Finding Hope

It’s been difficult for me to write. My life with V is so depressing. It is so hard not to follow her to hopelessness.

This past week marked seven years since we brought Victoria home. It came and went with both of us wishing she was somewhere else. It’s been that hard. I feel so disconnected from her. That’s what happens when she won’t let me love her. She won’t let go of the hurt so she can feel my comfort. She won’t let go of the anger so she can feel my forgiveness. She won’t let go of the anxiety to feel my safe embrace. And sometimes I don’t let go of my resentment so even if she wanted to feel something from me, she couldn’t.

I am still trying to understand the complexities of V’s mental illness. I thought I had been through the hardest parts.

It feels like we’ve come full circle. How can that be? V is that shut down. I know the journey is not a forward climb. It feels as if we’ve walked up the mountain and then down the other side. Maybe that’s how it is with most people with a mental illness. Maybe she never gets better- for good. Maybe it’s just for a moment at different intensities. This is all mostly reflection. I usually only write in hindsight. It’s more secure. This is uncertain.

We told V that we are considering residential treatment. You can say it sent her into a downward spiral but the fact is, she’s been spiraling downward since last fall when I put her in school. I tried to push her through and she was so resistant. V attends New Hope Academy. As I volunteered today, I witnessed so clearly what is happening to V. She refused to settle. She was given activity after activity to calm and when nothing was working, I took her in my arms. She doesn’t physically fight me but emotionally it’s a battle. She was squirming and jumpy. I had her breathe deeply; they were nervous breaths. I told her to just relax, be calm. She stopped being fidgety but she certainly didn’t fall into me. I held her for 30 minutes and finally asked what’s wrong: “My feet are aching.” Isn’t that interesting? It wasn’t her neck or her back. It was something that wasn’t being touched at all or held in an uncomfortable way. I knew the real problem was that her heart was aching and she didn’t want to feel it or let me comfort it.

The ride home was hard. She decides not to buckle in, she reaches up turns on lights, yanks on the window shades, jumps around and acts crazy when she sees a police car, accuses me of not loving her, threatens to jump out of the car, tries to roll the window down to throw things out, reminds me that I am mean, mocks with questions, whines that she will NEVER go to regular school. I placate her. I speak to her calmly and say, “That’s interesting,” or ” Okay, you can believe that if you want,” or “You know everything so you must be right.” I have no control in the car. It is Victoria’s last stand. It is the only place where I know she senses my anxiety level rise. Wow, I’ve come a long way. I remember calling her therapist from the car so many times because I didn’t know how I was going to make it from Point A to Point B and wondered what my options were. I’ve come to realize I don’t really have many. The main one is to try and avoid car rides all together.

Tonight when I tucked her in and she was cold and distant, I wondered aloud why she chooses this life. I wish I was convinced a medication would make a difference. I wish I could say there was something that prevents her from being respectful and obedient. I’m still convinced it’s a choice for her and as a therapist told me recently, “It’s hard to find people that will work with these kids because they have to want to change.”

If we decide to send V away, it’s because she refuses to change. It certainly isn’t because she hasn’t had the opportunities. Of course now she is convinced that she doesn’t want to live in this family and she hates it here. But it is far too late for those lies. She’s lived and loved too much here for me to ever believe those defensive statements. They are just more lies that try to push us further away. And eventually they might but not because I wanted it to.

My faith wavers but I have always maintained hope. And maybe my hope isn’t as bright for V but it’s important for me to keep my life in perspective independent of V. I have faith in a loving God. I have received answers to prayers to know exactly what to do for V. I’m learning a new lesson now. We could learn through personal revelation but sometimes we need to learn through experience. He could tell me what to do or He can let experience show me what to do. I prefer the first, He’s using the latter.

It is important we maintain a perfect brightness of hope for a future that otherwise appears bleak. And I don’t know any other way to exercise that kind of faith except through Christ. I can’t think of anything on this planet that could have sustained me with V for this long.

So even though this experience does make other things in my life more challenging, I can still find love in my other children, accomplishment in school, unwavering support from my husband and the most generous friendships one can imagine. I can still find relief on the tennis court and so much satisfaction from a long run. It really is faith today, that keeps tomorrow bright.

