*Jazz Hands* Mom

We’ve all done it. We’ve heard a friend who is struggling and our first instinct is to let them know they’re not alone.

Our first instinct is to say, “Me, too.” Because we’ve been there. We’ve survived it. We have the fight in the rearview mirror (or we’re at least starting to drive).

We can help.

If you’re saying, “Nope. Not me. I never do that.”…then you’re a better person than me. I know for a fact that I’ve done that.

One of my favorite quotes is, “Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.”

We want to help. We want to save our loved ones from a pain we’ve already faced. We want them to learn from our past.

And that’s a beautiful thing. And, sometimes, it’s exactly what they need.

But..other times…that’s the last thing they need.

How many times have you been lamenting to a friend and they jump in with their, “Me, too!” They start telling you their similar tale…and you think, “Ok. Cool. Let’s talk about you now, I guess.”

Did they mean to cut you off? No. And you know that. But…in that moment…you needed an ear, and not advice.

You didn’t need a “Me, too!”.

You needed an, “I’m listening.”

You guys…I am not going to lie. I was raised by men and sometimes I just am one. I jump right to, “Ok. Let’s fix this!!!” Seriously…borderline peen showing in those moments.

But I’ve learned (usually) to stop myself…and ask…”Are you looking for advice or just an ear? Because I can be either.”

Because sometimes you need, “Me, too.” followed by advice. Sometimes you need, “I’m listening so that you can work it out for yourself.”.

Sometime you need both.

But you always need to have friends who let you make that decision for yourself.

So, basically…

Don’t stop the “Me, too”s. We need them. We need to feel understood. We need to feel empathy.

Don’t stop the “I’m listening”s. We need to know that we have a safe space to speak freely and be loved without judgment.

But, whichever is your instinct to jump to first…

Stop (your instinct…this moment isn’t about you).

Listen (to what they are saying).

Ask (what they need).

Respect (their choice).

And hope that they’ll do the same for you.

It’s funny how out of the blue a moment of clarity can be. We can be faced with a situation for years…think it through in a million ways…never fully finding the answer…and then one day…BAM! Like a football to Marcia Brady’s nose.

It’s also funny how we can truly believe we’ve handled a situation fully and then…that football hits and…well, shit…

It doesn’t mean that we handled it WRONG, but maybe we missed a huge piece of the puzzle.

Today I got hit in the nose with a football.

Anyone who’s known me long knows that I sometimes have nightmares. It’s a standard part of PTSD. The nightmares aren’t usually of the events themselves, but are representative of the trauma. They can come during times of extreme stress, or after certain triggers and…for me…they often come at times of happiness.

Weird, right? Why would happiness cause trauma nightmares?

Because (my trauma tells me that) happiness can be taken away.

(We’ll address those parentheses. They’re rather important.)

So, when I’m especially happy about something or excited about it…the nightmares come…always different, but always the same…my abuser takes everything away from me and laughs at me for believing I could ever keep it.

The past couple of nights I’ve had those nightmares. This time they were followed by good dreams, so they didn’t even fully click until this morning. But then some random thoughts reminded me and…yup…she was taking everything from me again. But then…a new follow up train of thought happened.

SHE was taking everything from me. Just like SHE always does. I’m so glad I’ve gotten away from HER so SHE can’t hurt me anymore. Wait…then why am I still hurting? She isn’t there anymore. Well, it’s not reasonable to believe that will end the trauma. No, but…if I continue to lose things…to someone who isn’t actively taking them…

I’m giving them away.

Well, crap. Let’s follow this train of thought.

Every time I think I’ve found my place with people…a moment will come where I feel left out (it happens to all of us)…and HER VOICE reminds me, “I always told you no one would really want you around…”.

Every time I believe I’m smart enough to succeed…HER VOICE tells me that I’m a fraud and everyone will see it soon enough.

Every time I find hope…HER VOICE reminds me that I am unworthy of happiness.

Every time I find joy and love…HER VOICE reminds me that I’m ugly and unlovable.

Every time I hear HER VOICE I withdraw and overthink and lose everything.

Her voice. Seriously. Her voice. A disembodied remnant from the past. The woman is still a lunatic and would love to hurt me, but…that part…who’s listening to a disembodied memory and letting it alter the course of their happiness?

