Fighting Back, part 1: Introduction

My last blog post on anxiety garnered a surprising response.  I guess I was surprised that so many of you have struggled with this, or are currently struggling.  I had no idea.  This is a subject which for some reason seems to be taboo in spiritual circles.  I'm not exactly sure why that is, but I'm guessing it's because there are certain expectations that a truly faith-filled person should not struggle with anxiety.  It was encouraging to receive texts and messages from others who have felt the same feelings, had the same thoughts, and experienced some of the same things. Giving each other a safe place to talk about our struggles, a place to be vulnerable and not be shamed, and a place to share ideas and resources is not just helpful, I believe it's necessary.  Isolation and shame are the very worst outcomes for someone struggling with anxiety or depression.  We need to be doing the exact opposite:  Throw wide the doors and welcome each other in with compassion and grace.

In that vein, I wanted to use this space to continue the discussion and share ideas, and invite you to do the same.  There are no formulas, no one-size-fits-all plans in this journey.  Each of us has a unique story, and so each of us will be drawn to different methods and avenues towards healing.  I also believe as we grow and encounter new experiences, our methods may need to change.  What worked for me last year may no longer work today.  This is a fluid process and the more we let go of expectations and embrace the ambiguity of growth, the better able we'll be to keep up with our healing process.

I've entitled this Fighting Back because to be passive is to open ourselves up to dangerous territory: listlessness, indifference, and giving up, and a tendency towards unhealthy coping mechanisms that may work for a time, but do not have the staying power for the journey.  Fighting anxiety requires intentionality, determination, and willpower.  It's a daily choice to use the tools we've collected along the way and to invite others in to encourage us and cheer us on.  And when we fail (which we will), we give ourselves grace, but get right back up and keep fighting.

I am working on three more blog posts which will address our spiritual needs (soul), our physical needs (body), and our emotional needs (mind).  I'm really excited to gather these ideas into one place and welcome any comments or suggestions from you. Please feel free to private message, text, or email me any of the tools that have worked for you - I would love to weave those in where I can (I promise I won't use your name)!

Brene Brown says, "Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light." As spiritual beings, our light comes from the source and origin of Light and our true Hope: Jesus.  "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it."  John 1:3

Thank you for being brave with me.

Dismantling

I had my first panic attack in an airport. My husband and I were returning from a glorious vacation and had a few hours to kill in the Florida airport. I remember sitting in front of large panel of windows, facing the planes landing and taking off, and thinking that soon we’d be boarding one to go home. The feeling started at the top of my head: dread, panic, and fear, slowly spreading down my face, upper body, and dropping like a ball into my stomach. Instantly I felt nauseous. I doubled over in pain. I tried laying down. I tried walking around. My mind and heart were racing, as if they were in competition with each other. I couldn’t think clearly, my mind turning to irrational thoughts such as, “Can we just stay here, and not go home?” And the worst one of all, “I would be fine if the plane crashed.”

My second panic attack happened a few weeks later. I was walking down a hallway in my house, and a thought triggered a fear, and I doubled over as if someone had punched me in the stomach. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I hunched over for a few seconds (which felt like an eternity), attempting to take a full breath. When I stood up my stomach felt like a hopelessly tangled ball of yarn. Heart racing, shallow breathing, stomach churning. “What is wrong with me? Why can I not get a grip?” It felt foreign and invasive, and I felt helpless. It lasted a few hours. Or days. Turning into weeks. I lost sleep. I was distracted in my daily life, unable to focus when someone was talking to me. Unable to complete simple tasks. Going through the motions. Surviving. Who is this person?

I’m usually fairly put together. Friends joke about my calendar - color coded and detailed to a fault. I like life to be like my calendar - neat and ordered and clean and predictable. I’m able to juggle many things at once. I’m good at remembering details. I make to-do lists and I check them off. I can handle stress - I was a teacher and I am a mom and am used to doing lots of things and doing them pretty well. I was good at life.

 

Until one day, I wasn’t. It was all just too much.

I have since talked to other people who describe similar experiences, albeit with some differences. Some feel it in their head, some in their shoulders or back, some in their stomach. Some people get a migraine and have to go to bed. Some people, like me, feel it in their stomach and cannot eat. Sometimes there are real life triggers that can be pointed to as a cause. Sometimes there are not. Sometimes it’s the anticipation of an event, a conversation, or an expectation. Sometimes there is no reason at all.

