Some days are so hard. I can’t breathe and I scream at my children. I remind my oldest he is not the dad and that makes him cry. He says, “We have no dad. We don’t even have one. Who else are they to look up to? I am the only thing they have.” We sit silently at the table. Tears silently fall. I can’t look into my kids’ eyes for two days. I tell my Mac therapist that I hate all forms of therapy. I want to call her and tell her that I hate therapy, but I love her. Then I wonder if that is too crazy.

I’d like to blame it on too much neurofeedback, but the truth is that I’ve done this before.

I know the culprit.

Fear. The Bible says that perfect love casts out all fear. I would venture to say that fear snuffs out love if we let it.

Tuesday was therapy in Salem. RAD therapy. Chani and I get to talk alone (together) with our therapist, Chris. The more we talk, the more I want to stop talking. At one point I just want to cry. I hear us moms talking and I hear the therapist’s questions. At some point we talk about my Ireland and her attachment. My heart breaks. I can’t decide if Chris is right. I want her to be wrong. Totally wrong, but I don’t think she is. I’m not convinced that she’s all the way right, either. I am being more vigilant.

But I am scared.

Scared that I’m not enough. Scared that my kids are so damaged that they can’t find healing. Scared that I can’t see the needs of my children. My big boy growing up into a man. What am I to do with that? I pull away when I’m scared.

Dusty hugged me 3 times this week. Truly and for real. She let me bless her and pray for her. That is a gift. I know it’ll get worse before it gets better. It’s like that with healing.

Tuesdays are hard. Brain work and heart work. My kids do art and I look at it and feel sadness. We made masks a couple sessions back. I did one child at a time. They laid down on the couch while I laid strip after strip of plaster onto their face. I spoke loving words to them. I told them of what I hoped for them, what I saw in them, and how I love them. They had the option of having their eyes covered. Dusty was the only one who chose that. I did her eyes last. I had to keep telling her to open her eyes so we could have eye contact while I spoke truth over her. It hurt. I hurt for her. Last session the kids painted them. Looking at Sage’s and Dusty’s made me sad. I didn’t know what to think when I saw Ireland’s. I wonder if I know anything when it comes to her now.

My brain map shows that my fight or flight part of my brain is as active as can be. Not surprising. This brain mapping is so interesting.

Over the course of Tuesday and Wednesday my friend spends countless hours on the phone talking with me or texting me. I laugh. I cry. I wonder aloud. As Wednesday comes to an end he lowers his voice and says, “It’s time.” Time? I hear it. I know what he means. It’s time to stop wallowing in the muck and stand up.

I am worth so much more. My kids are worth so much more. 

I have so much to say, but I am weary.

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