Ohai! That would be me. Right here.

Every time I LISTEN to her voice tell me no one wants me around, I GIVE HER my sense of belonging.

Every time I LISTEN to her voice tell me I’m a fraud, I GIVE HER my success.

Every time I LISTEN to her voice tell me I’ll never deserve better, I GIVE HER my hope and happiness.

And every time I LISTEN to her voice tell me I’m unlovable, I GIVE HER MY HEART AND ASK HER TO BREAK IT.

A disembodied memory can’t take anything that I don’t give away.

Many many things were taken from me by my abuser. I was a child and had no control over their loss. Many Many reasons still exist as to why I need to stay vigilant and strong so that she can’t hurt me. None of that has lost it’s validity through this football to the nose.

BUT…the happiness that I want…the future that I hope for…the belonging and love that I dream of…

I’m giving those away.

And I’m not doing it anymore.

Happiness and love and hope…it’s MINE. And I’m not giving (it) up anymore.

A few weeks back I mentioned that I wanted to do some blogging on organizations and causes that need our help. There’s a lot of reason to the “Why” on this…and I’m going to give a brief explanation on this first blog regarding this specific topic before I jump into the first organizations.

So…anyone who knows me well knows that my biggest passion is Missing Kids. Because of my own history, this is a cause that is near and dear to my heart and always will be. It is where the majority of my volunteer effort and charitable contributions will always go. Notice that bold part.

BECAUSE OF MY OWN HISTORY.

But that’s the thing. We all have our own history. We all have our own passions that came about because of experiences in our lives. Whether you and your family were personally affected by domestic violence, cancer, diabetes, sexual assault (or any other of a myriad of issues that face our world today)…something left a mark on you and ignited your passion to make a difference.

That passion is something you fight for. That passion is something you volunteer to help with. That passion is something you will give for every time you know your help is needed and you have the ability.

That passion is a central piece of who you are.

And, thus, that passion is a central piece that you wish people understood about you.

With this knowledge, about 8 or 9 years ago, I started a project. As I mentioned, during the year if I give…my instinct is to give for missing kids. But, once a year I get a check from my holidays savings account. I put enough into that account that I won’t miss around $200. Through the year, that money is earmarked for this project. What is this project? Actually, I’m glad to tell you…I’m a little proud of this particular bit of brilliance (if I do say so myself lol).

When that check comes…I make a post on social media. I ask my friends and loved ones to tell me about THEIR PASSIONS. What organizations or causes mean something special to them? What world issue do they wish more people knew about? What is something that is such a central piece of who they are that they will fight it whenever they have the chance?

And…more importantly…WHY?

I ask them to tell me WHY this is the cause. I ask them to tell me how this particular cause is a part of who they are.

I ask them to help me understand this major part of them. Because…I’ve said it a million times and probably annoy people with how much I say it, but…being understood is one of our most basic needs and desires.

So, once a year my friends give me this list. From those that I haven’t donated to in the last year, I put them all in a hat and I choose about ten organizations to get about $20 each. It’s not much. I know it’s not much. But every little bit helps an organization…and every little bit of knowledge that people now have about this organization helps them tenfold.

And…most importantly to me…for a few minutes…my loved ones feel heard…feel understood…and feel supported.

My only request from them during this project is that they read other people’s responses and they consider doing this project themselves if they’re ever able.

SO…this year, I’ve already done my donations because I really didn’t need some of that stimulus money…and I decided that I was also going to turn this into a blog series. I want to highlight the charities that mean something to those around me.

But I’m going to be selfish first. Because, as I was scrolling social media today, I came across an organization that I didn’t know about. An organization that supports another cause that is EXTREMELY near and dear to my heart.

The foster system.

Foster parents get a pretty bad name. Unfortunately, that’s because some people go into it for the wrong reason. But…for a few days of my life…what should have been the WORST few days of my life…my brother and I entered that system. We entered it…and our foster parents were the most amazing human beings I think I have ever come into contact with.

