I’m telling you, the part of my life with V is so surreal. It’s like my existence with her is on some other level of consciousness than the rest of the world. It is so far removed and different than my life with even my other kids. And it isn’t always so tragic and heartbreaking. It has been an interesting ride. Each day, literally, I find out more about myself and how to best help Victoria. I have no manual. I have a doctor with his “best guess” treatment plan. Victoria feels like a guinea pig. I wonder if she feels like one, too. It is trial and error.

V left the psych unit yesterday and she is in a pleasing mode. It is refreshing. There is no way I could maintain it in this house. I can’t offer her what she got in the psych unit. 24 hour monitoring and no intimacy.

I know where we decide to send V will be the right place for her; whether or not she makes it the right place will be up to her. I am humbled and grateful for the outpouring of prayers on not only V’s behalf, but my family as well.

V is outside right now playing with Noah. It feels so right. Noah came in and asked if he could give her a cookie. I am amazed at how much they love their sister despite the fact she has turned their world upside down. I want to believe that I have had something to do with that grace they offer her but many times they do it so much better than me. They don’t simply learn from me, I am constantly learning from them. (Usually my weaknesses)

Each day that passes I’m letting the peace settle in.

has been my mantra.

On Thursday, Oct 6, we admitted V into the inpatient psych unit. I was banned by a supportive friend from blogging. I was urged to take three days off of all things V. It was hard but I did a pretty good job. It was the first time in seven years where she wasn’t in my care and I knew she would be safe.

It has been difficult for me to come back and blog at all. My emotions have been like ocean waves- high tides and low tides. Even with years with the prospect of, and months of the anticipated to, could not prepare me for what it’s like to visit my eleven year old child in a psych unit or tour residential treatment facilities. Seven years ago I brought my daughter out of an institution, but the institution never left her. To place her back in one, is heartbreaking.

The injustice screams resentment and is only quieted by a calm assurance that I’ve done all that I could. Finding resolution that it wasn’t enough is illusive at the moment. Separating I wasn’t enough from V’s ability or inability is a work in progress. I’m not sure how clear I can be when I know I’m still dealing with shock. Because we haven’t made a decision on where V will be going next, my feelings are suspended.

For many years, a RTC for V signified failure. Mostly mine. I no longer feel that way but the disappointment is heavy. However,  I must recognize that while my sacrifices made for V didn’t lead to the happily ever after I was imagining; it has provided success for many others. I find so much comfort and happiness in those that I have helped and to witness their success.

I can only hope that V uses this opportunity to be another part in her healing. The sacrifice for this extends far beyond me. We have had to reach out for help to make this possible. Financial assistance, prayers, fasting, phone calls have been felt and so graciously received.

Time doesn’t stop for the reluctant and it makes no concessions for the weary. Time doesn’t do that for me but I can do what I want with my time. I want to believe that I’m using more of my time to put things in perspective, get ready as opposed to my time using me.

This piece of my life could sabotage the rest of my life but I don’t allow it. I have already begun to find the silver in the lining. I have more time and more focus with my boys. I have far less stress. I am able to focus more on my studies and recognize that all things V easily dominated 2/3 of my life. I will take this time to not only heal myself but also my family. I am looking forward to this healing process. And it will be a process.

I am getting ready.

I can’t even recall the last time I remembered a dream until this morning. I didn’t even need anyone to analyze it; it was pretty self evident.

I was in Washington D.C. and had set up some kind of event. The day I was to drive there, I couldn’t get there. Every street I turned down upbruptly stopped and all there was, was water. I turned around and tried to go the exact way I had before because…I had been there. And yet, I kept hitting water. I would get to a bridge (that’s good right? they go over water) that would open and close for ships to come into the channel. When I was on the bridge it would start to rise up and if I was coming the other direction it was already up and I had to stop suddenly to keep from going into the water.

It was so stressful. I would ask locals for directions and they told me they’d heard of the place but didn’t know how to get there. And people that did offer me directions, didn’t get me there.

A truly hopeless dream.

At some point during the night I was on a softball field playing third base. Only, we were playing with a baseball, large aluminum softball bats and really large men, no women. I was nervous because they were hitting the ball so hard and all I had to field with was….a stubby, old pencil with no eraser. In attempt to do something when the ball came towards me, I’d try to hit it with the pencil.

The only time I did catch the ball was when someone was throwing a player out at third. I caught the ball so easily and when I looked down, I wasn’t standing on the base. Injustice!

I can so easily identify what all of this means in my life. And I’m not surprised at all that my subconscious is trying to make sense of it all. The emotional part of my brain looks at my life with V and says, “This is hopeless.” And then, the logical part of my brain says, “There is always hope.”

