We all have them, days when life feels overwhelming, yesterday was just such a day for me. I briefly entertained running away like my son had done the previous evening, or kicking the wall and screaming like my daughter did when she was angry. However I knew that was not the answer, besides I can't risk further traumatizing my children.
Like I told Dean last night, "I get so tired of being the person my children fight against." They lash out at Dean but not with the intensity that they rage at me. I feel like I am the arch enemy in their lives, the one person whose love they must fight against at all costs. The more love I pour into them the harder they must work to make me understand that they will not accept it, the cost is too high. After all, I might abandon them sometime
I know some of it is PTSD. Memories of another child who nearly succeeded in pushing me over the edge are never far away. When my little one's use the same words and body language he used, I need to remember this is not the same child. The problem is, it is the same battle. The battle of trust and love against fear.
There were many tears shed at our house yesterday. The children and I were in close competition as to who cried the most. They were hurting, I was weary and so we cried. Some tears are healing, while others are tears of pain and loss. Yesterday's tears were in the latter category.
Several small people were in tears at once last night and I had the fleeting thought that if someone were to walk into our house they would have a just reason to think we are all slightly off our rockers. Thankfully a good night's rest, talking over my fears with Dean and encouraging words from a friend helped gave me the courage to try again.
Like I told Dean last night, "I get so tired of being the person my children fight against." They lash out at Dean but not with the intensity that they rage at me. I feel like I am the arch enemy in their lives, the one person whose love they must fight against at all costs. The more love I pour into them the harder they must work to make me understand that they will not accept it, the cost is too high. After all, I might abandon them sometime
I know some of it is PTSD. Memories of another child who nearly succeeded in pushing me over the edge are never far away. When my little one's use the same words and body language he used, I need to remember this is not the same child. The problem is, it is the same battle. The battle of trust and love against fear.
There were many tears shed at our house yesterday. The children and I were in close competition as to who cried the most. They were hurting, I was weary and so we cried. Some tears are healing, while others are tears of pain and loss. Yesterday's tears were in the latter category.
Several small people were in tears at once last night and I had the fleeting thought that if someone were to walk into our house they would have a just reason to think we are all slightly off our rockers. Thankfully a good night's rest, talking over my fears with Dean and encouraging words from a friend helped gave me the courage to try again.
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