Again…what should have been the worst days of my life, are some of the fondest memories of my life. We went to them in the middle of the night…scared…confused…afraid to go to sleep…terrified of what the future was going to bring. But the next day, we were faced with this…not foster family, but…FAMILY. They had one child of their own…2 other foster kids…and a foster baby that they were working to adopt. And they still took us in in the middle of the night. They made those days the most normal I experienced in my entire childhood. We played video games (I vividly remember that Track & Field pad that I had always wanted to try so badly!). We baked. We watched movies. We laughed. We were kids…in a time when our childhoods were being ripped away…we just got to be kids.

Because of that couple, I have always sworn that I would give back. I’m not in a place where I can be a foster parent right now, but one day that is a goal of mine. In the meantime, I volunteer as a babysitter for foster families when I can and when I’m needed. And I give in any way I can.

So, today…that scrolling…took me past “Together We Rise”. I had never heard of this, but I looked it up and they had a really high rating…but they supply foster kids with real duffel bags for carrying their belongings from place to place, rather than the garbage bag that many wind up using. My immediate thought was, “Permanence”. Permanence is something that is lacking for foster children…everything feels short term…everything feels…disposable. But that bag…that’s permanent and theirs.

So, I immediately gave this morning…and then decided that it was time to start this blog series and Foster Care was where I was going to start.

If you are so inclined, please check out ANY of these amazing organizations and remember, every little bit helps…and even just spreading the knowledge of the cause helps more than you know.

https://www.togetherwerise.org/

www.goshenvalley.org

www.fostercares.org

I’ve been thinking a lot about bravery the past couple of weeks.

I’ve never considered myself a brave person.

I mean…I’ve considered myself a stupid person because I usually have no regard for self preservation when it comes to certain daredevil type things…and when it comes to putting someone else before myself.

But, not brave. I’m too scared to be brave. I’m scared of doing the wrong thing. I’m scared of upsetting people. I’m scared of not being enough. I’m scared of being too much. I’m scared of being abandoned. I’m scared of being surrounded. More than anything, I’m scared of letting people in and being hurt or having my heart broken.

I live a life of fear. So, how could I consider myself brave?

But…like I said, I’ve been thinking about this recently. And especially right now as I lay here in my newly remodeled house…with this feeling of a fresh start…and I think…”My life has been one fresh start after another.”

I started fresh multiple times growing up. I started fresh after my divorced. I started fresh when I went back to school. I’m starting fresh with my new surroundings.

Do you know what it takes to start fresh?

Bravery.

I can be afraid. I can be so scared I am internally shaking and terrified. But…every time I start fresh…every time I make a huge change…every time I trust someone new and let them in…that’s bravery.

Not in spite of the fear, but BECAUSE of the fear.

There is no bravery without fear.

So…what are you going to do that’s brave?

I am in a fantastic mood today. Just deep down internal happiness.

(Give me a minute to get to the Whoah.)

It’s been awhile since I felt this. Things have just been spiraling since October, but I feel HOPE today. Will this feeling of perfect happiness last every second of the rest of my life? Hell no. Lol But that’s ok.

I am a firm believer that we need contrast. If we never feel sadness, how do we appreciate happiness? If we never feel tumult, how do we recognize peace?

But…TODAY… I’m happy and at peace.

Why? Nothing is perfect. Nothing ever is. Perfection is unattainable…but…everything is GOOD.

My almost 15 year old and I had FUN last night. Not out buying her stuff…at home working hard to put our house back together after some remodeling…we worked hard…and we laughed harder. If you’ve ever been the parent of a hot headed teenager…you know how precious these moments are. Don’t get me wrong, she’ll hate me later…but for those hours…I was her bestie again.

This morning I ran. Not the fastest or furthest I’ve ever run. But I RAN. Which I was starting to be afraid I’d never do again.

I’m back in some of my smaller jeans…and they fit like a glove instead of a sausage casing. I still need to lose another 10 pounds or so, but I’m making progress.

I looked in the mirror this morning and actually liked what I saw. Those moments are rare, so I bless them when I get them.

I’m finding my footing with my friends again. I’m getting through the semester and tax season from Hell. I’m pushing through and I’m making it. I’m exhausted and I’ve dropped a couple of balls, but the world didn’t end.

See? Nothing is perfect. Nothing is ever perfect…

Which was the beginning of my Whoah.

