This Isn't Real Life... This Isn't Fantasy: The strange world of therapeutic parenting

This post is also available at my new website Trauma Mama Drama.  If you enjoy reading my blog, remember to update your feeds, emails and bookmarks with the new link, because eventually I will only post updates on the new site's blog.

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In 2013, my husband won custody of his children (my stepson, "Little," age six; my stepdaughter, "Middle," age 7). Before they came to live with us, they endured a lot of early-childhood trauma and neglect, and they were soon diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD).

The most important part of their treatment plan involves therapeutic parenting. We use the SPACE model, which stands for "safety, supervision, structure, support... playful, accepting, curious, and empathetic." We do enforce consequences, but from an outsider's perspective I'm sure it looks like we don't because therapeutic consequences are extremely understated. They aren't rooted in fear, shame, or guilt, and most consequences aren't rewards-based. So, for example, if Little was throwing cars at the wall, I wouldn't take his cars away. Instead, I would grab softer, more appropriate things to throw at the wall and say, "My, it sure does feel good to throw things when we're mad, huh?" Later, he would patch the holes.

Some things require rewards-based consequences, and we try to be neutral when those come up. For example, if they have a horrible day full of meltdowns, they lose the right to stay up until bedtime and must go to bed early. To make it therapeutic, we avoid saying things like, "You're going to bed an hour early because your behavior is awful! Maybe you will remember this before you decide to throw a huge fit!" Rather, we try to say something like,  "Oh, it's time for bed now. You are so tired. I want to make sure you are have a good day tomorrow so you need a little extra rest!"

I don't like parenting this way. It's hard and tedious and exhausting, and I'm not very good at it. It's hard not to lose my cool when my kid uses a paper clip to rip holes in her school clothes for the umpteenth time. Most days, every fiber of my being screams, "Punish them for this bad behavior, because the real world certainly will!" Sometimes, I listen to those fibers and dole out a punitive consequence. But I try my best to stay therapeutic through even the most awful behaviors.

Recently, after explaining some misdeed Middle and my response to her behavior, someone remarked, "It just seems like you're not preparing them for the real world."

And it's true. Therapeutic parenting does not prepare our kids for the real world.

So... why do we parent this way when we know we aren't preparing them for the real world? I mean, isn't that the whole point of parenting?!

First, we have tried typical parenting methods and know they do not work. Sticker and reward charts are useless... Middle figures out how to manipulate them with an amazing competence, and Little does not seem to care whether or not he gets stickers or rewards. Giving them positive attention and compliments only encourages them to act out, and punishing them by yelling or taking away toys seems to have no impact (I once removed every single item from the kids' room and told them they had to earn their things back. This did not faze them... In fact, they enthusiastically helped me empty out their bedroom).

Second, we know why typical parenting methods don't work. The trauma and neglect they encountered before they came to live with us actually altered their brains and brain chemistry. Enforcing punitive consequences isn't going to rewire their brains because they aren't lacking in a knowledge of right and wrong... They lack a secure attachment and this prevents them from understanding and building healthy interpersonal relationships which are an essential part of being a functional human being. The only way to fix these issues is for us, as parents, to foster a healthy attachment bond with the children.

Building up a healthy attachment in my kids with a traumatic background is paramount in parenting them. They will not stop engaging in the negative behaviors associated with RAD until they develop empathy and feel safe in their environment, and the best way to help kids from traumatic backgrounds develop empathy is to use therapeutic, non-punitive techniques that show them they are loved and they are safe. These techniques, of course, do little to prepare kids for the harsh reality of the real world... But here's the thing. If we stick with it and do our best, if a healthy attachment builds and becomes secure, eventually the kids will be able to handle more typical parenting methods and we will be able to move on to methods that prepare them for life outside of our home.

And I'm confident that we will get there. We've already seen so many improvements in my step-children since we started parenting with SPACE, and they heal a little more with every passing day. In fact, Middle recently made me a rainbow-colored bracelet that reads, "I love you."

And I never take it off... Ever.

So, to everyone who gets confused by our parenting methods or worries that the kids will leave our home and buckle under the reality of life, I advise you to relax. We'll prepare them for the real world eventually, but right now, we're working on love instead.

"Crazy Lying" (Part Two)

This post is also available at my new website Trauma Mama Drama.  If you enjoy reading my blog, remember to update your feeds, emails and bookmarks with the new link, because eventually I will only post updates on the new site's blog.

