The Ripple In the Water
Today I write this to you all and hope you never have to feel the ripple & if you do I’m here to help you through the waves.
The Ripple In The Water: Navigating Secondary Trauma As A Mother:
Some children have the luxury of having their basic needs met without a second thought, day in and day out, by their parents.
My dear child, I think back to the first time I heard your heartbeat in the OBGYN’s office. My body started to tremble and my eyes welled with tears as I realized you were alive. I knew your heart was the same as mine. You became my new world. The moment they cut me open and I heard your cry, you consumed me. Your dad focused on asking me if I was okay, but all I could think about was you. I only spoke to say “Go get her, go get my baby”. It was easy to care for you. You, my baby, came first, always. As you grew, I knew I had to create a good life for you. I spoke your language before you could even speak.
Eventually, there came a time when the child I knew; my goofy, happy, silly, silly girl, you, started to shatter in front of my eyes. I saw weight in you I had never seen before at the age of four. I thought, how could the world become so heavy at such a young age?
Even during the most difficult times, I never gave up. My connection to you was so strong, I noticed the BIG emotions, the changes in the way you spoke, and every changed behavior. I knew you so well and yet you held something so excruciating that I could not see.
I was determined to lift the weight from your shoulders even though I didn’t know what it was or where it came from. It always seemed to be right outside of my grasp.
Trauma isn’t a single event. It is a stone thrown into a pond. The ripples touch everyone, especially the person holding the child.
Trauma affects every part of our behavior. When something terrible has happened and we don’t know how to process it, our brains will do anything to protect us. This is to keep us at equilibrium.
Trauma is like a storm cloud that follows you around. The rain is constantly falling and dampening your clothes leaving you uncomfortable no matter where you go. Sometimes the thunder is so loud you can’t escape. Trying to control the weather becomes exhausting.
As a mother watching the emotional turmoil in your child it’s like watching a ghost following your child. You keep trying to shoo it away. You become hyper-vigilant of any and every injustice. You begin to shake your fist to the sky, desperately asking why your child can’t have her basic needs met by the other adults in her life? All they had to do was keep you safe. The number one basic rule of having a child.
When you find out what your child has gone through, the first week is complete shock. Your brain will try to protect you from the emotional pain. You will want to turn away. You cannot bear the thoughts, the agony, the stripped innocence, or the weight of the disgusting world crushing your child.
You must decide to believe wholeheartedly in your child. They would not lie about this. You vow to live and help them live too. Life will never be the same for either of you. Accept what has been done and allow that grief to wash over you.
The agony sets in next. You lay in it. You spend days sobbing into your pillow, your desk at the office, your partner’s arms, you have constant crying spells. The out-of-body experiences come out of nowhere. The world completely slows down.
You must keep going.
You go to the appointments, manage the emotions, accidentally making promises you can’t keep saying “You’ll never go over there ever again.” You must realize you have no control. This didn’t happen under your care. The other parent allowed that to happen.
For weeks you’ll continue to grieve the life you thought you would have. You will look at the other children around you and become envious, resentful even of the parents who are together, the parents who keep their kids safe. The anger boils up. Anger towards everything and everyone takes over. You hate the world. How dare they and why my child? You didn’t have to do that to her. She was so sweet, so innocent. She did nothing wrong to deserve that. As her mother you won’t understand. You’d rather bear the pain for your child. You’d let it happen to yourself a million times if you could just shield your child from that one traumatic experience. You would rather take the bullet than allow it to even graze your child’s arm.
You will need a mask. Your therapy and your peace are non-negotiable for your child in recovery. You must manage yourself so you can help her. The days of normalcy are gone. Let go of your expectations. Have flexibility but still have rules. Remind yourself that you cannot control what happened, but you can control how your child feels with you. Sometimes the only win you will have is getting through the day.
Moving forward will come in waves; the ripples will last longer and harder than a little pebble. This experience will affect your entire household. The splashes will get everyone wet. You must learn how to live with the information you have been given. There will be extensive feelings of helplessness. You will lay in bed with your child watching them with sorrow, you will have moments when you hold them and they slump into your arms. Take those moments as knowing your child feels safe, at least with you, if nowhere else. Be their safety. Leave the door open for them always. You must help them weather the storm. You become the home that doesn’t let the rain cloud in.
You are now the protector and healer. There will be intense exhaustion that comes with this role.
You will live in a period of fog where you are just trying to see through it. You must keep moving until the fog clears even just the slightest amount. You hold onto that sight, and you keep going. You tell yourself,