It is very much an internal struggle for me to maintain hope. I have to constantly seek it, pray for it and tie a knot in it and hang on. I’ve got many people willing to offer me directions and even though we are going to the same place, their directions won’t get me there. And I don’t think that’s any different for my path with V. Her path to success is going to be unique to her. And no, it hasn’t been fair. To work so hard, to be so close and still not be where I want to be, two feet away from the bag. No my playing field does not seem leveled.

At a very critical juncture in this experience I learned to give up what I wanted. I didn’t freely let that control go…I was compelled and pinned between a rock and a very hard place. I was pushed to a place with so few options. I wish I could say I freely hand over all my worries to God and trust implicitly but I don’t. However, I have learned to rely on and find hope in, a guidance that could only be divinely given and so humbly received. It isn’t particular to me; we all have that power to find out what’s best for us.

My dream is a fair depiction of the struggles I encounter daily. It’s not just the dead ends with V, but the large players, big bats, and hard ball that represent other stressors in my life. The insufficient pencil definitely tells me I need to rely on something more. And I do, I think that’s why I wasn’t pummeled by the ball and the huge players and why I didn’t ever drive into the water.

So, it’s interesting and entertaining to see how the mind works, especially to figure out things it’s unsure about. I do maintain hope but that doesn’t mean I don’t struggle with wanting certainty and release the pain of it all in a wall of tears. But I do know whatever you are going through there is peace to be had even when confusion abounds. Pray for it, look for it and expect it.

For now, I’m going to see how much this costs.

There’s not much time between fall’s welcome and departure.

I made it up on an over cast day with the smell of rain, pine, wet bark and a chill, in the air.

It is so peaceful here. If I could take this home, wrap it in a bow, I’d make millions. This peace, someone else cannot find for you, buy for you, give to you, will to you or email to you. You’ve got to go find it. It isn’t difficult but it takes time. I’ve got to convince the checklist in my head that this is today’s top priority.

Where is that place for you that testifies “All is well in the world”? It confirms, “It may not be what you want, but it’s still okay.” There is a promise in the pines and on the peaks. As I wonder how it is possible?

Instantly the sun emerges through but for a moment and then once again clouds close the curtain on the light.

Lest you think I am a pillar of strength and a fortitude of faith…it’s simply not the case. There are plenty of days where not only can I not see where this is all leading me, I don’t care. I long for certainty and there is none. I plead for people to give me guarantees and they can’t. I want to know that what I’m doing will make our family whole and that is the hardest part, knowing what I’m doing might not.

I have a tendency to minimize the difficulty of my life with V. I spent years believing that if I was simply more, she would be better. I spent years, in fact, until just recently thinking there are much harder kids than V, constantly minimizing my heartache, but she is incredibly difficult. I feel like there could be someone that could step in and possibly do what is so difficult for me, effortlessly. And then I pause, and consider all that I have endured and learned to be in a position to have so much confidence in what I do (yet still no guarantees).

Adoption stories aren’t supposed to look like this…heck, parenting isn’t supposed to look like this but it does. My life w/V isn’t in the majority but it doesn’t make it any less significant or important. I know we want fairy tales and dreamer’s dreams but  then there is so much I would have missed out on, personally, had I not picked up that four year old girl in my arms and made her mine. I wish there were some other way to have learned these incredibly painful lessons but this is my lot.

And it happens to be the lot for many more people that are reluctant to talk about it. No one wants to be rejected. No one wants to feel like they aren’t enough. These children have an amazing way of making the parent feel so inferior and inadequate. It’s amazing that even with all the knowledge and tools, I still find myself there. But instead of staying for days, it is short lived.

So, P.S., there a days I want to quit, I don’t think I’m enough, I don’t think I should have to give more, I do a horrible job balancing my life, but there are far more days when I give all that I am which I know is more than most because I’ve paid the price to get here, my balancing act is the best I can do and Someone keeps providing me the more I need. And a good cry is always so healing.

V has now been out of the house for a month.

When I initiated this a month ago, I didn’t know what to expect. The once blank canvas is now a recounting of desires, disappointments and dedication in a watercolor of emotions. Mixed emotions.

Mixed Emotions by Pino

The relief is so tangible. There is so much peace in the home. I feel so much closer to my boys. I simply have more to give and more opportunities to receive. The darkness of negativity is gone and yet, I want my daughter home. I wept as I considered what I wanted and the cold hard truth of reality. The daughter I am longing for, is one I rarely see.

I realize what I’m asking V to do in 6-8 weeks is nothing short of a miracle. I’m asking for a shift in her that is positive and respectful and consistent, which is  something I’ve actually never seen. And yet, I have too much faith in what I can do, what her therapist can do, what V is capable of and most of all what God can provide. I also realize that while I am doing all the right things, I still may not get my desired results.

