It Comes, and It Goes…

I wrote my last post about how great Bubbly was doing.  She was.  She still is in some ways.  But, we’ve also had a set back or two.  She’s doing okay outside the house, but she’s pushing FPD and I SO hard at home because we’re expecting so much more of her. This happens every time we see growth and we want to push her to that next level.  She fights so hard against us.

She fights with everything she has to NOT move forward.  She likes where she is, with lower expectations than your average 6-year-old, stuck in a routine that she knows, one that allows her to act out when she sees fit and not have to control herself at all.  Because, you see, it’s so very hard to rule your feelings.  While our Bubbly is moving forward in many areas, I can almost physically see her little self pushing back against the change, against the new expectations.  Tonight, she let me know that she can’t take it.  She just blew a gasket.  Trauma took over, and for the first time since school ended, she lost her stuff.

I shouldn’t be disappointed, but I am.  I find myself, on the good weeks, allowing myself to think that this might be over.  Could we have finally reached the point where we won’t have a meltdown anymore?

We haven’t.  We might not ever.  I think the way the meltdown looks will change, but I think, in some form or another, there will always be minor meltdowns.

I used to say “I can almost see the light at the end of the tunnel.”  I find myself, at the end of the day, when I’m decompressing and thinking over everything I could have possibly done differently with and for our girl throughout the day, telling myself that this isn’t a tunnel.  Trauma is a lot like time.  It’s not linear.  I would love it to be, because I’m a linear thinker.  I want, so badly, for there to be a start and an end to all this.

There isn’t.

There is only a tangled web of layers that need to be slowly untangled, peeled away, softened, scraped and re-formed until we have a happier healthier girl.  The scars that are underneath will always be there.    My head knows, but my foolish heart hopes that somehow they’ll disappear.  Then, when they don’t, it hurts.  I hurt, for her.  Then my head is angry that my heart let myself hope.

It’s all so complicated for me.  I can only imagine how it feels for her.

She won’t be attending Vacation Bible School tonight, because she laid on the floor, screamed and then kicked me as hard as she could.  She calmed immediately when she saw the look on my face.  She understands how badly that kind of treatment hurts, and not just physically.  She didn’t use to stop.  She used to beat the tar out of me with absolutely zero remorse.  Now, she feels awful.  And, the episodes of this kind of behavior are now a couple times a month instead of a couple of times a day.  This is how I know there’s progress.  It’s a sad way to measure, but it’s the only way we’ve got.

Instead of VBS, she’ll be going with me to Target to buy diapers, Drain-o and all the other exciting things a family of ten requires on a daily basis.  During that time, she will have my almost totally undivided attention (Dolly will be rolling along with us, but mostly it’s time for her).   I think these moments help.  We decompress.  We talk about why it’s not okay, and she gets time with me to allow her to know that even when she beats me black and blue because she hurts in ways no one can really understand, I’ll still be here.  Waiting.  Because that’s what I do.

who is just waiting for that next bit of light to shine through.   

One thought on “It Comes, and It Goes…

  1. Aww, Becky. I can only imagine. Today I was just telling Colby – after he’d hit me – that he needs to remember that it’s BECAUSE I love him that I will sit in his room while he screams at me to get out and BECAUSE I love him he won’t be playing baseball tonight after he made poor choices. And BECAUSE I love him, I have to make these choices that don’t make him (or me) happy. But I snuggle him and love on him all the same because there’s NOTHING he can do to lose my love. My heart aches for her pain and for yours because I am walking a much easier road than yours, but on days like this it feels like it’s been uphill for a long, long while.

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