Stalked by lions
I wanted to share an instance from our school day last week. What I'm about to describe is not uncommon, but I thought it might prove useful to others.
I hope everyone who hangs out here knows by now that trauma changes the brain. A very simplistic explanation is that these changes happen because the brain perceives the child to be in danger (which they sometimes can be), and orients the brain towards survival. This is great if, say, a lion is hunting you, it is not so great if you are living in a family who cares for you and loves you. Sadly, the constant need to be sure the lion isn't getting too close can overwhelm the brain, and it becomes the lens through which life is viewed.
I was made aware of this... again... this past week while helping H. do her schoolwork. H. has been doing great work. She is managing far more than I had ever dared to hope even four years after she had been home. She's even diagramming sentences with everyone. I say this because school work has not been an issue recently. It's not like at some points with some children that the mere act of getting out the school books would cause a meltdown.
H. was working on an exercise that she has done many time before; writing the numbers that come before and after the numbers that are given. I am a firm believer in manipulatives, so she has a handy 100's chart for those times when she needs to remind herself of how numbers count. (She only uses this every now and then, now. Usually only on those days where things seems harder than usual.) After she had completed it, I moved over to where she was sitting to correct it. There were just a couple where she had momentarily forgotten how numbers count. I pointed out the ones that were wrong, and asked her if she knew the correct answer. Sometimes all it takes is for me to show her the errors and she can correct them herself. This time, though, she looked blank. I then asked what she had in her school bag that could help her figure out the right answer. Again, she looked at me blankly. I am more interested in my children knowing how to find an answer if they aren't sure than I am them just getting things correct, so I prodded a little more, suggesting that she think about what she had in her bag that could help her.
And then we all fell over the cliff.
Out of what seemed no where, full-blown teen attitude reared it's head. Annoyed sighs, annoyed tone of voice, not making eye contact, and my own personal trigger, the word, "fine," spat out like a swear word.
After far too many instances of less-than-wonderful parenting moments, I have learned at this point (with any child), we need to just close the books and move along because nothing good will come of trying to do anymore school work or even having a conversation. People need to cool off and let things settle down. So that is what I did, closing the books saying that we needed to stop for the day.
More attitude. We were past being able to just cool down and move on. This was more than irritation at not knowing the right answer. I pointed out that in order to be able to move on, I needed to know what was up. This took multiple times of asking, but because H. wasn't willing to let it go, I felt I had no choice. Finally, H. managed to blurt out, "You don't love me!"
And there it is. The fear that just will never quite go away. The fear that at some point, the real truth will come out and these parents won't love her anymore... if they ever really did. It takes very little to bring this fear to the surface, and usually it is seemingly totally unrelated to what is going on at the moment. The parent is suddenly blind-sided by a child who is melting down, and will often act in ways that just confirm the child's fears. This mother, this father do not love them. The parents are not privy to what is going on inside their child's head and are irritated and mystified. The child, overwhelmed by their fear and convinced of their beliefs cannot fathom any other explanation for what is happening at that moment.
This was not about what number comes before 350. This was anger cloaking abject fear. For H., anything where she perceives herself to not measure up gets instantly translated into her parents not loving her. Even though we are aware of this, we don't always couch our requests or questions or comments in ways that reassure her enough. And sometimes, even the most careful wording is not enough to stop the deep fear from rising up. It can be a tough tightrope to walk.
If you are parenting a child from a hard place, just remember that lions are always stalking our children even if we cannot se them.
I hope everyone who hangs out here knows by now that trauma changes the brain. A very simplistic explanation is that these changes happen because the brain perceives the child to be in danger (which they sometimes can be), and orients the brain towards survival. This is great if, say, a lion is hunting you, it is not so great if you are living in a family who cares for you and loves you. Sadly, the constant need to be sure the lion isn't getting too close can overwhelm the brain, and it becomes the lens through which life is viewed.
I was made aware of this... again... this past week while helping H. do her schoolwork. H. has been doing great work. She is managing far more than I had ever dared to hope even four years after she had been home. She's even diagramming sentences with everyone. I say this because school work has not been an issue recently. It's not like at some points with some children that the mere act of getting out the school books would cause a meltdown.
H. was working on an exercise that she has done many time before; writing the numbers that come before and after the numbers that are given. I am a firm believer in manipulatives, so she has a handy 100's chart for those times when she needs to remind herself of how numbers count. (She only uses this every now and then, now. Usually only on those days where things seems harder than usual.) After she had completed it, I moved over to where she was sitting to correct it. There were just a couple where she had momentarily forgotten how numbers count. I pointed out the ones that were wrong, and asked her if she knew the correct answer. Sometimes all it takes is for me to show her the errors and she can correct them herself. This time, though, she looked blank. I then asked what she had in her school bag that could help her figure out the right answer. Again, she looked at me blankly. I am more interested in my children knowing how to find an answer if they aren't sure than I am them just getting things correct, so I prodded a little more, suggesting that she think about what she had in her bag that could help her.
And then we all fell over the cliff.
Out of what seemed no where, full-blown teen attitude reared it's head. Annoyed sighs, annoyed tone of voice, not making eye contact, and my own personal trigger, the word, "fine," spat out like a swear word.
After far too many instances of less-than-wonderful parenting moments, I have learned at this point (with any child), we need to just close the books and move along because nothing good will come of trying to do anymore school work or even having a conversation. People need to cool off and let things settle down. So that is what I did, closing the books saying that we needed to stop for the day.
More attitude. We were past being able to just cool down and move on. This was more than irritation at not knowing the right answer. I pointed out that in order to be able to move on, I needed to know what was up. This took multiple times of asking, but because H. wasn't willing to let it go, I felt I had no choice. Finally, H. managed to blurt out, "You don't love me!"
And there it is. The fear that just will never quite go away. The fear that at some point, the real truth will come out and these parents won't love her anymore... if they ever really did. It takes very little to bring this fear to the surface, and usually it is seemingly totally unrelated to what is going on at the moment. The parent is suddenly blind-sided by a child who is melting down, and will often act in ways that just confirm the child's fears. This mother, this father do not love them. The parents are not privy to what is going on inside their child's head and are irritated and mystified. The child, overwhelmed by their fear and convinced of their beliefs cannot fathom any other explanation for what is happening at that moment.
This was not about what number comes before 350. This was anger cloaking abject fear. For H., anything where she perceives herself to not measure up gets instantly translated into her parents not loving her. Even though we are aware of this, we don't always couch our requests or questions or comments in ways that reassure her enough. And sometimes, even the most careful wording is not enough to stop the deep fear from rising up. It can be a tough tightrope to walk.
If you are parenting a child from a hard place, just remember that lions are always stalking our children even if we cannot se them.
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