And I hate that. I hate that more than anything else - because if I know ahead of time, then I can prepare for it. I can create a plan. I can line up solutions. I can predict outcomes. I can manage. Ha. The joke was on me. I couldn’t control this.

One day I couldn’t even get out of bed. I lay there staring at nothing. I had zero motivation to get up and do anything. If you know me, this is so not like me. I usually spring out of bed before my alarm, ready to conquer the day. And I couldn’t. I could. Not. Do. It.

 The stomach aches, the racing heart, the fuzzy thinking: it was an outward physical representation of all that was going wrong mentally and emotionally and spiritually inside of me.

 Cue the Bible verses and songs and motivational speeches. The “5 Steps to Overcoming Anxiety” articles. The recommendations and self-help books. Been there, done that. And that is the crazy maker about anxiety. You can KNOW what to do, know the right answers, and still be overcome. You can do all the things, and still feel totally helpless.

I had my scriptures on a ring clip: “I have not given you a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love and of a sound mind.”(2 Timothy 1:7) Okay, I have been given a sound mind. So where is it? Why can’t I grab hold of it?

“Cast all your anxiety on him, for He cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:7) How exactly does one “cast” anxiety? I know He cares, I definitely know that. But how does that help me through a panic attack?

 I had Christian songs on repeat. Songs about no longer being a slave to fear, about being in the eye of a storm and still trusting, about His hand being strong to save. Amazing words. True words. And yet...I could listen to a song, believe it with all my heart, and there would still be that pit in my stomach.

 I read the books. I read the articles. I made a plan. Exercise more. Make sure I drink enough water. Do yoga. Go on dates nights. Start seeing a counselor. I even went to my doctor and got a prescription. Check. Check. Check.

But it wasn’t enough. I was not enough. I will never be enough.

And what happened was a slow and steady dismantling of Katie. A dismantling of my carefully planned, well thought out, color coded life. An undoing of all my preconceived ideas and preformed judgments. If I couldn’t hack it, then who could?

 All those times I had watched other people struggle, and made up my mind about how I would handle it … All those times I had judged someone for the way they could or couldn’t solve a problem … All those times I prided myself for having it together …. All those times I thought I could do it better ….OUT THE WINDOW.

Because now that's me. I’m the one feeling humiliated, ashamed, crazy, out of control, weak, and helpless. I’m the one who can’t get a grip. I’m the one who tried the step-by step plan and couldn’t make it past step one. And as pride and judgment and control were being stripped away, God in His mercy, began filling in those gaps with compassion and understanding and empathy.

 I always say, “You don’t know it until you live it." I’ve lived a lot of life over the past few years, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: I am not enough and I am not alone.

There are many others down in the pit. Others who have battled anxiety, or are still battling it. Others who need medication to get through the dailyness of life. Others who are afraid. Others who don’t have it all together. And it’s not so lonely in the pit, when you know there are others who are living it, who are living through it, and who say, “I get it.”

 Sometimes, the world is too much with us. (thank you William Wordsworth) The world is too much for us. And it doesn’t make us bad, or wrong, or shameful. It means we have come to the end of our  carefully crafted plans, and in so doing, we have come to the end of ourselves. And down there, in the darkness, we find light -- God’s Light of compassion, acceptance, and deep, deep love. The psalmist says,”…if I make my bed in the depths, You are there...even in the darkness I cannot hide from you.” Psalm 139:8, 12

We may feel alone, but the truth is, we are not alone.

To the young mama who is plumb worn out, exhausted from sleepless nights and toddlers’ endless tantrums … You are not alone.

To the older woman, who is caring for her elderly mother, making decisions about in-home care and hospice and things she never thought she’d have to … You are not alone.

To the college student, wrestling with new found independence mingled with a longing for the familiar, struggling with identity and faith … You are not alone.

To the middle-aged woman who found a lump, and had an MRI, and is facing an uncertain and scary future of treatment and disease … You are not alone.

 To the any aged woman or man who is facing divorce, or abortion, or estranged relationships, betrayal, or a mental illness, or chronic pain, or fill in the blank …. You are not alone.

 I still battle anxiety. I have lots of tools I know I can use and an amazing counselor and incredible friends and family who support me, but it hasn’t gone away. It might never. I guess I’m okay with that -- even though I hate it -- because it’s a reminder. A reminder that God is with me here. It’s a reminder that there are so many people battling so many things -- and the first stop in the journey is compassion. And it’s a reminder that I am not enough - I need God, and I need others, and it is exactly in my weakness that I find strength.