It was a painful conversation for V. A conversation most parents will NEVER have with their children. As I pull back from V, I have to let the pieces fall where they may. It is hard for me. I feel conditional. I even feel neglectful. I have to love her and protect myself at the same time. It is a delicate balance. My love wants to rescue her. My self-protection wants to hate her. The polarizing pull is crippling. I have to find it in me to accept and understand and allow.

V is hitting rock bottom. My conversation tonight painted a crude and unedited version of her life. One that is full of hate and loathe manifesting itself in disgusting behaviors, disrespect and contempt. I told her that I understand that she thinks she is loathsome and disgusting and all these behaviors are confirming how she feels. “You are not those things, ” I remind her, “but if you want to continue to self destruct, I can’t stop you.” I reminded her also that the only way to heal is to have a desire to change. This isn’t will power; this is simply a want, a baby step and humbleness for help. Without that, I can’t do anything and anything I do is interpreted as entitlement and received as selfishness. It hit a very painful nerve, V was fighting it but it was too big. I told her, and sometimes I wonder if I should, that if her desire doesn’t change soon, I will have no option but to find a place for her that is not so destructive to the rest of the family. I reminded her that I can take her anger but I don’t have to subject her brothers to it when I think it is damaging. She is very aware of this reality; it’s hard for me to tell if she cares.

I do believe she was in anguish; I just don’t know if this sorrow wants to do what it takes. She told me tonight, “I know how you feel.” I clarified, “V you have no idea how I feel. I hope you never, even remotely have to feel what I have endured. You can’t know how difficult and painful it is to try to love a child that is so mean and cruel. This is why I work so hard to educate and help other mothers with a hope they don’t have to know what this feels like.”

It really feels like I am constantly trying to keep sparks away from combustible material. And if you understand the intensity of the anger in these children, then you know sometimes the heat of the flame is enough to cause an explosion. I am feeling grateful for the rocky road tonight. I am incredibly grateful that I have the power and confidence to do what it takes for V even when it is hard. That I can finally do it without anger or inducing shame. I still struggle to manage the stress but I don’t know how one could effectively do it without going into complete avoidance. So it is part of this journey for me. I am incredibly grateful for friends and family that ask about me, worry about me, care for me and pray for me. I would not be here without this critical support.

As I sit through my psychology courses I am convinced that V suffers from Type II Bi Polar disorder. This is when I really wish I had her bio parents medical history. She has attachment issues; she suffers from PTSD; and these are very tough diagnoses. When I first got the diagnosis of Reactive Attachment Disorder, her therapist suggested I take everything out of her room with the exception of her bed. I, like most parents, fought that for years. I just let her systematically destroy everything that was in there. I would take it all out; and then put it all in again. After taking her dresser and night stand out. She began to dismantle her bed and then use the screws to scratch up her door and I didn’t allow enough time to see what she would do with bed rails. Then V turned to her walls and systematically peeled the paint off and then went for the dry wall. We then put up plywood that looks like whiteboard. Then as I blogged about before, she pulled up her carpet. Then she started to tear holes in her mattress while urinating on it as well. This has transpired over the course of four years or so. Four years in an orphanage has left a terrible, horrific, heartbreaking, frustrating, imprint on her soul. I see V still trying to get me to re create the orphanage. There is no doubt my home feels like an institution for her.

I sometimes catch myself thinking if I restore everything to what is was before, after not having things for so long, she will crave it. Want it. And appreciate it. I have been bit by that logic more times than I care to remember.

I have given V so many tools and skills to cope with the anger, I simply can’t make her use them.

There is one thing I ask V to do when she gets in the car and that is to put her head down and no talking. Both things that can be calming for her; I’ve seen it. And usually when I see she is pretty regulated, I have her look out her window. The fifteen minute drive home wasn’t as bad as it could be but I felt sorry for her. She wouldn’t do it.

At this point I refuse to do anymore for her than she is willing to do for herself and it is proving to be very difficult for me to watch her settle for so little. I know she is waiting to get something for nothing. And it doesn’t take much in her fantasy land to think she’s getting more than she is. She wants to engage me. She wants me to do all the work and I have stepped back. I’ll wait. My acceptance of whatever she is or isn’t offering is so frustrating for her. It means she is missing out on a lot of things and to get better she has to take responsibility. But instead she twists my words in an effort to engage me and try to trap me. Is she serious? After seven years, I am way too smart and strong for that.