I have strived to be perfect for as long as I can remember. I don’t expect it from anyone else, but I have expected it from myself. I get angry with myself if I fail…I get angry with myself if I let anyone down…I apologize more than a Canadian with a cough during Covid season.

Why? Why do I expect more from myself than anyone else?

Because, maybe…just maybe…if I’m perfect people won’t leave.

WAIT, WHAT? WHAT KIND OF DRUGS ARE YOU ON, SHERI?!?

As I was thinking through this, my brain fell on a memory that it falls on often. Right after the kidnapping came to light…in the media circus and the strangers…there was this thought.

“This can’t be real. Anything else would make more sense. I’m betting that they decided they couldn’t afford 3 kids…so they came up with this elaborate story to get rid of a couple and keep the baby.”

In my head that made more sense than, “You’ve been kidnapped for your entire life and nothing is real.” And, honestly, until today…it has always made sense that I felt that way. Hell, we all try to find sense in the senseless. But, today it hit me…

WHY, in God’s name, would I believe it made more sense that they just didn’t want me THAT much?!?!

Because I wasn’t perfect. My mom always said I was ugly. No one wants an ugly daughter. I think I got a B on a test last week. The only thing I am is smart, so I messed that up, too. I’m too girly. I cry too much. I want too much.

I’m not perfect.

Maybe if I had been they wouldn’t have given me away.

Ridiculous. So, so VERY ridiculous. But that belief and mindset has shaped everything for the majority of my life.

Maybe if I’m perfect, no one will leave. Maybe if I do better, I can be loved. Maybe if I’m prettier…or thinner…or smarter…or kinder…or funnier…or…or…or

Maybe I can be worthy of love. Maybe someone…ANYONE won’t leave.

But, at times, I lost myself in my effort to keep the world.

So…WHOAH…That ONE thought…that honestly everyone always told me made sense and was understandable…shaped EVERYTHING.

But…I’m not perfect. No one is. I look homeless on a Saturday afternoon…I bomb a test…I get sick…I get sad…I break my leg…I mess up…

But I’m not alone.

Sometimes I’m a bitch…sometimes I’m moody…sometimes I’m anxious and afraid. That’s not perfect.

But I’m not alone.

I am not perfect and, yet, some people haven’t left.

So…today I’m relishing my imperfect life. I will have bad days with my kid. But I have amazing days with her, too. I will feel ugly, but some days I’ll be like, “Yeah…what up, you?!?” and give the mirror a lascivious wink. Some days I won’t be able to focus, other days I’ll get As without trying.

Ups and downs. Happiness and sadness. Imperfections and absolutely perfect moments. They will all happen…and no one will give me away.

Whoah

It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes the words want out before the sleep can come in. Tonight was one of those nights. 🤷‍♀️

Lying and staring
At the ceiling again
The words start to swirl
Paper begging for pen

The dreams that we dream
Are not just for the night
From year to year the hopes
And wishes take flight

But we hide from these dreams
As we face each day
We go through the motions
By the rules we play

Those days are long
And our fears are loud
We can’t find it in us
To speak our hopes aloud

We cry out in pain
But stand still in the mire
The pain of the known feels safer
Than the risk a leap would require

What is it we search for?
What is missing inside?
Is it love or happiness?
Is it pleasure or pride?

The questions, they swirl
As the ink flows to the page
Until we drift off to a sleep
To fight for happy across dreams stage

And in another room
Somewhere in the world
An answering heart is seeking
The same dreams that have unfurled.

Prefacing this post to say, I’m not sad today. I’m actually in a rather good mood. Just sharing some of the deeper stuff because, as I’ve stated before, knowing someone else has been somewhere makes you feel understood and not alone…and maybe someone else will get that from my sharing.

Oh, Easter. How I have such a love/hate relationship with you.

I honestly love that everyone can enjoy some side of Easter. Whether you celebrate a time of resurrection, a time of pagan fertility rituals, or even just a love of Cadbury and Reese’s Eggs…everyone has a reason to smile on Easter. We watch our children delightedly search out the hidden eggs and their baskets as we eye what candy tax we’ll be charging them later. Or, if you have no children of your own, you even less guiltily go ahead and snag the jelly beans of your tiny niece who surely won’t miss one jelly bean (whoops… one jelly bean turned into 20…she has no jelly beans…mah bad…).

