Every activity and every interaction is a chance to bring each little one 'on-line'.
Connection is at the heart of healing and I am driven to find what will make them reach out or what will allow them to let me in.
They are different. Each one with their own wounds, fears and behaviors that follow.
They are all somehow hidden away deep in their souls.
Trauma does that to a child.
Breaks them. One is never the same after trauma hits.
Sometimes I rock them.
Sometimes I sing.
Sometimes I just carry them on my hip.
Sometimes I hold, tightly, explaining they are safe.
I tell them they are loved.
That in this house, we are kind.
That in this house, they do not need to fear.
Sometimes, they stare past me. And when I hold their face in my hands, they struggle to get free. It hurts to let someone look into your soul.
Connection. I must reach them. I am driven to find them.
Each action is intentional and sincere. And consistent.
Sometimes it is weeks, even months, before they will trust.
Each move must be accompanied with love that is genuine and felt.
They know if it isn't real. Not only do they not respond, they will act out in hate.
They will scream, hit, lie, disobey, all on purpose, because they know
if you can handle them or not. They know if you can love them or not.
The day had been long and as I was getting things ready for bed. I heard him whisper.
"Mom, I love you."
I was in the middle of fixing the sheets, in a hurry. It is no joke to prepare little boys for bed.
Turning slowly around, I looked at the toys all over the floor. The spilt milk, the clutter, and mess were all evidence of the chaos of the day.
He was sitting there looking at me. His eyes staring. He didn't move. I crawled up into his little bed. My arms embraced his wired little body and we snuggled.
Intentionally, I repeated his words.
He giggled and laughed, head thrown back, eyes sparkling...