Broken

We exited the birthday party amidst a flurry of hugs and smiles and prolonged goodbyes, her arms overflowing and her happiness palpable.  She was chattering away, filling me in on all the details of the sleepover, when a splintering sound halted our conversation.  Turning around, I saw her crumpled on the ground, attempting to salvage the pottery piece she had just created with her friends.  Tears sprang into her eyes.  I knelt down beside her, put my arms around her.  "Oh honey..."  Words failed me.  We gathered up the shards as best we could.  Once in the car, she turned her body away from me, attempting to conceal her lingering tears.  I fumbled my way through a stilted conversation about mistakes happening, and that I think I had glue that could hold it together.  I tried to comfort her.  She tried to be comforted.

When we got home I asked her to take her belongings upstairs while I did the dishes,  promising to sit down with her and my strong glue in a few minutes.  Together we would work on piecing it back together.  "What if it never looks the same again?" she asked.  "It won't, honey.  It will never look the same. There will be cracks and lines and glue showing.  But it will still be your mug."  She turned slowly away and trudged up the stairs. I was sad for her.  She spent time with her friends to create this precious masterpiece, carefully choosing the colors, carefully painting the details.  And now it was shattered into pieces. I busied myself with the dishes as I allowed my thoughts to drift to the unfairness and the whys.

Minutes later, I heard sobbing coming from her room.  Drying my hands, I stood outside her door and asked to come in.  She was curled up in a ball, hair shielding her face.  I sat down next to her, put my hand on her back.  "Can you tell me what you're feeling?"

"Nothing."

Hmmm....this wasn't going to be easy.  She's my tough one, my big feeler but bigger stuffer.  She's the one who cries the hardest at movies, but hates to show it.  I searched my mind for the elusive key that would unlock her words.

"Sweetie, I know you're feeling big feelings right now, and that is okay! It's so good to feel.  When you feel sad, or angry, or frustrated, it's good.  And it makes you a better person to feel those things, because then you know how other people feel.  It gives you compassion, because then when other people feel big feelings, you can help them, because you know what they're feeling."

Silence.

"I know you're feeling sad.  I'm feeling sad too, because you're sad," my voice trailed.

"No, I'm stupid!  I'm so stupid!  I should have let you carry it!  You asked me if you could carry it, and I said no, and I dropped it!  I am so stupid!"

And there it was - the root of the big feelings: Shame.

Deep down, underneath the surface layers of frustration and sadness, was a core belief: I am shameful.  Shame was the source of the hiding, the pretending.  My heart sank.

"No honey.  You made a mistake.  You are not stupid.  You made a mistake."

I held my daughter as she continued to cry softly, allowing me to comfort her.  I honestly cannot remember what I said, but I think the more important thing was to allow her a safe place to grieve, to affirm that emotions are okay, and to sit with her while she worked out her grief.

The mug probably can be fixed, even if it doesn't look exactly the same.  And that is usually how we approach brokenness, isn't it?  We see broken; we need to fix it.  But people aren't easily fixed.  And sometimes, they don't need to be fixed.

What if, instead of trying to fix the brokenness all around us, we instead try to step into it and be present?  What if we wade into the sadness and the shame and the anger and the big feelings, and say, "I'm here." We may not have a polished speech prepared.  It's okay.  We may not have an immediate answer or solution.  It's okay.  We may not know what the heck to do.  It's okay.  We may be scared, frustrated, or sad ourselves.  It's okay.

Maybe we could leave the fixing to the only One who is qualified to do it.  That's why He came.  Our Rescuer, Our Redeemer, Our Healer, Our Fixer.

What we can do: We can ask questions.  We can listen.  We can give a hug.  We can say, "I understand."  We can say, "What do you need?"  We can pray.

And sometimes, I'd venture to say most times, that is enough.

Shaken

“Before adoption, I believed I was a good mom. My confidence was shaken as I was challenged to become a PhD level psychologist/therapeutic parent overnight with the addition of traumatized children to our family.” -Lisa Qualls, from the blog One Thankful Mom

I read these words the other day and it felt like releasing a deep breath I didn’t know I was holding. I have been processing them ever since. Because they are so, so true.

