Can't win
Yesterday I took R. to get a new pair of sneakers. Her feet haven't grown since she has been home, so her shoes wear out before she outgrows them (unlike everyone else), and boy, had they worn out. With Covid and everything, shoe shopping just hadn't been happening. I'm not sure G. even has a pair of sneakers at the moment. It just didn't seem to be a priority seeing as how we don't really go anywhere and it's summer. But it bothered R. to the point she was starting to perceverate about it, so shoe shopping we went.
At the second store I managed to find a pair of sneakers I could stand looking at and that didn't require shoelaces to be tied. You wouldn't think that would be so difficult, but it is. (An aside, I spent years and years looking for tie shoes... because I don't actually like Velcro shoes... for my other children. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Now? Every pair we found in her size were ties and I'm looking for Velcro. I can't win in that department, either.) I was thrilled when she could put them on herself and liked them. At least she said she liked them. There are some days that I think it truly doesn't matter what words I'm saying if I ask in the correct tone of voice. Since I used my happy, upbeat, aren't these great shoes, she agreed. I only felt badly for manipulating the decision a little bit because there truly wasn't anything else.
R. was extremely excited about her new shoes. She understood that we had to pay for them and when we got home she could put them on. She even asked if she could carry the bag with the new shoes in it, which was an unusual amount of comprehension and initiative on her part. Things are great going to the car, getting in the car, and pulling out of the parking lot.
Well, things were great until they weren't. I was aware of unusual noises coming from behind me and asked if she was okay. She was able to answer me that she was fine, so I didn't think anything of it. Less than a minute later, though, I realize that she is having a seizure. There is absolutely nothing I can do about it, and since she was safely buckled in the car I kept driving in order to get home sooner. In less than a minute she was coherent again. Well, coherent being a relative term since she was in her babble-in-Chinese phase which immediately preceeds the psychosis phase. I had no rescue drugs on me so kept driving, but locked the doors on the off chance she was aware enough to unbuckle her seat belt.
We made it home, got the rescue meds into her, and life wasn't too horrible, especially since she slept last night. Today was not great during the afternoon and the evening has been dicey, but I'm hoping the rescue meds continue to do their job and that by tomorrow we will be closer to back to normal.
I hate trauma.
Trauma is really what this is all about. In a brain that is constantly flooded with cortisol, there is virtually no difference between excitement and anxiety. They all trigger the same response in the brain... prepare for something bad to happen. And the more profound the excitement or anxiety, the more profound the reaction. So, by buying R. new shoes. Something that she was excited about and was a treat for her, her brain sensed that excitement and went into total lock down preparing her for whatever horrible thing was going to happen next. In her, seizures are the default method her brain has for dealing with overwhelming emotions.
So I can't win. Good or bad, whatever happens, past trauma has so miswired R.'s brain that it reacts as if the house is on fire. Everything is scary. Everything feels bad. Nothing is ever right. Now, at four and a half years home and loads of medicine, we are finally at a point where sometimes, just sometimes, I can get her to sit next to me to calm down. Sometimes I can get her to practice deep, calming breaths to settle her over-reactive nervous system. Sometimes we don't have to resort to yet more medicine. Sometimes.
Trauma steals childhood more than once. The first time is with the traumatic experience itself. But it continues to steal, over and over and over, as hurt children cannot enjoy a happy, carefree childhood, but instead see every single thing, good or bad, as a threat and react accordingly. No child should have to live this way.
I just wanted to buy her a new pair of shoes.
At the second store I managed to find a pair of sneakers I could stand looking at and that didn't require shoelaces to be tied. You wouldn't think that would be so difficult, but it is. (An aside, I spent years and years looking for tie shoes... because I don't actually like Velcro shoes... for my other children. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Now? Every pair we found in her size were ties and I'm looking for Velcro. I can't win in that department, either.) I was thrilled when she could put them on herself and liked them. At least she said she liked them. There are some days that I think it truly doesn't matter what words I'm saying if I ask in the correct tone of voice. Since I used my happy, upbeat, aren't these great shoes, she agreed. I only felt badly for manipulating the decision a little bit because there truly wasn't anything else.
R. was extremely excited about her new shoes. She understood that we had to pay for them and when we got home she could put them on. She even asked if she could carry the bag with the new shoes in it, which was an unusual amount of comprehension and initiative on her part. Things are great going to the car, getting in the car, and pulling out of the parking lot.
Well, things were great until they weren't. I was aware of unusual noises coming from behind me and asked if she was okay. She was able to answer me that she was fine, so I didn't think anything of it. Less than a minute later, though, I realize that she is having a seizure. There is absolutely nothing I can do about it, and since she was safely buckled in the car I kept driving in order to get home sooner. In less than a minute she was coherent again. Well, coherent being a relative term since she was in her babble-in-Chinese phase which immediately preceeds the psychosis phase. I had no rescue drugs on me so kept driving, but locked the doors on the off chance she was aware enough to unbuckle her seat belt.
We made it home, got the rescue meds into her, and life wasn't too horrible, especially since she slept last night. Today was not great during the afternoon and the evening has been dicey, but I'm hoping the rescue meds continue to do their job and that by tomorrow we will be closer to back to normal.
I hate trauma.
Trauma is really what this is all about. In a brain that is constantly flooded with cortisol, there is virtually no difference between excitement and anxiety. They all trigger the same response in the brain... prepare for something bad to happen. And the more profound the excitement or anxiety, the more profound the reaction. So, by buying R. new shoes. Something that she was excited about and was a treat for her, her brain sensed that excitement and went into total lock down preparing her for whatever horrible thing was going to happen next. In her, seizures are the default method her brain has for dealing with overwhelming emotions.
So I can't win. Good or bad, whatever happens, past trauma has so miswired R.'s brain that it reacts as if the house is on fire. Everything is scary. Everything feels bad. Nothing is ever right. Now, at four and a half years home and loads of medicine, we are finally at a point where sometimes, just sometimes, I can get her to sit next to me to calm down. Sometimes I can get her to practice deep, calming breaths to settle her over-reactive nervous system. Sometimes we don't have to resort to yet more medicine. Sometimes.
Trauma steals childhood more than once. The first time is with the traumatic experience itself. But it continues to steal, over and over and over, as hurt children cannot enjoy a happy, carefree childhood, but instead see every single thing, good or bad, as a threat and react accordingly. No child should have to live this way.
I just wanted to buy her a new pair of shoes.
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