V shields all of my love. She deflects my words and twist them with her own. She views the world through a negative lens so I have to be very careful not to reinforce it and remain hopeful. Depressed people live in the past beating themselves up. Anxious people live in the future trying to be fortune tellers. It’s very difficult to get V to be in the moment. People that don’t live in the present miss out on so much of a life worth living. And that’s simply where I am trying to get V to be.

It is difficult. It is painful. It is a broken road no one can seem to fix. I have people speak of my empathy, comment on my charity, recognize my strength, amazed at my patience, and yet the very person I want so much to recognize this and feel it; doesn’t. It’s amazing how one person can desecrate the best parts of me and leave me wondering if they are really parts at all. I have daughter that won’t let me love her. It is difficult. It is painful.

I pull back because I refuse to be a perpetual sacrificial lamb whose offering is not valued. Right now I don’t engage her. I don’t offer her more. I simply cannot, at this point, work harder than she is. And tragically she takes no responsibility and blames me for her plight. I am why she has no friends, no activities, no privileges, no desire. I am mocked. It isn’t me. V is cold and creepy still.

I feel directionless at this point. Stress in other areas of my life is following Murphy’s Law. I see other parents being inspired to relinquish their children or send them away. I don’t have that option and right now I wish I did. I will always have hope for Victoria. I have too much faith in what God can do, I simply have no faith that V will do. And because she chooses not to, should this road not be mended,  I know eventually I will send her to a residential treatment facility.

I have questioned and even blogged before on the purpose of advocating so hard and spending so much on a child to only end up in RT. Maybe I’m just making excuses for myself but I know no matter what, this experience has made me stronger, more aware, more compassionate, more loving, more forgiving, just more. I want to believe I have given V a foundation should she ever choose to stand on it. I know no mother could offer her more.

I have other children. I have a husband. I have college courses. I have so many other responsibilities and it is so hard for me to pull back with V but I am not an endless source of anything. Yet the guilt is biting. And so I’m blogging to convince myself that focusing on those things and people that can be reciprocal and rewarding must take precedence and she will be right there in the receiving when she is ready to give. Even the smallest part. It only seems fair that if I am bound by God’s directive, “where much is given, much is required” and because I’ve have given her all that I have, then she is bound by it also.

I am struggling with this post.

This is not where I imagined year seven with Victoria.

This is the hardest thing I have ever done and will ever do in my life.

I have never felt more hate and contempt for me from another human being.

I have never witnessed such mean actions void of responsibility or remorse.

I have often wished I’d never known what good V is capable of. It makes the bad times so much worse.

It would be so much easier if I could look at her and say, “She just can’t.”

And yet I worked so hard for the last four years to get her to a place where she can…just to see her choose not to.

V is in a creepy, scary place I haven’t seen for a while. I guess this is what taking her off her meds looks like.

I wasn’t so thrilled with the results of the meds, even though it was far better than now. I’ll have to find a doctor that can handle a more difficult patient.

Emotionally, I am slowly recovering from the last two days of V’s abuse. Physical, verbal and emotional. There was a day this could have had me down for months. V is very scary and volatile right now. I know that while this isn’t the place I would have hoped for seven years later; it’s far better than where we would be if I hadn’t worked so hard. I have no doubts if I hadn’t worked so hard and been so diligent, V would have done some very harmful and damaging things. I’m sure that would have put my kids, and other people’s kids in harm’s way.

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So, it’s been about four days since I wrote that blog entry. I never did post it. I struggled with putting into words what I was experiencing; that still doesn’t do it justice. And you know what? There was never an apology. Restitution looks more like obligation. Her life moves on and so must mine.

It looks like sensory amnesia. I guess that’s called disassociation. V remembers what she did but I’m convinced she doesn’t recall the intensity of it. I don’t know how anyone could live with themselves if they did what she did on a consistent basis. And I guess they don’t. Teenagers with these bi-polar episodes do commit suicide. It is a sad reality.

