...in the Atlantic.

Life has been so hectic lately. We’ve had children come in and out of our homes for the past few weeks, and it’s finally starting to take it’s toll on me. We have had a total of 10 kids come in and out in the past few weeks and with each of them came lots of tears, laughs, hugs and kisses. But, most of all there was the second hand trauma left when each child’s belongings were gone and all was left was the crumbs from the breakfast prepared or the dirty laundry from the child’s last change of clothes.
What is secondhand trauma, you might ask? Secondhand trauma is the stress associated from helping or wanting to help a traumatized or suffering person. It’s when we set aside our home thoughts and feelings and go into “crisis mode” to help conquer the next issue that arises. In foster care, obviously the children do not show up on our doorstep because they had an awesome time at Disney World or because they were shown lots of love and compassion, instead these children have been exposed to things and have physically been put through things that none of us have ever imagined.
To care for a child that is physically black and blue from the tips of their toes to the point of their ears can become the “norm” for foster parents. Child after child, story after story, foster parents begin to understand the severity of the abuse that goes on in this world. Though our hearts break for these children, we often have to “put on our big girl panties” and push our own emotions aside so that we can properly care for these children that so often need our complete attention- whether they are newborns or teenagers.
We listen to these children replay events in their life that, to them are normal, but to us we are horrified. To think that we once might have complained about something in our past as unimportant like the type of car our parents bought us while in high school compared to some of the horror stories that a broken, scared five year old shares in their deepest, darkest hour will bring intense feelings of complete gratefulness. It will bring a grown man to his knees to thank God for the blessings in his own past, present and future. But what we don’t realize is the lasting effects of these traumatic experiences that are shared with us and how negative they impact our own lives.
No, it’s not until you are on the floor of your kitchen, sobbing tears for children and circumstances that are completely out of your control while feeling like your on a ship, in the middle of a monsoon in the Atlantic.
I am throwing out our anchor. The crashing of the waves and the on going feeling of pure exhaustion and self doubt as the waves continue to drowned us have got to come to a stop. We have to throw out our anchor, hold onto each other and pull ourselves back into shore because right now I am drowning. I am tired of swimming in circles. I cannot pull anyone else onto our ship until my ship is built back up and strong.
We are damaged. We are strong and we can rise above this monsoon that currently has us feeling stranded, but it will take time.
We will hold onto our faith that God has a plan. He has a plan for every single person in this home, no matter how long or short they might stay. We will rely on each other for support and comfort. We will remain a family regardless of how strong the winds get or how intimating the waves might be. We are stronger than any storm out there, we just have to build our ship back up.
We can do this.