It is amazing to me, that when my faith starts to waiver, as it often does, there is always something or someone there to compensate. It might be a phone call or a text. A verse of scripture or a song. A sunset or therapy session. It’s there. I simply have to be looking for it and allow it. So when her humility is replaced with anger, in a cycle my heart can’t keep up with, I continue drawing this canvas of mixed emotions and drawing on faith in things I see but most often can’t.

There are some tender moments in the hours of therapy we are doing lately. I keep thinking I want to record them and I forget. I need to have a pen and paper. Victoria is as clear as I’ve seen her in over a year. It does feel like she will need a therapy session every other day for the rest of her life to maintain it She is uncovering simple truths we’ve been trying to tell her for years. It’s as if she is finally discovering the world is not flat. It’s as if neurons are connecting:)

As we talk to her about the levels that she is moving up through in respite to eventually get back home, we can talk to her about responsibility and earning privileges. It’s very tangible to her because she’s choosing to make progress and so she says, in all her truly innocent wisdom, “So I’m practicing for a real life?”

She is definitely living a real life already. But I think “practicing for the life she is meant to have” is more accurate. I hope that she continues to have success and we can successfully transfer that back home. It will be a miracle in the making, literally. I am not following a handbook. The levels I’ve developed which include expectations and rewards are specific to Victoria. I have no idea what the transition looks like or what will be required. This is an act of faith; I can’t see my hand it front of my face yet I am being guided.

I am feeling so much hope today.

It isn’t anything in particular. It is everything all encompassing.

It’s not just the glimpses I’m getting in therapy; it’s the incredible view of seven years of hindsight. That reflection says whatever happens is meant to be and there is joy in the journey. And I don’t mean an overwhelming sense of happiness because that certainly hasn’t been the case but there has been hope. It is what propels us forward. It hasn’t been the kind of progression I prefer (a gentle upward slope); it’s been entirely more rugged than that. But here we are still putting one foot in front of the other, making adjustments and figuring out what works for V. I feel like I’m practicing for real life too. I’m ready for it to begin.

REAL LIFE

People with RAD are mean. In an effort to protect themselves from usually, baseless fears, they become selfish and avoidant. They also lack the self-awareness and empathy to understand what they are doing to others. Their selfishness is inconsiderate and thoughtless. Their avoidance side-steps responsibility. They really do walk around clueless. It’s frustrating and often painful, if not nearly impossible, to maintain some kind of relationship with them.

Manipulation is effortless. It’s what they do to lessen their fear and maintain control. They take advantage of others, they make promises they may want to keep but can’t. It is an emotional prison sentence. And in an effort to avoid that pain, they inflict it on others.

It is so difficult not to take these behaviors personally when they are so personal. It makes it nearly impossible to maintain a relationship because it lacks real trust. The only way for V and I to have a relationship, is if I offer her an endless supply of mercy and grace predicated on forgiveness. I have to be in a constant state of letting go. I can’t hang onto her negativity, that is a crazy ride.

The only way she is going to heal is if I continually put the responsibility of her life, goals and emotions on her. It requires that I have awareness and also very strong boundaries. Neither of which I had when I started this journey. Nor did I have the patience, mercy or grace. Someday maybe, I’ll look back and realize my weaknesses hindered her progress. I can say with full confidence that isn’t the case now. I try to look beyond her behaviors and put it in perspective for her. I am constantly re-framing things to keep her in reality and own her choices. As she takes responsibility for her life and all that entails, trust is built. She rarely puts forth the effort. Why is that?

If someone is constantly being enabled, they know someone else will do the work for them. Have you been in a relationship where you had to put forth your effort and their’s? You may think you are helping but it is a crutch in which the other person never learns to stand sufficiently on their own. It’s a terrible foundation and exhausting.

Often, V simply thinks it’s too hard. The moment that thought enters her head, all motivation is lost.

It could be she doesn’t know what to do. If you lacked empathy, it’s difficult, if not impossible, to recognize what someone else is feeling, so you aren’t going to know how to respond. V had to be taught and prompted. I can’t assume that she knows how her behaviors are effecting me.

There are many more but the last one I can think of tonight is apathy. It’s easier not to care. It requires no effort and no responsibility.

So yes, RAD kids can be mean. And it hurts. But my response can’t be reactionary, which means I have to avoid anger, resentment or revenge. And that brings me back to mercy, grace and forgiveness. Don’t get me wrong, justice is served when necessary, but influenced by love. Most of the time, I’ve got to let it go.

The only way this relationship will ever work, or any relationship in V’s life is if she takes responsibility for the things I mentioned earlier. It requires humility, that’s another post, for another day. When Taylor Swift’s song, “Mean” would play, V would ask, “Are you playing that because I’m mean?” (She often thinks the world revolves around her and yes, some days that was her theme song. But I’ve come to understand that although it often hurts, the behaviors aren’t as intentional as they seem.