Seriously, I really do love Easter.

It also brings back a memory that I don’t love…and one that still has way more of an effect on me than I like to admit.

The Basket.

Do you remember being a little kid…waking up on Easter…running into the living room and, technically following the rules of not starting the egg hunt, sitting on the couch so that you could discreetly scout out the whereabouts of baskets and at least 6 eggs to give you a head start? Oh…crap…was that just me? Nothing to see here…moving on…

Do you remember the excitement of finding your Easter Basket…filled to the brim with sugar and fun?

I do. My mother and stepfather did EPIC Easter. There were indoor and outdoor egg hunts. There were the biggest, most candy filled, baskets that I’ve ever seen even to this day. Every kid’s dream.

And my brothers got to keep their dream baskets. Those unending baskets of sugary joy that it took a solid month to get through. And every year I’d watch them enjoy them. Watch being the operative word.

You see…with a mother like mine…and her mental issues…certain things were laser focused on me. Besides the fact that any other female was competition for the attention that she felt was all rightfully hers, and thus must be destroyed…My mother came from a family of incredibly overweight women (so I hear, I never met them). My mother was, to the best of my knowledge, anorexic. I don’t remember seeing my mom eat growing up. What I do remember is being put on my first diet at age 5. I remember watching my brothers eat Dairy Queen but not being allowed to partake (this never happened with my stepfather, just my mother). I remember when I was 23 and my mother called me…asked about “my problem”…and was (for the only time in my life) “SO PROUD” of me because I told her I had started only eating crackers and drinking water…and then she gave me tips on how “people will tell you that you need to eat to live…it’s just not true” and, “you may pass out a few times and get really bad stomach and headaches, but that will pass”. (You guys, I wish I could make this shit up.)

But mostly, I remember…THAT DAMN BASKET.

Every Easter Sunday I would run alongside my brothers and find my giant basket of hope and sweetness. And every Monday after Easter I would wake up to find it gone…brought to her work to give coworkers because “you’re fat, you don’t need it”.

I vividly remember, what I mentally dub, The Easter Mutiny…the year I snuck out of my bed and took a bite out of every damn thing in that basket so that I could just taste it…and so no one else would want it. I also vividly remember how long I was grounded once she got to work and realized the depth of my mutinous actions. lol

The real kicker in this situation…while I did have quite the struggle with weight later…I was a SKINNY little kid.

I think our experiences and memories shape us…mostly for the good if we let them…This one…yeah, I think I could have done without this one. I stopped living that Easter at 10 years old. 32 years later…having recently been in the best shape of my life and now working back to that (shut up, my leg was broken…and I run because I LIKE FOOD lol)…being a woman who wears a size 0 (even now they fit…just a bit too snugly) and XS everything (if not child sized)…and looks in the mirror and sees FAT and hates herself…I know…

That damn basket is a symbol of the voice that I can’t seem to get out of my head that says I’m never going to be good enough…never going to be thin enough…never going to be…enough. That basket is a symbol of a lifelong battle with weight where I would go to extremes of eating everything or eating nothing. That basket is a symbol of why when I’m overly stressed and things seem out of control…my first reaction is to not eat…because I can control what does or does not go in my mouth.

To be clear, I don’t have an eating disorder. Instead I learned as much as I could about nutrition so that I could understand food and how to be healthy in my consumption of it while acknowledging and fully believing that no foods are evil and most belong in mah mouf at one point or another. lol But I have very much flirted with various eating disorders in my life…and there are still days where it is a struggle that I fight against that mindset…and there are very few days that I can look in the mirror and see anything even closely resembling what others see.

But…in other ways…as I type this…it did make me a better person. Or…at least…a better mother. I remind my daughter daily that I want her to be healthy, but that she’s beautiful no matter what. I remind her that her worth is not dependent upon her weight while, simultaneously, explaining WHY I wish she’d make healthier decisions. I have raised a daughter who, when I tell her she’s pretty, she tells me, “I know” with a cocky little laugh. She still gets mad when I get onto her about diet and exercise, but she also knows I’m coming from a place of wanting her to FAR outlive me and not a place of caring one bit what size she wears.

So…maybe that damn basket shaped me in ways that were positive, too.

