Under Pressure Part 1
The moment when past trauma meets the present is something no parent is fully prepared for. On a low key Saturday (while my husband was out of town) that horrific collision unexpectedly occurred, and I’m still recovering from the impact.
I knew about our daughter’s past and the kick ass way her foster mom at the time took control of one specific situation before we even traveled to India. Knowing your child MAY have been abused and knowing the exact details are two totally separate things. I’m thankful for the latter, but it’s still a tough pill to swallow.
The counselor in me knows nothing needs to be hidden. There is no shame in being the victim of someone else’s monster. However, I’m sure this truth is something that most victims of abuse fight to accept for most of their life. To add insult to injury I’m still working on trust with my daughter, so to come out and ask her invasive questions would be pointless. She’s going to lie and/or shut down revealing nothing. I get it …. I haven’t earned the right to hear her story yet so it would be unfair to demand it as well as ineffective.
In a perfect world after two years of healthy behavior and appropriate screen time on her IPad I would have sat across from my daughter in a field of daises and talked to her about all the ways she was victimized as a child and what that might mean for her today. Cat Stevens would play Peace Train in the background and we would have an open and honest conversation which would then prevent any of her past trauma to permeate into our present lives.
In my world, the reality of Richa’s past and the curiosity that comes with adolescence showed up on her you tube history throwing me off the denial diving board and into an empty concrete pool. Splat. I wish I could have just laid there and slowly bled out. Instead I calmly addressed the situation, kept our conversation short, focused on the disobedience aspect of what had happened (“Say goodbye to your Ipad”), and took a time out to cool down and get a grip by pretending to take Christmas ornaments off the tree.
After 5 minutes of Richa sitting in a puddle of shock and shame (while I feverishly texted my Adopted Moms Support Group) I decided we both needed some fresh air. I know in her mind she was scared to death I was about to load her up on the first boat back to India, so she was willing to do whatever I wanted her to do even if that meant going for a walk/bike ride in the middle of January. I should have had her burn her pink tights and swear an oath she’ll never again wear her pants above her hip bones, but hindsight is always 20/20.
We took Gatsby our dog for a long walk, she rode her bike, and I was able to stock up on endorphins and collect my thoughts before circling back around to the inevitable conversation I knew needed to take place. After 45 minutes we headed home, and started running errands. I don’t know what is it about being in the car but it’s the time that she opens up to me the most. Maybe she thinks I can’t beat her while steering or maybe she knows she can open the car door and bail if necessary. Just make sure you hit the ground and roll honey. Whatever the reason Kia-time is usually when my window of opportunity opens.
Brene Brown is a shame researcher as well as an brilliant author. She calls “secrets a Petri dish for shame.” The shame multiplies as does the secrecy and the unhealthy coping mechanisms that usually follow. Then it repeats. Think of secrecy as water and shame as gremlins. Whatever is causing the shame has to be exposed but most importantly it has to be received with grace and compassion for any healing to take place. The receiving part can be tough in the moment but the grace and compassion has to at least sound authentic for it to be effective.
Saturday afternoon was pretty messy, but it was the spark needed for my daughter and I to have a blunt conversation about her past. She needed to hear from me what I thought of what had happened to her, that God did not intend for her to be victimized, that I knew all the details BEFORE we adopted her and it didn’t change how much we wanted her to be our daughter. I told her how much it hurt my heart to know someone hurt her and that nothing like that would ever happen to her again. It also gave me an opportunity to tell her that I’m her go-to if she has ANY questions that might be triggered by her history. She needed to know that she has nothing to hide, but mainly she needed to SEE that it’s safe to bring the parts of her story that are dark into the light. Only then will shame lose it's power.
As has happened many times before (on a far less serious scale) I can see she looks at me different now. She seems more relaxed and less afraid. It’s a subtle change…probably nothing that anyone else could notice, but I can. It feels good for someone to know our darkness and love us anyway. Anything else is really just pretend.