Do You Love Him? Or Hate Him? Secondary Trauma in Parents

I recently caught up with a good friend and regaled her with stories of “how things are going” in my adoptive home.

Well… first came the socially acceptable answers. “My son’s got in-home therapy now – which is great – and he seems to be taking to it well. He’s made SO much progress in XYZ. We’ve been able to reduce his medication. I’m so proud that he’s accomplishing….” And then I think I met the quota. That was enough.

“But… he’s only getting in-home care because he’s a been a visible threat to others. He destroys the home. He targets and tortures me with constant defiance and rejection of everything I offer: food, touch, play. He took a bite out of a wall recently (true story). He makes me tired. He scares me. I don’t want to be around him anymore.”

She’s a fellow adoptive mother and so I don’t have to maintain the facade for long. It was her response that triggered me, however. “So, I’m confused,” she says. “Do you love him? Or do you hate him?”

Why can’t it be both? Those you love will end up hurting you the most. What I’m talking about is the emotional cost to love someone who is incredibly imperfect.

My son has shown me a world of violence that I didn’t believe could exist in such a small body. He actually scares me (truth).

I worry so much about him. I worry for his future. I worry for his “now.” And I feel immense sorrow over his “yesterday.” The trauma he experienced has manufactured a mental disorder which has led him down a dark path.

And it’s part of my job to go down that shadowy lane and bring him back out.

…We call it a “primal rage.” Its an unconscious and animalistic fight-or-flight event. Someone is about to get hurt. Definitely him. And anyone else that gets in his way.

He cannot manage it. I repeat: he cannot manage his words, feelings, or actions in these meltdowns. And for whatever reason, some call it love, I get in there. I step in and hold his fists down at his sides. I curl him into a child-like pose. I try to prevent head injuries. I put the washcloth to his head. I offer sips of water. I hum softly and say “It’s going to be OK.” All while he actively tries to scratch my face off, kick my stomach, bite me, and tells me to go “places.”

And in time… he calms down.

The hulk shrinks back into a child. He’s grateful, apologetic even. Meanwhile, I’m profusely sweating. We are sitting in the epicenter of a “destruction zone.” 1 or 2 hours has gone by (like a G-D time warp). And I’m exhausted. And possibly injured. Again.

And I think to myself “This is it! This is the LAST time, I’ll ever do this.” These thoughts echo in my head like I imagine anyone in an abusive relationship would be having. “I hate this” becomes “I hate him.” …And “What did I get myself into?” and “How do I get out?”

We are making visible progress. These events are fewer and further between. He is learning to use his words. He is learning to trust. He, He, He…

And meanwhile, I, as the adult in this situation, should be able to bounce back and cope enough to maintain my sanity? 3 years into this …and I haven’t bounced back much. I guess, I’ve just gotten better at keeping these things private? Again, like someone in an abusive relationship… BECAUSE I AM IN ONE.

How much longer will it take?? How many more books do I need to read? What other classes will we take? WHERE is the light at the end of the tunnel? When do I just get to be a MOM… and not a therapeutic punching bag “replacement mom.”

My love and hopes for him fuel me. My fear of him and for him drains me. All in the same moment.

In this reflection, I’m reminded of a passage in the Bible. “For God has not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind” (2nd Timothy, 1:7). These words were spoken to someone who feared and doubted the days ahead and the cost of doing what was right. Later, he is reminded that we each are called by God, in our own way, towards HIS purpose. “…a holy calling, not according to our works, but according to his own purpose and grace” (verse 9).

I cannot even begin calling my motherhood a “holy” experience. But I do know that restoring a life riddled with neglect, pain, and abandonment isn’t on many people’s wish lists. This journey is hard. And for every time I say “God, I don’t think I can do this. How can I love this child?” …There is another response.

“Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. …And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. …There is no fear in love. …We love because He first loved us” (1st John 4: 7-21). I also know that “He restores my soul” (Psalm 23:3). Just as I believe he WILL restore my son’s. Amen.

I think this is God’s way of reminding me that he is still sovereign. He supplies the love I need. It is more than enough. For me, as well as my son. God sees more than just “today.” And He has told me not to fear. These words will be in my prayers for this “Season.” And I would encourage everyone else who can identify with this situation to also consider God’s word on the matter.

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