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In Part One of my blogs on this subject, I shared with you the heartbreaking day when Husband realized the "abnormality" of Middle's lying behavior and how we responded in one of the worst possible ways. Today, I'm going to tell you how to deal with it.

My favorite resource on how to deal with the lying comes from Christine Moers, of course!

I love how she emphasizes the fact that you shouldn't ask them whether or not they did something because it's pointless, and that getting them to admit their lie is usually pointless as well. Middle recently gouged markings on my desk and I knew she had done it. There was no question. Just like when she wrote on the wall, I had all the evidence I needed to accuse her of gouging the desk without worry that maybe it was another kiddo.

I felt like Kevin Spacey in American Beauty... "IT'S JUST! A! DESK!!!!"

But she would NOT admit it, no matter how many times we told her she wouldn't be in trouble, that we didn't care at all about the desk but only that she trust us enough to tell us what happened. It took her four hours to admit it under intense interrogation, and by that time we were so angry that she was already in trouble for lying to us and her admitting the truth didn't mitigate our anger or her consequences.

A few days after the desk gouging incident, Middle lied to me about a marker she'd hidden in her room (she is not allowed markers in her room because she marks up her walls, and we rent an apartment that for some stupid reason used matte-finish paint on the walls... so removing the marker results in the paint coming off which means we have to pay to repaint the room when we move!). I asked her where it was, she said she didn't know, so I said, "If I find it hidden in your room, I will know that you are lying about not hiding the marker. Are you sure you don't want to tell me? You won't get in trouble, but you will if you don't tell me the truth right now."

"I didn't hide it. It's just gone."

Of course I found the marker, hidden carefully and strategically underneath her clothes.  I didn't move the marker, and went back to her to ask, "Are you sure you didn't hide it?"

"I didn't do it!" she yelled, and started crying.

"Middle, I already found it and know you hid it. Won't you tell me the truth, please?"

"Aaaaaaaaahhhh-ahhhh-ahhhhhhhhh!" she wailed. "You don't believe me!"

"I want you to find the marker and then we will talk," I said. I was starting to doubt that she'd hidden it. Middle is very convincing.

But when she came in, she went right to the clothes and pulled it out. And I saw RED. I wanted to punish her and I started yelling at her. "WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST TELL ME WHEN I ASKED YOU!? NOW YOU ARE IN TROUBLE!"

I went out and bought ice cream sandwiches and gave them to Little and Oldest, and then asked her again if she'd hidden the marker. "No," she said.

So I put her ice cream sandwich back in the freezer. "You can have THIS when you decide to tell me the truth!"

The next night after dinner, I doled out ice cream sandwiches again but withheld Middle's. "Are you ready to talk about the marker?"

::silence::

"Okay, no ice cream sandwich for you."

After that night, I started feeling guilty. I was definitely not following the SPACE model for therapeutic parenting by trying to force her to explain herself. I thought really hard about why she was lying, and past incidents in which she felt she had to lie, and realized that she absolutely did not believe us that she would avoid punishment if she'd just tell us the truth. I realized that in her past, she probably faced severe consequences when she finally owned up to a lie, consequences that were the exact same had she kept on with the lie. She was afraid to tell me the truth... And when I asked her what she thought I'd do if she admitted to hiding the marker, she said, "I don't know... Swat me or something."

I decided that since I already knew the truth about the marker that it didn't really matter... what mattered was that she trust me enough to admit a wrongdoing. So we practiced. I made her feel as safe as possible, and asked her to say, "I hid the marker because I wanted to keep it in my room." And when she did, I responded by giving her half an ice cream sandwich, with the promise of a whole one after dinner.

That hasn't stopped the lying. Oh, no. Not by a long shot. But instead of responding with anger and punishment, I've started having her practice telling us the truth. The last lie was over our shower nozzle which she accidentally broke (or on purpose, but that doesn't really matter, does it?). She freaked out when I asked her about it and started lying and crying, but I reassured her and told her it was safe to tell me the truth. I asked her again what she thought would happen if she admitted to breaking it, and she said, "Never let me take a shower again." And we practiced her telling me, "I accidentally broke the shower nozzle." And I said, "That's okay!  And, since you told me what happened, I know how to fix it!  Thank you for being so brave!"

