Sometimes I really don’t know how to respond to Hope’s “stuff.” I often wish I could just ignore it all, but I can’t.
Hope slipped into a funk earlier this week, probably because of school because school is *always* funk triggering. I seemed to pull her out of it one night when I forced her to sit with me and just talk. What I thought would be a painful 10 minutes turned into 90 minutes of good conversation and quality time.
This morning’s routine was smooth, but I could tell just by the way she put her key in the door that we were going to struggle this evening.
“Here we go,” I mumbled to myself.
And go we did.
Complaints about me at the hair salon.
Complaints about her stylist.
Complaints about the hairdryer.
Complaints about the hairstyle.
Heavy sighing about getting something to eat which was always the plan.
Mumble-whisper about the restaurant selection.
Momentary feigned contentment about the selected restaurant.
Cold shoulder over dinner.
Doesn’t eat dinner…at all. It just sits there.
I’m thinking, “ I could have just taken us home, but I’m trying to be a mom of my word. #fail”
Mumble-whisper about something in her random pseudo-language.
“Here we go. Here we are.”
Somedays I just want to grab my keys and run to the car and just keep driving. I know I’ll come back, but oy, she had best be in a better mood when I return.
This trauma-teen thing feels just impossible. And I’m annoyed by the way we present to others. It’s not so much that I care what people think; but it would be so nice to just be…inconspicuous, to blend in, to be everybody-normal and not just our version of normal.
I was incredibly naïve; I thought that being a same race adoptive family would allow us to blend in. It does in many ways; but when we have “here we go’ moments in public we become conspicuous. People notice. They don’t understand, and we stand out in ways that I just don’t want us to. It’s not even like these episodes can be passed off as just surly teen moments; no, it’s pretty obvious that they are different. They are special because Hope is special; because we are special.
Here we go…again.
These moments happen far less frequently than they used to and for that I’m grateful. We’ve worked hard to get better at this family and trauma thing, and so the stretches between the episodes are longer now. And while that’s great, the stretches sometimes give me a false sense of normalcy. It feels like we fell off the wagon when they happen now. We’ve fallen backward into the muck of trauma, and it takes a little bit to get that muck off me. She moves on more quickly, but I still struggle. I don’t anticipate these moments the same way I used to. My guard is down, and in some ways, I am more vulnerable to their emergence. After we recover from each episode I hope desperately that it is the last time.
It hasn’t been the last time yet.
I know one day that it will be.
Until then..here we go…again.