In a typical child with a typical upbringing in a typical home with typical parents, you see typical development. Even if there are medical issues, learning issues, mental health issues, or emotional issues -- there is a typical foundation with which to work through those issues.

Now turn that sentence around to it’s opposite, and take those children out of their culture, place them into typical family but one composed virtually of strangers -- and there is nothing typical about anything anymore.

I am a learner. I am a planner. If I embark on something new, I want to be fully prepared. Before adopting, we read books and blogs and websites, we talked to other adoptive parents, we met with therapists and specialists. And yet nothing prepared us for the journey we have been on over the past two and a half years.

I thought I was a good mom. I thought I understood kids, and even kids with challenges. I taught for three years at a school for kids with special needs -- surely that gave me insight and tools. I was a dynamic babysitter, nursery worker, and Sunday school teacher -- surely my love for kids prepared me. I was a high school small group leader for nine years -- surely that prepared me to parent teens. Heck, I had thee kids of my own, and I was a good mom to them! We are a great family - stable, secure, loving, close, fun, accepting, and with huge hearts and extra bedrooms. And I was armed with an arsenal of information to boot.

Nothing could have prepared me.

As I talk and interact with other adoptive parents with similar stories to our own, there is a common thread, and it’s this: Navigating our new lives can only be done as a crash course, and the classes are very small.

I read this on another blog, and these words also resonated with me:

“It is like going to the school of what really matters. It is a crash course in getting over pleasing other people. If embraced, this new perspective quickly leads to a far less judgmental stance toward others – we are acutely aware that we never truly know what is under the behavior of that screaming child in the grocery store or that teenager who is “acting out”. We are forced to a deeper reliance on and wrestling with God and are wise to submit to a much slower pace of life. We receive a gift of often being able to see beyond the surface into the deep places of life. It is a portal to true joy.” --from the blog In Pursuit of a Tool Box

I am processing a lot right now, and I know I want to begin writing again. I am praying that God gives me wisdom to know how to do that in a way that respects all those involved in our story, while also attempting to be authentic. If you know me, you know I don’t do fake.

Right now I am searching for the ‘portal to joy’, and finding it elusive. I am wrestling with God over the details of our story. It’s especially difficult wading through dark and heavy in this season, when everything is shiny and bright. But this I do know: God is here.

I read these words yesterday for an Advent series I’m doing, and it brought some measure of comfort:
“I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, “who is, and who was, and who is to come, the Almighty.” Revelation 1:8 ESV

There are times I long for what was, and other times I long for what will be. I feel caught in the middle right now. But God is. God is here, in my present, right in the middle of my mess. He always was. He always will be.

When Accusations Fly

The other day I was driving with one of my children to an appointment, and from out of nowhere, an accusation flew into the space between us.  It felt like a slap, an indictment on my character and my heart.  Not to mention, it was simply not true.  Within moments I felt myself escalating from calm and happy to enraged.  How dare you accuse me of this?  Do you even know me?  I felt the emotion simmering in my belly, moving toward boiling.  My stomach turned to knots, my heart sped up, my body stiffened, my jaw set, and my mind went on high alert.  Suddenly I found myself in fight mode.  I entered the ring with my angry child and we both felt totally justified to be there.  We were now on level ground -- both upset, frustrated, defensive, and ready to argue.  Sadly, this never ends well. It didn't that day.

I have done a lot of reflecting and processing since that time, trying to understand what happened, and how I can do better the next time (there's always a next time, right around the corner).  Conflict is inevitable.  As much as we all hate it, it's impossible to have a relationship and not experience conflict at some point.  And in a family, especially a large family, we can expect to multiply that possibility a few times over.  This isn't something to run away from, but it's also not something to fight.  I think what it comes down to is control.

This is different than being controlling.   A controlling person attempts to get someone else to do what they think is right, or think they way they think.  It usually involves tactics such as demanding, manipulating, ignoring, yelling, cajoling, nagging, accusing, blaming, and pouting.  These are all immature and unhealthy things we resort to when faced with conflict.  And they never work.  Our attempts to control usually end up achieving the opposite - we quickly spiral out of control, wreaking havoc and speaking and acting in ways we never intended.

The key is maintaining or regaining control of myself before the situation spirals.  This is so hard when emotions start boiling!  But if I truly care about my relationships, and know that conflict will happen, then this is important enough to try.  I know I cannot change (control) anyone else -- but I can change me.