I’m reflective on how I’ve gotten to this place where she doesn’t drag me down to the depths of hell with her. It’s so many things, that required time to learn them. It’s taken prayer, a better understanding of V, and looking at her with a different perspective especially one that doesn’t take things personally. It’s required me to be comfortable with who I am and how I respond to her. An incredible amount of patience that mostly doesn’t react. Reminding myself that I am not responsible for her choices and not to carry any guilt about her consequences. Accepting things as they are and not constantly wishing they were different has been pivotal. It comes back to knowing what I really have control over. That’s why it’s so important when V gets out of control, that I go and do something that is within my control. And could be as simple as cleaning my room, taking my other kids out, walking the dog, running, playing the piano, writing a blog.

And Tuesday. And Wednesday.And the next day…

Seven years later, I never imagined I’d find myself in this place with Victoria. Why am I? Why isn’t she better? In some ways, she feels worse. When we began to make so much progress with Victoria, when the wall came down and we had really beautiful experiences with her…what went wrong? We had summit-ed. Supposedly. Instead, she feels just as sick, only more aware.

I lecture; I testify; I support on a mental illness that I know so much about and yet seem to know nothing.

Victoria came out of last week’s therapy session so positive. I realize now it was mania. It was impulsive, sporadic and shallow. I just accepted it like it was the real deal-until it crashed and burned into flames with me once again getting the fallout. It’s no fun pretending; that’s her world, not mine. Can a therapy session cause her to be manic? I guess it’s called hypomania…I don’t really want to know.

V’s progress seems to be getting different, not better. I’m tired of trying to figure it all out. Just when I think I am beginning to understand her and I can hope for some stability; she becomes more complicated.

I’m exhausted; can you tell? I’ve got too much on my plate…I’m scraping some of it off, reluctantly. And some of it I don’t have any control over. I’m waiting for miracles. And praying. And seeking. And hoping.

It’s been awhile since I have written. I think I’ve needed some time to step away from thinking too deeply about RAD. I’ve also been waiting for V to settle after a really awful school year. As she begins to settle, I realize how destructive her school experience was. I still can’t convince the school district of the fallout. I don’t see her feeling safe in any school setting. I don’t know what that setting looks like.

V has been going to New Hope Academy for about three weeks. She has moments of intense anger but she isn’t dark and disconnected. I took her to a new therapist that will be doing DBT with her and while I think the therapist is clueless about attachment, I think the change is refreshing for V. The therapist wanted to meet with V alone. This is interesting because before I would have wanted to be in the room to protect myself from V’s lies but today I wanted to be in there so help V feel safe.

It was a good session and V left feeling very positive. Later in the day she said, surprisingly, “Wow, I like a lot of things.” I am amazed how disconnected V is when she is full of anxiety and fear. She doesn’t even realize what she likes and doesn’t like. I’ve known this but it’s amazing to see her awareness. It is refreshing. I know this evidence of her healing; the ability to be aware of such simple internal states.

When V gets stuck in her shame it easily turns into blame, entitlement and an insane amount of selfishness. And it doesn’t let up. Each day it’s as if she looks for more ways to reinforce the lies in her head. Today she again used the analogy of placing bricks on her heart.

I’ve been waiting a very long time for her to take responsibility for her choices. I try to process and reframe things for her but I get exhausted by it all as well. I mostly tire of her not accepting reality. It is very easy for parents to pick up bricks from the same pile and allow the wall to become twice as thick. I used to do it all the time. I still pick up bricks but don’t really begin stacking.

Victoria can feel; deeply. She can feel remorse and joy. She can, with an incredible amount of effort feel empathy and with far less effort feel hate. She has a full range of emotions, some just come easier than others. We are all like that. She does everything possible to avoid pain, which is perfectly understandable except that is a feeling that motivates change. It is very difficult to watch her feel through her pain. But from personal experience I know what awaits on the other side. It used to take intense therapy sessions to tap into those feelings. So while V may avoid them, I know she can go there with a little prompting from me and battle through when she is willing.

I read an article the other day titled “Meditative Prayer, Hope, Adult Attachment, and Forgiveness:
A Proposed Model”. It’s a scholarly journal article that ties in spirituality to attachment. It is my own opinion, I don’t think people can heal from attachment disorders without a spiritual perspective that provides hope predicated on prayer and forgiveness.

