Minus One

My heart is breaking.

My daughter, who has Reactive Attachment Disorder, is especially RADish these days. E has been stealing, lying and manipulating much more lately. I get it. It's her attempt to control her world. However, her maladaptive behavior has turned into illegal behavior. We've had to make one of the most difficult decisions of our lives---and that is to enroll E in a residential treatment facility that has a RAD specific program.  We take her on Monday. She'll be there for 6-9 months.

I know. It's not ideal. It's not what any of us want. We are to the point that our excellent Christian counselors are even at a loss for how to help her. If anything, this program will be an intense reminder of the skills she's learned. She needs a reset. We need a reset. We all have PTSD from living with her. I know that sounds harsh, but it's true. The other kids are weary of having their possessions stolen, of being manipulated into a fight, and of the constant conflict.

We pray this helps.

I've been so comforted by friends who have had to do the same thing. There is hope. My friend Erin, a fellow adoptive mom, expresses herself so well in this piece she wrote for The Mighty.

My deepest gratitude to those who have come beside us in love and support.

Release

*Preface* This was meant to be about my daughter, who struggles with Reactive Attachment Disorder; however, the more I wrote, the more I realized that I do the same to my Heavenly Father. As we fight for the heart of our girl, I'm praying for those of you who are battling for the hearts of your precious treasures. 



Break down your fortress, little girl.
The walls you've built around your heart.
The jagged edges of stone on your battlements.
The walls made of anger and control.
Your self-preservation comes at a price.

From your earliest days, you were taught not to trust.
Lies and loss left you empty and hollow.
Those whom you trusted, hurt you deeply.
Stole your innocence.
More stones, higher walls.

Push, push away.
Push away first, so you can't be hurt.
The Enemy comes to steal, kill, and destroy.
Angry and alone, you crouch in your castle.
You pounce on the ones who try to reach you.

Run to the One who can free you, Princess.
Release control to your Abba Daddy.
Open your clenched fists to the ones who love you.
The Enemy's fortress is not your home.
Trust is your freedom.

Release the control to the One who treasures you.

Cast All Your Cares on Him

It's been a day.

My morning started out with having to confront my RADish daughter about stealing money from my wallet. It is frustrating and disheartening to have to deal with the same repeated behaviors that are a result of her Reactive Attachment Disorder.  (Please...for the love, DO NOT try to console me with, "But lots of kids do that", or something of the sort. Lots of kids don't have a brain that's been affected by trauma.)

Then, I got my happy.

This is the first time he's done this. On a whim, I asked if he'd like to feed Baby Bear. Bubby looked at me, incredulous, and fed her like it was the most familiar thing in the world. He's pretty amazing like that. I'm so proud of how far this boy has come!

After Bubby left on the bus, I started to get in a funk again about my daughter's RAD behaviors. I prayed about it, but didn't really give it all to the Lord. 

There was a knock at the door. A precious friend brought some gifts for Bubby, including money to buy the adaptive clothing that we really wanted to help him be more independent. 

 

God is so good. Even when we have trouble trusting.

God is the Abba Daddy to all my kids. He knows my frustration with RAD. He has a good plan for my girl...and all of them. 

And me.

Characteristics of the Child Molester

My ex husband is a child molester. He'll be in prison for a long time.

It's taken me over 2 years to be able to write with much detail in this public venue. My prayer is that I can continue to be used through this situation. I remember right after he was taken to custody, I stumbled upon an article written by a woman whose minister husband was found guilty of the same. Until then, I felt very alone. Hopefully, I can reach someone who is facing a similar, hellish experience.

With that said, I want to tell you about some characteristics and commonalities of child molesters.

• They are extremely sneaky. My ex (I'll call him EC for simplicity's sake) was (and I can only assume still is) a master of deception. The question I asked myself countless times after the arrest was, "How could I not know?" I lived with the guy for over twelve years--how did I miss this? 
• They are narcissistic. Everything they do is for attention and they can do no wrong. See this post for more info on this topic.
• They often choose careers and situations that put them in close proximity to children. EC was a children's minister and preschool teacher. We also adopted three kids. My heart breaks over this. We pledged in each child's country to care for these children. He broke that promise in the worst sort of way. My motivation for adopting was a God-given call to care for the orphan. I shiver to think of what EC's motivation was.
• They "gas light" those around them. This page has an excellent explanation of this term. I began to doubt my sanity and memory, after years of living with EC. He used these tactics to hide what he was doing to the kids. I truly felt like I was going crazy at times.
• They blame the victims. I am sickened to tell you how many grown adults I have heard of use the excuse, "She/he asked for it.", when referring to the children they have victimized. Seriously???? A child. Similarly, they use the gas lighting technique to turn their sympathizers against their victims. 