I've come up with three reminders, based on a Bible passage I read recently, to help me navigate the beginning, middle, and end of conflict.

Get rid of all bitterness, rage, anger, harsh words, and slander, as well as all types of malice.  Instead, be kind to each other, compassionate, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ forgave you.  Ephesians 4:31-32

1.  Be kind. This seems like a difficult thing to start with when you are boiling mad.  But think about it along these lines: Don't retaliate. Don't fight fire with fire. Be the first one to stay kind.  When the accusations fly and I start feeling all the emotions, this is my cue to pause, take a deep breath (or many) and be quiet.  Slow down, don't engage (yet), and take a minute to think.  When I'm feeling more in control, I can say something like, "I'm going to take a minute to calm down, because I feel myself getting angry, and I want to stay calm." And then take that time.  Not too long -- because that will frustrate the other person, but enough time that you're not retaliating and retorting out of anger.  "A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger." Proverbs 15:1

 2.  Be compassionate.  If the first one is hard, this one is nearly impossible.  But it is doable. If I'm committed to this relationship, then the ultimate goal is connection and healing.  As much as I want to defend myself and argue my case in those first moments, what I need to do is try to understand.  If I continue in a state of calm, instead of getting defensive, I'm able to be curious instead of combative. I can say, "I wonder why that makes you feel worried when I ask you about that."  or  "I wonder why it bothers you to have shoes that are old."  (Yes, this was a real thing in our house, and a huge source of conflict.)  Be honest, be open, be curious.  Ask, don't tell, them how to feel.  As we move through the conversation, and as I can stay calm, usually the anger diffuses somewhat and we are able to get to some sort of understanding.  I say usually, but not always.  Sometimes there's no understanding, and that other person is not able to connect to what they are feeling.  But I can still make guesses, try to understand, and affirm them as they try to make sense of their emotions. If I feel that the other person is able to receive it and the situation is calm, this is the time to explain my heart, to express my intentions, and frame my perspective.  It's really important that I do this in an effort to bring healing and growth, not for the purpose of proving myself.

3.  Forgive.  This is the final step, and the path towards our own healing.  When words are spent, it's time to mend and move on.  Even if the other person isn't ready to admit any wrong, I can say something like, "The way you treated me was hurtful, but I want to forgive you, because you are important to me."  I almost always  have something I need to apologize for too: "I'm sorry that my words/ actions made you feel worried. That was not my intention.  I'm on your side."  And then I need to truly release it, and not store up any bitterness in my own heart.  I can forgive, because I know that I have been forgiven too.

In a perfect world, we fly through numbers 1, 2, and 3, and both go on our merry way.  But we all know emotions are unpredictable, and even with the best of intentions, things can go awry.  So we leave room for mistakes, and we expect to do this imperfectly.  But at least we try.  And we practice.  Each time, we grow a little bit, and our capacity enlarges, and we stay a little calmer than we did the time before. And even if we are the only one changing, it's a win. 

Climbing Out of the Trench

In April we celebrated one year since Samri and Abel joined our family.  We look back at this past year and can't believe how fast it's gone.  We've witnessed so much growth in all of us.  We've adjusted to so many new things: new sports, new schedules, new ideas,new personalities, new foods, new cultures, new parenting strategies, and new relationships.  We've rejoiced over bonds being formed and explosions of learning. We've had so much fun learning about Ethiopian culture and have mastered the art of cooking a darn good shiro.  We've laughed our way through some misunderstandings due to language barriers.  Our family has been a family and all that comes with that - vacations, inside jokes, family game nights, cheering for each other at sporting events, getting a puppy, and so much more.  I look back and am proud of us.

April 23, 2015 - First day in America

April 23, 2016 - Celebrating one year at the Ethiopian restaurant

But I also look back and think, "How did we survive that year?"  That was one of my hardest years of life by far.  In many ways, it was a year of survival mode.  Survival mode = doing the bare minimum of what needs to be done just to make it through one more day.

