, these emotions bubble over...
That perhaps something scary will happen, again.
It's volcanic really. And I get it -- as much as I can -- but this slow mama only just caught on recently to all those heated emotions bubbling out of my 6-year-old.
His teacher calls me on the last day before the Christmas break, and she's at a loss for what to do and say to this little boy who's missing the mark, and I remind her that he's a little boy with big feelings because of big life events -- and really, I'm talking me down from the edge of frustration. Because it's been a month of "what are you thinking?" and "why are you doing that?"
But truly, he has no idea.
So it's one day at a time. Moment by moment. And I pray that --
I can help bring healing to all this.
That I could be equipped to see into his heart, and see past all those wildly strange behaviors. Because isn't that it.
We just want to be seen. And known. And accepted.
So the teacher, she deals compassionately with him at school, and we decide that when he comes home we'll let it go.
And I'm doing a whole lot of that these days. He's telling me to let go, and let Him. And for this mama who tends to hang on tight, it's a process. So it's that middle child, and me, and our messy moments, and beautiful moments. And then January comes, and February and we're all breathing a bit more easy. And there's no perfect ending to all this, just a little wiser.
And other writers like this help me process, because I'm nodding the whole way through this.