Either way…since she isn’t home this year for the holiday…SOMEONE BRING ME SOME DANG CANDY!

How much time do we spend thinking about yesterday? What broke us…what made us happy…what made us who we are. The good…the bad…the ugly. The memories that make us laugh and the memories that make us cry. The days we wish had never ended and the days we wish had never happened.

How much time do we spend thinking about today? What stress feels like it’s going to break us…what circumstance we think we’ll never get past…what person is hurting us…what person we’re hurting. We think too much about the joke we made in the wrong moment. We think too little about the casual flippant words we said that hurt someone. We microfocus so much on the minute grievances and situations…and we forget to savor the the beauty in our world exactly as it is in this moment.

How much time do we spend thinking about tomorrow? Who we’ll be tomorrow…what we’ll have tomorrow…what we’ll lose tomorrow. Borrowing troubles that may never happen…hoping and praying for things that we think we’re going to need. Worrying about who will still be there…who won’t still be there…or planning giant dreams of how wonderful the future will be.

I do it a lot. And I’ve been thinking a lot about it today. Those who knew me yesterday, do they still know me today? Those who know me today, will they still know me tomorrow?

Not in a physical sense, but in WHO I AM IN THAT MOMENT.

Because I can’t tell you what will come tomorrow. I can tell you that I’m not the person I was in my yesterdays. Every day I’ve grown…I’ve diminished…I’ve grown again. A motto of mine has always been “two steps forward and one step back is still one step forward”. I don’t mind when I fall backwards a little, so long as I trend in the right direction.

I can’t fully explain who I am today. I’m a hodgepodge of my experiences and even of the events of the day. I’m up and down…my heart is full and then it hurts. I’m no different than you in that front. We are mercurial creatures and that’s okay.

I can’t tell you who I’ll be tomorrow. Will I be be better? Maybe. Will I be worse? Probably at moments. Will I be happy? Without a doubt. Will I also be sad, or angry or stressed, or a million other emotions? Yup.

I am a sum of my yesterdays. I am a survivor and enjoyer, in equal measure, of my todays. I am a dreamer of tomorrow. The only thing I can tell you for sure…

Tomorrow I’ll be…Different.

Most people have heard me say, at one point or another, that I truly believe that being understood is one of the most basic needs of humanity. It’s honestly a core belief of mine and one that I frame my life with. I don’t just want to know people. I want to understand them. I want to know what makes them tick…I want to know their dreams, their fears, and who they truly are.

For maybe the first time ever, I feel like it’s important for me to share WHY this is how I shape my life. I want my goal of understanding to be…well…understood.

Last night I broke down in tears to one of my best friends. I admitted that the core root of what’s been going on with me lately is that I feel lonely. I’m not alone in the traditional sense of the word. Granted, I don’t have a lot of family and I live with a teenager (lol), but I have people. People who love me very much and won’t let me disappear.

And, yet…I’m still lonely. I feel like I’m constantly on the outside looking in.

Why? Shared experiences and understanding.

Another core belief of mine is that there isn’t one person in this world who has felt more trauma than another. If the worst thing that has ever happened to you is your dog died…that is the worst thing you know and it was traumatic to you. Just as my past was traumatic to me. We ALL have things that we are trying to heal from.

But what makes me feel lonely…is that most people have someone they have shared experiences with. Most traumatic experiences have support groups because enough people have been through it. Most people can say, “This horrible thing happened to me”…and, if they’re willing to be vulnerable, they will find others who have been through the same.

Does that make it all better? Not at all. But it does give you the sense that people understand.

I don’t have that. I don’t know other people who were kidnapped. I know other people who had a mentally unstable parent, I don’t know many people who literally fear them and had to cut all ties.

Do I wish I did? Not really. lol I’m GLAD most people can’t understand that.

But it’s lonely.