Although we prepared and prayed and read books and took classes and talked to many, many adoptive parents, none of us were prepared for that first year, especially me. I thought I was prepared for two teens who would be grieving all that they'd lost, but I didn't know that it would spill over into every single area of their lives, and by default, into the life of our family. I read the books and knew that when attachment is interrupted in the early years, it impacts trust and bonding for the rest of life.  I had learned a lot about trauma and how it affects development in a child, and interrupts learning and development.  I knew that every adoption involves trauma, and sometimes trauma trumps forming trust in the closest relationships.  I thought I knew, and I thought I was strong enough to love them through it.  But when it happened in our house, day after day, over and over, the rejection stung. The burden of grief was crippling. And I didn't know that our love might not be enough.    I had no idea how hard it would be, that every night I'd fall into bed emotionally and physically drained, and think, "Oh my gosh, how am I going to get up and do this again tomorrow?" I was in survival mode.

My mental picture of survival mode is someone who has fallen into a deep trench.  They're stuck down there, without any hope.  They are literally going to die without intervention.  All they can think about is getting out.  All they can manage is living one more day. They aren't thinking about anyone else but themselves.  It is a lonely, scary place to be.

Most children from hard places live in this trench.  Fear rules every interaction.  Self-protection is necessary for survival. There is little room for compassion, forgiveness, patience, gentleness, joy, and many times, LOVE, when you are in survival mode.  All you care about is living one more day.  Understanding this has given me greater compassion for my children, and all children who have come from a hard place.  I continually pray that God will fill my heart with understanding and compassion.

I also realized the other day that I hate living in survival mode.  Functioning in survival mode makes you a survivor by definition, but it's not a healthy place to be.  I don't want to be the one in the trench, grasping for one more day.  I want to climb out and be the one at the top, offering a hand to  help someone else out  (most of all, my children).  One of the ways I can do this is by taking care of myself so that I don't fall back into the trench. This is called practicing self-care.

Self-care is a huge buzzword in adoption circles, with good reason.  Self-care involves finding those things that fill you up so that you can pour yourself back out.  This has become the number one way for me to climb out of the trench of survival mode.  These are the things that give me energy, make me happy, and help me cope. Here are some of the ways I practice self-care:

• Setting my alarm for fifty minutes before my children get up.  This gives me time to pour a cup of coffee and sit in the quiet with my Bible and a journal.  Spending time with Jesus every day is not a luxury for me; it's a necessity.  It sets me up for the rest of the day and helps me focus my heart and my mind.
• Journaling.  I am a writer; it's how I process my constant menagerie of thoughts.  As I write in my journal I'm able to sift through the craziness and figure out what I'm thinking and feeling.
• Time alone with my husband.  He's my best (guy) friend and he's going to be here long after the kids have moved out.  It's really important to us to keep our relationship strong and grow together.  Many nights after the kids are settled into their own activities (teens don't go to bed early -- so we had to find creative ways to find alone time), we will sit on the couch or outside, have a glass of wine, and debrief with each other.  We also try to find one day a month to go out alone, and try to go away once or twice a year together.
  

  

  
  

• Coffee.  Oh, did I already mention that?  Two cups every morning, and sometimes I'll make myself an iced coffee in the afternoon as an extra treat.
• Time with girlfriends.  As my life has gotten [way] busier, I've had to be very intentional about this one.  I have a group of girls I meet with once a month for dinner, and then I try to sprinkle in some coffee or lunch dates throughout the month in order to catch up with other friends.  There are also a few adoptive mama friends who have been there/done that and they are an invaluable encouragement to me as well.
• Family time.  (Can you hear the groaning coming from my teens -ha!)  I'm a quality time girl, and one thing that fills my love tank is having my whole family together and engaged in some fun activity.  Again, if we're not intentional, this doesn't happen.  There's usually a lot of complaining from certain people beforehand, and it's very challenging to find activities to entertain 7 through 16 year olds, but we usually manage to have fun.  Some fun things we do: hike, go to amusement parks, play Bingo or spoons or charades, have family movie nights, go  to museums and aquariums and zoos, cook Ethiopian or other themed dinners, swim, and visit new places.
  
   
  
  

  

  
  

• Sparkling water.  I discovered this a few years ago.  It makes me happy.  So I drink one a day, either grapefruit or lemon-lime.
• Cheez-its. Again, they make me happy.  Especially the "extra toasty" ones.
• Cooking.  I love to experiment and try new foods and new recipes.  One thing that's been challenging with a big family is finding foods that everyone will eat and that won't blow our food budget.  Usually I cook super simple meals in order to appease everyone, but once in awhile I make something more adventurous and provide chicken nuggets and mac and cheese for the picky ones.
• Sunshine.  This past winter and spring were brutal.  Being stuck inside makes me really grumpy.  Even if it's cold I try to get out and walk for a little while.
• Exercise.  This one I do because it's good for me, not because I particularly enjoy it. When I was in survival mode, I did not exercise.  It was one more hard thing to add to my hard to-do list.  So I let it slide.  But now that I'm emerging from my trench I'm making it a priority.
• Saying Yes and being silly.  Sometimes I take life too seriously  and worry too much about dirt and schedules and all that boring stuff.  I need to remind myself to just say yes to some of the crazy stuff my kids want to do, and  let myself dance and laugh and sing and get dirty and squeeze the joy out of every one of these moments.
  