I'm not sure how this will work out in the end, of course, but I'm feeling pretty good about this method I'm trying out. I certainly enjoy working with her like this instead of punishing her or getting so angry... because when I get angry it just scares her more and makes her clamp onto that lie for dear life. It breaks our bonds and depletes her trust in me, and how can I expect her to tell me the truth if she doesn't trust me?

Bottom line: "Crazy lying" originates from the fear she grew up with before I even met her. When I punished her for lying, I only reinforced the paradigms of her trauma (I can't trust anyone, I must protect myself, and my parents will hate me, maybe hit me, if they find out I did something wrong). While addressing a lie is important because of the control issues our kids with traumatic pasts tend to have, it's important to address it in a way that makes them feel safe and reinforces the bonds of attachment you have with them, however tenuous those bonds may be.

Other Resources on "Crazy Lying"
A blog on how one mom reacts to crazy lying
A blog that looks at lying in a different way
A blog reminding us of the motivation for crazy lying
Ask a question that gives them a choice
This blog illustrates some therapeutic conversations about lying

What Does It Feel Like to Parent a Child with Trauma Issues? Sia's music videos (Part Two)

This post is also available at my new website Trauma Mama Drama.  If you enjoy reading my blog, remember to update your feeds, emails and bookmarks with the new link, because eventually I will only post updates on the new site's blog.

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I felt emotionally hollowed by the video for "Chandelier," but the video for "Elastic Heart" gutted me. "Chandelier" puts me in the shoes of my step-kids and reminds me that the kids' behavior comes from a place of sadness, anger, and terror.

The video for "Elastic Heart" accomplishes this as well. However, Shia LeBouf's performance alongside Maddie Ziegler's adds a whole new emotional dimension that I did not anticipate when I started watching the video. I have had a hard time explaining to friends and family exactly what it feels like to parent my step-kids. I try to describe the pain they feel and inflict on me, the sadness and anger I feel over the whole situation, the commitment to keep trying even when it seems impossible... but my words fall far short of accurately conveying the reality of parenting children whose early-life experiences extinguished their ability to trust their caregivers.

Husband and I were overjoyed when his kids came to live with us. They were in an unsafe environment, and our home would shelter them. They would be safe with us. We would be able to fix their problems as long as they remained in our homes. But we did not understand that they would fear our safe environment full of love and kindness and predictability. To them, we weren't giving them a safe place.  They didn't even understand that concept. No. They interpreted all of our rules and structure as confining them.  We were trapping them and trying to force them to accept our love when they saw that love as a threat. To them, our house wasn't a home... It was a cage.

So, Middle and Little fought against us. Fought against our love. Attacked us. Over and over again.

And every time we thought they were starting to accept our love, starting to feel safe... Every time we thought, "Okay, Crazy Time is over. Now we can function as a family and have fun together. We can go to big events and the kids can handle it. Now we can get back to normal," something would happen and would realize they still have so far to go to heal. Feeling safe and trusting us evokes their feelings of insecurity*.  

In their minds, our safe environment threatened them, and our love couldn't be trusted. And even after almost two years, they still don't feel safe, they still don't feel like we will love them unconditionally. When they get scared that their world is going to be turned upside down,  "Fight, Freeze or Flee" kicks in, and they resist our attempts to bond with them. 

Husband and I are pretty lucky because they are young and they are too small to do any serious damage most of the time when they get angry enough to get physical. We are lucky because their violent outbursts have been rage reactions, not premeditated plans of attack. We are lucky because we have a wonderful therapist and behavior program and they are no longer physically violent or orchestrating mental manipulation on us (and each other) all day, every day. And I am thankful.

But when my kids do unsettling or violent things, I feel frightened. Their behavior can be scary on many levels... At least once a day I worry this will never get better, and that is terrifying.

The simple truth is, the intensity of their emotions can reach very scary levels. And sometimes I snap at them.

And sometimes, I do want to run away.

At times, I've felt that well-meaning friends and family have actually secretly wanted me to run away. People have asked me to really consider if I could handle parenting the kids.  If I really wanted to parent them. I've been reminded that no one would blame me for walking away from my situation. That I shouldn't be putting Oldest through all this drama for kids that "aren't really mine." And I have honestly pondered those things countless times, because the last two years have been the hardest two years I've lived.

But... I stay.  I stay, and try to comfort them when they are in the clutches of the Reactive Attachment Disorder minions.  

