From the moment you were conceived, the deck was stacked against you. Despite your first mother's love and desire for you, you experienced chronic trauma in utero, alongside her. When you were two days old, further tragedy struck and sent you into institutional care as a newborn.
At the orphanage you were one of the small kids, weak, and often sick. You spent much of your time in medical isolation and when you were not there, you were still at the sidelines and in corners watching observantly while rocking your body back and forth. If your world became too much, you covered your eyes and ears and rocked harder.
When it was time to eat, you forced down the meals that were fed to you at lightning speed, gagging and crying, and still not gaining weight. When it was time to play, you weren't strong enough to succeed among the other children, not fierce enough to hold your own in a group of survivors, so you didn't join. When it was time to walk, you made an endless path along the walls of your confinement. When it was time to speak, words wouldn't flow, so your thoughts remained trapped. This is how you came to us just past your second birthday: sad and lonely, scared and resigned, malnourished and frail. You joined us with just two expressions that summarized your early life experiences: no and give me.
You were traumatized.
It's been nearly seven years since you have been my cherished daughter, seven years in which your traumatic history has been your biggest challenge. None of your other diagnoses hold up to the one that's not in the manual doctors use. None of your other diagnoses would be as severe were it not for developmental trauma at the root of them all. None of the other obstacles in your path affect our family as a whole in the way that your traumatic history does.
I love you and I will always be there for you. I will guide and support you. I will provide what you need when you need it. But I have come to realize that I cannot win against your trauma. It's a part of you. It's in every cell of your body. It lurks just under the surface every minute of every day. I cannot erase it. I cannot love it away. I am defeated by it every time you freeze in fear, every time you scream in distress, every time you cover your ears and crouch against a wall. I am defeated by it every time you try to hug a stranger, every time you look terrified at the idea of attempting something new, every time...
But, I cannot give up the fight for you. While I accept that prolonged early childhood developmental trauma will affect the rest of your life, I am determined to help you find a way to manage it. I wish it were as easy as giving you a daily vitamin or placing a BandAid. I wish a hug and a kiss would make it all better. But that's not the reality of raising a child with developmental trauma.
When you are ready to understand it, you need to recognize your trauma and gain more control over the triggers with a new set of thoughts and responses. Maybe you will talk about it or write about it. Maybe artistic expressions will be your outlet. Maybe relaxation techniques will help you. Maybe medication. You may work with a therapists or join a support group. There are non-invasive treatments involving the eyes and ears that could be game changers for you. When you are ready.
I do not know yet what will work for you, but I am certain that we must keep searching and take the right path or paths when the time comes. We'll be by your side every step of the way.
“...repeated trauma in childhood forms and deforms the personality.
The child trapped in an abusive environment is faced with formidable tasks of adaptation.
She must find a way to preserve a sense of trust in people who are untrustworthy,
safety in a situation that is unsafe,
control in a situation that is terrifyingly unpredictable,
power in a situation of helplessness.
Unable to care for or protect herself,
she must compensate for the failures of adult care and protection
with the only means at her disposal, an immature system of psychological defenses.”