  
  
  
  
  

I'm sure I'll fall back into the survival mode trench, but I do feel like I'm better prepared for it this go around, and know more about myself and how to start the climb back out.

Are you in survival mode right now?  Try making a list of what makes you happy, what gives you energy, and what helps you cope (or stay healthy).  Write it out and figure out how to work it into your days and weeks.  And let me know what yours are!  Whether you're in the trench, on your way out, or lending a hand from the top, we're all figuring this out together.

Stay.

For the past several years, along with countless others, I've chosen a word to define my year.  In the past I've had words like grace, know, and present. This year my word is STAY.  It started as a joke to a friend: "My word should be stay, as in: I'm not going to run away." It was a hard year last year.  There were many times I did want to run away.  But over time the word took on a different meaning: Stay the course.  Be steady.   Be consistent.  Plant your feet and stand strong.  We have experienced so much change over the past year and a half.  We've been on a roller coaster of emotions, and living with teenagers and a pre-teen and two youngers, there will always be ups and downs.  To be honest, sometimes I ride the emotional roller coaster right along with them.  And although I'm human, and I give myself grace for that, it's not helpful for me or them.

I am working through a study on prayer right now and this is the verse I was journaling about this week:

When I think of all this, I fall to my knees and pray to the Father, the Creator of everything in heaven and on earth.  I pray that from His glorious, unlimited resources, He will empower you with inner strength through His Spirit.  Ephesians 3:14-16 NLT

I wanted to explore that phrase: "inner strength."  What does that mean?  Inner strength is different than outer strength.  It's not physical -- it's emotional and spiritual.  It's the ability to stay calm and controlled in the middle of overwhelming, stressful, or frustrating experiences.  It's thinking through your actions and responding with intention, not reacting out of emotion.  It's that person who is steady, consistent, and wise in the middle of crazy circumstances.  We all know people who freak out when they get stressed and create unnecessary drama and tension in an already stressful situation.  To be perfectly honest, I can lean this way sometimes too.  I can only handle so much before I want to run-- bolt out the door and get away from everything.  Or maybe feel like I'm going to explode and I end up saying things I regret later.  It requires incredible inner strength to stay calm.

This is why God tells us we can't do it alone.  The Creator of everything in heaven and earth has unlimited resources at His disposal.  He has power we cannot even fathom.  And in our moment of weakness, He has the power to calm us, steady us, come alongside us.  His power IS made perfect in our weakness.

I see so many parallels between this and parenting.  I'm reading a book right now about  the link between a child's neurological development and the way a parent reacts to misbehavior.  Human brains begin developing before birth, and a child's brain is not fully developed until the mid-20's. That explains a lot, right?  During this time, the brain is constantly changing -- learning and adapting depending on experience.

When an infant or young child experiences trauma during these early developmental years (even in the womb) it enormously impacts brain development.  That child's capacity for handling stress is compromised.  Their ability to think through and make logical decisions is affected.  They are easily overwhelmed and are wired to think only of their own survival.

All adoption involves trauma.  There is profound loss at some level -- loss of a parent, loss of caregivers, loss of stability, loss of nurturing, loss of friends, loss of home.  Some have been through wars.  Some have seen people die in front of them.  Some have lived through disease.  Some have lived through abuse.  Every adopted child is a survivor.  Every one has been impacted in some way by the trauma they lived through.  And because of that, they need us.  They need us to be compassionate.  They need us to lower our expectations.  They need us to remember where they came from and that they may not have the tools that other children have.  They need us to pursue them.  They need unconditional acceptance.  They need loving support as they learn how to live in a new world.  They need someone who is willing to fight for them, especially when they want to give up and when they are pushing us away.  They need people who will be consistent, remain steady, and stay.