This is by no means an exhaustive list of traits of the child molester. However, I do want you to be aware so that you can help others in this situation.

And, as always, if you or someone you know are in this situation, PLEASE reach out. My kids are safe because a little girl was brave enough to talk to a trusted adult.

You are not alone.

Narcissism and Emotional Abuse

Sometimes you feel like he hung the moon, even though he treats you like dirt.

Somedays you want to run fast and far from the hurt that he causes--and then you reason, like so many other times, that you are just overthinking everything and it was probably your fault that xyz happened.

You wonder if you'll ever be free from the shackles he puts you in daily.

You keep replaying the tape, "I just need to be a better wife."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" slips so easily from your lips when you're trying to make everything right (calm him down).



This is the reality I used to live in my previous marriage. If this is a reality for you, please reach out. YOU have worth. 

You are not who he makes you feel.

For Such a Time as This (A fiction series)

Essie walked quickly down the sidewalk to her aging apartment complex. Downtown Philadelphia wasn't always a friendly place for a single woman. The other people in her neighborhood were okay--she knew most of the residents in the surrounding buildings. She was thinking of some of them as she absent-mindedly punched the cracked floor button in the elevator. She unlocked her door, went in, and put some water on to boil for tea. While she waited for it to steep, she pushed her dogeared book aside and curled up on her couch. Work had completely drained her today. She had been solely responsible for restocking the shelves of the convenience store on the University campus. Well, that and helping every student who came in. Her boss refused to hire help for her shift during the school year. She sighed and walked across the room to retrieve her tea.

As she sat back down, she thought of her time with Mama Lou. She had stopped by her apartment on her way home, to drop off the half gallon of milk she knew Mama Lou needed, but was too hesitant to ask. Lou had moved from somewhere in the South a few years ago. She really was just like Essie imagined a mom to be.

"What you gone do wit' yo life, Esther?" Mama had drawled. 

"What do you mean, Mama Lou? I'm an adult. I have a job.", Esther replied, amused with how Momma Lou insisted on calling her by her full first name. 

"Oh, girl, there's nothin' wrong with yo job--but you should be sittin' in class with those kids, instead a jus' cooking they frozen burritos."

Essie sat back on the faded, flowered couch in Mama Lou's dim apartment, allowing the older woman's words to sink in. She had felt very blessed to find a job right out of high school. She had excelled at school--made honor roll even. But college? Her dad lived on the other side of the city, in Germantown. He was a mechanic and had never even suggested college while she was in high school. He hadn't discouraged her--it just hadn't been on the table. 

Essie looked up at Mama Lou as she slowly raised her aged body out of her recliner. "God has a good plan fo' you, girl. You know Jesus. You always good at treatin' people like Jesus would. I jus' know the Lord has somethin' big fo' you. Come to think of it, maybe you aughta read about yo' namesake."

Now, thinking back to that conversation, she reached for her much-loved Bible and turned the onion skin pages to the book of Esther. She had forgotten how chapter one began. King Xerxes had thrown a party to display his opulence. During the long party, he had called for his queen, named Vashti. She refused to come.

Essie wanted to read more, but the long day had gotten the best of her. She pushed everything aside and stretched out, succumbing to sleep.

To be continued...

"Is she your first?"

I'm asked quite often if Baby Bear is my first child. More often than not, it happens when she and I are out and about while the big kids are in school.

I always seem to trip up at this question--as if it were a crack in the sidewalk.

"Well, sort of. I mean..."

Technically, she is my first biological child. And that's a pretty big deal if you know my journey with infertility. However, she's the very youngest of five kids.

The Sissies and the Bubby, as we refer to them. 

My tripping over my answer doesn't negate their value at all. They are forever and always, our kids. None of the four big kids came from my womb like Baby Bear did, and that doesn't change my love for them. Not in the least. It does, however, give me a great segue to share my story. And sometimes, God tends to use it in other's lives. I'm glad He does. I'm humbled He does.

The roles in our family are a bit tricky to explain to others--- kind of like how I'm bouncing the Bear on my leg and typing with my free hand, on the laptop that is rocking back and forth on the ottoman, as I sit in her bedroom floor. I'm just here mommyin'.

So, no matter what your family looks like, just keep on mommyin'.  You don't owe anyone an explanation, but God just might use your story to glorify Himself.