Finding meaning and creation through cancer, adoption, and a series of seemingly unconnected strings of life events.

I knew it would happen. I would start a blog – I’m good at starting. I would plan, execute, and begin beautifully and meticulously writing, sharing, and convincing myself I would continue for the long haul.

Then life steps in and I stall. Two tragic deaths and an unexpected need for a cross country road trip, another line crossed by my child that sees no boundaries, and then my own body breaking down with pneumonia which was only made worse by my inability to rest or acknowledge my sickness.

I feel back at square one – waking up with anxiety at night, keeping myself busy with task after task, and focusing on everyone else before meeting my own needs. I’m climbing out, but I can’t shake the feeling that even when I get back to ground level there’s a mountain ahead.

A month ago, we were advised to enter an in-home intensive parenting intervention program to change the trajectory of our family life. I want to be vulnerable, but when I write out the details, I feel stupid for not seeing it sooner.

When you’re in the middle of ongoing trauma, it’s hard to see the way out. When you’ve come through long-term trauma in the past, it’s hard to convince yourself to quit this one now. When you’ve lived with a behavior long enough, it’s easy to make concessions for its continuation. It’s even easier to miss it getting gradually worse.

When you’re trudging along in grim reality for so long, the bright reports seem even brighter – and you question yourself and your judgement. Maybe I’m the problem again. Maybe my perspective is off. Maybe I’m overreacting.

Or maybe I’m being manipulated.

The program starts this week and the looming thought of it gives me both hope and anxiety. Will she really see us? Will she know what to do?

Last night, I held my sobbing six-year-old. He has been largely shielded by efforts from my middle child. But he’s getting bigger and older, and now he is scared. Last night, when I was at a meeting, I couldn’t protect any of them. I couldn’t protect my six-year-old from his brother’s foot – which without provocation or warning kicked him hard, knocking the wind out of him and shaking him to his core. I couldn’t protect my middle child from trying so hard to retreat into his world of books that his body literally jiggled the pages with anxiety as he read. I couldn’t protect my oldest from himself – his impulses, his anxiety over them, and his regret after.

Whether it’s physical or verbal, this is our reality – our medicated reality – our every day. Is it as bad as it’s been in the past? No. Are we on an upward trajectory? No.  

Sustaining the current status is not an option moving forward. Either we let this control us or we set a path forward to control it. That’s what we are hoping to gain from this program.

On the eve of change, I have hope that when we start this, we can follow through. I have hope that someone will truly see us and know how to help in a sustaining way. I have hope because I have no other choice but to keep trying.