Even without any obvious trauma, our children need us. I'm learning that I have sometimes expected too much out of my children.  If their brains are not fully developed until their twenties, why am I surprised when they make bad choices?  Why do I expect them to act like me?  When my youngest son gets angry, he lashes out.  It's an automatic response and he hasn't learned yet how to control his reaction.  Instead of lashing out at him and getting angry at him, he needs me to come alongside of him, empathize with his emotion, and teach him the healthy way to deal with his anger.  This isn't to say he doesn't have boundaries. It is not ever okay to throw and hit things when you're mad.  But within those boundaries I want to come alongside and support and help and train --- not tower over and yell and punish and isolate.

"It is unfair to assume that our children are making decisions using fully formed, perfectly functioning brains and can view the world as we do."  --No Drama Discipline by Daniel Siegel and Tina Payne Bryson

In this book, the authors explain that when we discipline with threats (verbal or nonverbal), we "activate defensive circuits" in our children's brains, which almost always lead to escalating emotions.  It sets off an automatic response of survival -- fight, flight, freeze, or faint.  In these situations, our children's brains are programmed to self-protect.  They aren't thinking; they are reacting.  They aren't capable in this moment of producing logical behavior. They need us to not be in a reactive state, but to remain calm, nurture with empathy, remain open, and show them that we are not a threat.  Then they are able to relax and we are able to move towards training.

Last week Jonas (age 7) did his homework and proudly showed it to me.  I told him he did a great job and praised him for his hard work.  But, there was one word that was incorrect and needed to be fixed.  For whatever reason, he went into meltdown mode immediately.  He crumpled his paper.  He threw his pencil and every other writing utensil on the counter. He started screaming: "I already did it!  I'm not fixing it! NO!" He threw himself on the floor.  I stood there dumbfounded. I could feel myself getting instantly angry too.  I wanted him to stop.  His screaming stressed me out.  He was interrupting my dinner making.  And he was totally overreacting.

But...I tried to remember what I had just read that morning.  Jonas needed me.  He needed me to stay calm.  He needed me to try to understand him.  He needed me to empathize with his emotions, however ridiculous they seemed to me.  I got down on one knee and drew him close to me and hugged him.  I rubbed his back as he sobbed, and kept holding him until eventually he stopped crying.  I told him, "I'll help you, hon. I'm here.  I can help you."  He calmed down, I asked him to pick up his pencil off the floor, and then we finished the homework together.  When it was done, I talked to him about anger, and that it is never okay to throw things when we are angry.  I told him I am here to help him, and that I want him to work on taking a deep breath when he feels mad, instead of lashing out.  He listened.  He said sorry.  He said he wants to do better next time.

What if I had reacted out of my own anger?  I probably would have raised my voice at him.  Probably I would've marched him up to his room.  I would have told him in my stern voice to sit on his bed and stop crying.  Calm down.  Come back downstairs when you get control of yourself.  I may have shut the door too hard, and stomped downstairs. I have done all of these things.  And although I may achieve the same result, I believe I also may lose something in the process - the ability to connect with my child in their moment of need. The opportunity to be present with him and help him through his pain (even if it seemed completely illogical to me).

"Our children are human and unpredictable.  They won't always respond well even if we are.  But they will see that we love and respect them, even as we discipline them.  They'll know that when they are upset or acting inappropriately, we'll be there for them.  And with them.  We don't turn our back or reject them when they're upset.  Our love isn't conditional on their behavior.  This kind of predictable, sensitive, loving, relational discipline allows kids to feel safe, and gives them the freedom to become independent and able to think through decisions, comprehend what they feel, consider others' perspectives, and come to sound conclusions on their own." --Dan Siegel and Tina Payne Bryson

In the same way, we are human and unpredictable. And God understands that about us and promises to be the One who is not human and is predictable.  He is consistent.  He is compassionate.  He loves unconditionally and pursues relentlessly.  He has unlimited resources at His disposal and He can make us strong when we feel weak. When we are overemotional and overwhelmed, He promises to come alongside of us and help, to be the strong One.  He will give us inner strength. Just as I am longing to do this for my child, He longs to do this for His children -- us.  He promises to be there always -- with open arms and loving acceptance. No matter how ridiculous our behavior may be, He promises to STAY.

Read more about childhood trauma and brain development: The Amazing Brain 

Listen to this TED talk to learn about the health effects of childhood trauma: Nadine Burke Harris: How childhood trauma affects health across a lifetime