V is finally working on her life. This is the only way it’s going to work, is if she starts putting forth effort because even if the spite and maliciousness is a protective reaction, it has to be replaced with more safe and effective coping skills to be a part of the family. Twice in the last three weeks she has shown me that she can choose a better way to cope with her fear. It is so nice not to see her so mean.

Seven years later, I finally take V to a psychiatrist for a psychiatric evaluation. I think part of me was hoping the doctor would tell me she has severe psychiatric issues and needs to be institutionalized. That sounds like something insurance would pay for. But she doesn’t; nor would institutionalizing her, help.

As I highlighted V’s traumatic history and subsequent behaviors (which are severe), the doctor looked at me and said, “This is fear based. There isn’t a medication that will fix it.” She also confirmed what I already knew, V doesn’t have bi-polar, ADHD or autism. Three of the most popular diagnosis for children with a trauma disorder. While V has many of the behaviors, she doesn’t have enough of them to qualify. And the bi-polar meds don’t work for her. We will try an anti-depressant and move on into other meds if needed, to take the edge off and give her a fighting chance.

Seven years in a safe and nurturing environment and V is still full of fear. We are dealing with hard-wiring in the brain…it might never change. And yet, I will always maintain hope. It may require a hope that transcends this life. The doctor was surprised to hear that I had a respite option and a therapist knowledgeable in trauma and attachment. She still isn’t sure how I am going to avoid residential treatment. I’m not sure of that either. It seems unlikely that a child with an unrelenting fear of abandonment will find much solace in an “orphanage for big kids.” However, as a family, we eventually have to do what’s best for the greater good.

V shifted for the first time in months this morning. I have no idea why or how long it will last. I don’t anticipate it. I’m just glad she can get to a place where she feels hopeful and motivated. She needs to stock pile a few more of those days to return back home.

As I left the appointment today, I wanted to yell this experience from the rooftop, because where is Victoria’s story? It’s ignored, hidden, and shamed along with the parents that are trying the best they can with so few resources, support and answers. The task seems daunting to give a voice to a disorder professionals don’t want to recognize or diagnose. Or worse still, that there is no medication that will replace fear with faith. And all the tools and efforts that can work, may not. Why then and how do, parents continue? I think I’ll ask some parents and report their responses. I think they will have something to do with this:    Love>Fear

“Like Darwinian evolution, individual change happens almost imperceptibly, with much trial and error. The individual instinctively resists mutation. he may live in a kind of swamp, but it is his swamp; he knows where everything is, what’s in the bogs and marshes. To leave his swamp means venturing into the unknown and perhaps falling into an even worse swamp.” (I Hate You, Don’t Leave Me)

This paragraph jumped out at me because it explained very well what I struggle to understand. V is comfortable in her swamp. I wish she could trust me that she won’t fall into a worse swamp…because in a few short years she could definitely find herself in a swamp far worse than her pre adolescent mind can imagine.

It’s not only the familiarity and fear that keeps in her in swamp-living; it’s also the effort it will take to get out. And then after all that effort, she will have to give up the victim shield that falsely protects her from responsibility and accountability. So for all the drawbacks of being stuck in a quagmire, she so chronically convinces herself it’s where she belongs. I’m battling some very low self worth and very poor thinking in V.

Lately, I can’t even contend with the crazy arguments in her head. They have gotten ridiculous. I still have RT on the back burner but last week (through so many prayers on my behalf, I know) the incredible burden to help V, became light. I can’t explain it; I can only feel it. I’ve decided to put her in respite (a home of someone that understands RAD) and commit to doing intense therapy with her over the next couple of weeks. I knew I couldn’t commit to nearly daily therapy unless she was out of the house. Because that’s what I’ve needed the most, to give our family a break and to live free of so much destruction and negativity. It’s sad to think in the whole Salt Lake Valley, there is only one respite provider.

So Victoria is away with the hope that there will be some kind of shift. I seriously only require a little bit of effort; she gives nothing. I also hope her psych eval will offer more hope.

I am one parent of thousands. $11,000 a month at residential treatment is ridiculous. Yet at the same time I have to pay for respite, private school and daily therapy which over the course of eight weeks will total around $5000 with no assistance. There comes a time when these children need to be out of the house for their safety and the families. Yet, there are very few options. Turning her over to the state into foster care is not an option for me. And give up my rights? Find a new family? and confirm her fears of abandonment all over again? Trauma. I can’t institutionalize her unless I let her spiral out of control and she hurts herself or someone else. Why would I want to wait until then? The system is so inadequate. So I then have to create my own residential treatment option. Unbelievable.

So, here I am again throwing the life preserver into the swampy water. I’m not going in to get her. I’ve been in her swamp and I refuse to ever go back. So I’ll wait now over the course of six to eight weeks to see if I can notice any of those almost imperceptible changes.