The two things I offer Victoria on her path to healing is grace and accountability. But I’m not the only one. She has a Heavenly Father that is far more perfect in wisdom and grace. That spiritual perspective has been huge for V mostly because she really does care far more what her Heavenly Father thinks of her, than me. And I am so okay with that because I won’t always be around to offer her those two things. I think at some point in everyone’s life they transfer that accountability to parents to God. V just seems to be having to do it at a far younger age. And her capacity to feel and understand that relationship astonishes me every single time I witness it. The article talks about how “the worshipper–God relationship more closely
parallels the infant–mother relationship…”. V missed out on that infant-mother relationship. If I can help her find it in a relationship with God, I know she’ll be okay.

I reminded her today that there is a difference between suffering and sorrow when we experience pain for making wrong choices. Suffering says the pain will never end; sorrow says this is but a moment. Suffering says there is no way out; sorrow says there is healing in His wings. I can’t right all of Victoria’s wrongs. I can’t provide what she missed out in critical developmental periods early in her life. I can’t make her whole but I know who can. So while healing from a disorganized attachment is multi-faceted, I can’t underestimated the spiritual perspective for V. And I don’t necessarily mean religious. I mean introspection, self-awareness and mindfulness. It’s critical. It is what will eventually get her to take responsibility, be less impulsive, more aware of consequences and empathic.

I gave her an analogy a few weeks ago comparing her life to a race car. I talked about how an engine running on high all the time would ruin a race car. We talked about how they avoid that by using pit stops. So in our conversation today she began to tell me the pit stops she is going to use at school tomorrow. I don’t know what that will look like but I mostly care that she is even planning. She is taking control in a very constructive, healthy way.

Once again, days like today reveal so much hope. I know what is inside of her. I know what she is capable of and right now she has the desire to pursue it.

Victoria’s early experiences in her life were profoundly negative and attached to those memories are very strong emotions. This has caused her to look at most things in her life in a negative way. It seems all of her experiences now continue to pass through a negative filter. Can you imagine living a life where there never seems to a “bright side”? It’s like chronically waking up on the wrong side of the bed everyday. And because her negativity is so pervasive, it wants to take me there too.

I have to work very hard to not be sucked into her negativity. Today she didn’t do anything I asked of her so she could earn going on the family outing. I wanted to say, “I guess you didn’t want to go,” or “It looks like you’d rather stay in your room”. But that really isn’t the truth and it only provokes her. Today I just went and said, “Did you want to go?” to which she replied, “Yes”. I simply said, “Well, you have just discovered what doesn’t work. So next time you know what not to do!” And I was serious and she was of course irritated because all the responsibility was left on her. Oh sure, she tried to give it to me but she knew it was a fruitless argument.

I am thankful that I’m constantly finding new ways to respond to V. I want to respond in ways that show I’m not provoked, that I really am accepting of whatever she chooses to do and it really is up to her. It is hard; not so much that she is so defiant but she gets so mean. And it never really goes to sorry. It just gets packed down in what seems like a bottomless pit of entitlement.

School is over so it will be interesting to see what the summer will bring. I am actually very hopeful.

Traumatized kids save their furious wrath for their primary caregiver. It’s simply their way of saying, “I’m mad you left me and I didn’t feel safe.” It’s been a while since I’ve seen V this angry. It’s been a while since she’s thrown things at me, left a puddle of pee in the corner and been destructive at home. It’s easy to think there is something wrong with me. I know she wasn’t really okay for her dad this afternoon but nothing like I see tonight. I’m so glad I have the tools to help her stay safe and I’m so grateful for the understanding I have of what she is doing so I can be sincerely empathic. (Except when she slams my hand in the door…my appearance is calm but inside I am not being sensitive to anything V)

Last night I was lucky enough to attend another family meeting and witness the miracle of what love and support can do for families struggling with a challenge that is so complicated and hard. The school psychologist that attended was so supportive, open-minded and aware. The exact opposite of what I’ve encountered for the last year and half. It put in perspective how bad V’s school experience has been. I wondered what it’s all for. I have to believe that horrid experience will surely provide some greater good. I pray it does because it has been so destructive. I don’t think I could have encountered a worse response from a special ed director, principal and teacher. I never really had any of their support. I only had their cynicism. And it never changed.

But through it all, I kept the faith. The faith in me. My faith in God. And my faith in those that support me. I don’t know what next year looks like for her. I’m not overwhelmed by it. My path has been made sure to this point and I know that it will continue to be.