I stay, and do my damnedest to therapeutically parent them so that they can heal.

Here, Shia LeBouf enacts "playful" part of parenting with PACE 

(the acronym stands for Playful, Accepting, Curious, Empathetic; Daniel Hughes

established this method and his books really helped me feel more positive about parenting

Middle and Little).  Who'd have thought such an unlikely star would illustrate therapeutic parenting so perfectly?

I stay out of love for Husband.  How could I leave him to do this immense job all on his own?  How could I run away from his children when he so openly and readily accepted my biological daughter who has her own difficulties with behavior?  How could I abandon the man who has shown me so much love, who has redefined my definition of love, who would never abandon me if our roles were reversed?

I stay out of love for myself.  I couldn't forgive myself for walking away from these beautiful children who have seen more horrible things than I have seen in my 31 years.  Who have repeatedly been mistreated and abandoned.  Who so desperately want to love and receive love openly, without fear, who want to "fit" in our family... But just can't bring themselves to believe we won't hurt or leave them.  How could I live with myself if I just added to their mental distress?  I couldn't, and I know I couldn't.  So, I stay for myself.

I stay out of love for Oldest.  While it is true that in the beginning, the chaos that her step-siblings brought to our house caused her great distress, we have revamped our parenting style and put into place some steps for her to take if she feels scared when Middle or Little has a meltdown.  The "negative behaviors" Middle and Little expose her to are teaching her how to deal with peer pressure and other things that kids have to deal with as they grow, things I've always worried she wouldn't get a chance to learn with her genetic disorder.  She has someone to play with most of the time, someone to share things with. She loves her little brother and sister... and that is a good thing.  The chaos of our home can be distressing at times, yes, but having a family with two committed parents, where she really gets to see the unconditional love Husband and I have for our children, balances that out.

And, of course, I stay out of love for Middle and Little. I can't even imagine what would happen to them if I left them.  I can't imagine what their minds would do if I left them.  I know sometimes I doubt it, but the fact is they do love me as much as they can... As much as RAD lets them love me. Their expressions of love look so different than my own, and because of that I do forget this simple fact sometimes.

Watch the whole video below... and listen to the lyrics... and think about how children with traumatic pasts want your love but also fear your love...

And another one bites the dust

Oh, why can I not conquer love?

And I might have thought that we were one

Wanted to fight this war without weapons

And I wanted it, I wanted it bad

But there were so many red flags

Now another one bites the dust

Yeah, let's be clear, I'll trust no one...

Well I've got thick skin and an elastic heart

But your blade, it might be too sharp

I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard

Yeah, I may snap and I move fast

But you won't see me fall apart

Cuz' I've got an elastic heart

And I will stay up through the night

And let's be clear, won't close my eyes

And I know that I can survive

I'll walk through fire to save my life

And I want it, I want it so bad

I'm doing everything I can

Then another one bites the dust

It's hard to lose a chosen one

*For example: Yesterday was AWESOME!  We visited Husband's family and friends, and they rocked some awesome behavior.  Little even talked himself out of a meltdown.  This is an amazing feat in its own right, but considering he had been up for fifteen hours with no nap in a place that essentailly showered him with love and safety all day long, I found his remaining calm when he didn't get the piggy-back ride to the car he wanted absolutely remarkable.  I was thrilled.  

Husband asked the kids if they'd had a good time (clearly they had... They got to go swimming twice, had two picnics, played with dogs and other kids, roasted marshmallows, and played air hockey with each other).  Oldest gleefully cheered, "YES!  Best day ever!  Middle and Little, however, were less enthused.  "My day was in the middle," Middle said.  "Thumbs up.  Thumbs down," Little said sullenly. 

I spent the car ride home quietly preparing myself for the backlash we'd likely face today.  And, so far, today hasn't been so great, but Little has had two meltdowns (short ones, thankfully!) and when I woke Middle this morning I found that she had been scratching herself and there was blood on her face and shirt. Nonsense chatter is through the roof and Middle's deliberate antagonizing of me is full force.  They are also fighting over every single thing... Simple things, like how to pet our cat or over the last time Middle wore the shirt she is wearing.

I celebrate the fact that the great time we had yesterday would have been absolutely impossible one year ago. But I mourn the fact that for my step-kids, big fun means big feelings which, more often than not, means big chaos during or shortly thereafter.