When an Amber Alert goes off and I go into a panic…I have people who immediately text me to tell me I’m safe…but people can’t really *understand* that panic. When Mother’s Day comes and it breaks my heart to watch other people celebrate their moms…Very few people understand the grief of having a physically alive mother, but not having a mother. When the anniversary of us being caught comes…I have people now who support me…but they can’t really understand why it’s a dark spot for me. And, mostly…

People who have never dealt with parental abduction have a very hard time understanding why it’s not just over when you were caught…and an even harder time understanding one core concept of parental abductions… Many people will say, “But at least they’re with their parent.” Mentally healthy people don’t abduct their children. If a child has been abducted by a parent, they ARE in danger. Some people do it out of spite or anger…dangerous. Some people truly do it to protect their child because they are afraid of the other parent. What happens when someone runs away in fear? They aren’t thinking rationally. A parent who can’t think rationally…dangerous. Beyond that are the beliefs, “You must be so glad that it’s over.” “At least that ordeal is past.” Do you know what most parentally abducted kids are told? The group I used to work with called it The 3 Ds. The other parent is Dead…Disinterested…or Dangerous. We jokingly added a 4th D for me. Doesn’t exist. So, in the moment that everyone is telling this recovered child that they must be so glad it’s over…In one moment…typically their name changes, their surroundings change, and they are sent to be with this person that they were taught was dead…or disinterested…or dangerous. Or, in my case, someone they didn’t know existed.

In that moment…we learn that people don’t understand. And while there are many parts of trauma that one can be counseled into seeing that they are wrong…that one…they’re not. Most of those kids will never meet another person who truly understands their life experiences.

If they’re as lucky as I am, they will have people who TRY to understand. They will have people who support them even when they don’t understand.

But they may very well never feel understood.

When they try to open up, they will face people who blatantly don’t understand and act like they’re crazy. They will face people who act like they’re just being dramatic because it’s not something they can grasp. They will face people who, with complete heartfelt sincerity, will say, “I can’t understand this. But I love you.” Those are the best people. I have those people. But I also have the other people who…when I’m TERRIFIED because something happened with my mother…or SHAKING because an Amber Alert went off in surround sound…will look at me and think (and some actually say), “Can’t she just get over it?”

And the loneliest part…is watching everyone else be understood…watching people connect over shared experiences…watching this world that they’re not a part of because no one can grasp their past.

So, yes…Understanding. It is HUGE to me. I want to understand EVERYONE. I want EVERYONE to FEEL understood and heard.

Because the alternative is a sense of loneliness that I still haven’t figured out how to overcome.

“Children are Resilient”. I don’t know about you, but I hear this A LOT.

“It’ll be ok. Children are resilient.”

“She’ll get over it. Children are resilient.”

“He’ll get through this. Children are resilient.”

Resilience is “The process of handling stress and recovering from trauma and adversity.”

I know adults who can’t do this.

I believe that learning how to deal with adversity is a must in life. NONE OF US will ever live a life where everything goes as we wish…nor should we.

However, wouldn’t it be nice if our children didn’t have to learn how to overcome trauma?

I listened to my daughter’s best friend the other day telling me about her trauma…very real trauma…trying to laugh it off…trying to play like it didn’t matter…Why?

Because we’ve taught them that they’re supposed to be resilient.

We’ve taught kids that no matter what horrible things adults do to them, it is on them to be resilient and strong. We don’t help them process them…we push them to not need to…because, honestly, it’s more comfortable for us to believe that they’ll be ok than for us to admit that they need the help.

I can tell you what comes from being a “resilient” child in the face of trauma.

Resilient children grow up to make jokes to cover their hurt.

Resilient children wear their trauma like a badge of honor because the accolades they’re used to hearing are about how amazingly resilient and strong they are.

Resilient children learn to be afraid to tell people how they really feel and they grow learning to suffer alone to not cause anyone else any discomfort.

Resilient children learn to HATE the compliment of how resilient and strong they are because they would give anything to not have had to be resilient.

So…maybe it’s time we adjust the adult view of resilience. Maybe we use resilience in terms of, “Yeah…it sucks that you’re struggling with this subject in school…you’ll have to work harder than others, but you are resilient and strong and you will make it through.” rather than, “Wow. It sucks that this terrible, life altering event happened to you. I’m proud of you that you’re not letting it bother you. What? Are you trying to say something? Just that you’re happy, right? Right?! RIGHT?!?!”

Instead of telling a child to be strong in the face of an event that adults would crumble under…let’s teach them to be vulnerable and admit their feelings and that they need help…before they learn to pretend that they need no one.