–By Julie Beem A mother called me a while back. “What consequence can I give her?” she started, “She just won’t behave at school and the teacher keeps sending home notes. The only thing I can think of, the only thing she seems to enjoy is going to our church’s Wednesday night events. If I take this away, will she understand and start behaving?” Hmmm…this type of consequence makes logical sense in typical parenting world.
–by Laura Dennis Author’s note: I was working on an entirely brand-new post for this week, but life happened. I present instead an edited version of a a post I wrote for my own blog, Les Pensées du chat noir, in honor of National Attachment and Trauma Awareness Day, 2015. You can learn more at the NATA website. In 2015, my family did more than their fair share to keep doctors in business. Whether it be broken
–by Lorraine Fuller If you live in a house with trauma, you know that not all seasons are created equal. Most kids do better with a regular routine, but especially special needs kids. As parents of those special kiddos, we learn how to tiptoe around holidays and traditions. We often clash with relatives, neighbors or teachers in our efforts to protect our children from the damaging effects of those special days. This means that holidays we
–by Carl Young Manager’s note: You can read more about Carl’s journey with his son at http://fightingforanswers.com/blog It’s a heart-breaking journey and an absolute must-read. Unfinished quilt tops. Loose fabric, pieced together. seams re-sewn to strengthen the final product. adjustments, another persons eye to style and color. A work in progress. I have been told, I have broad shoulders to carry the burden of David’s care. To these people I say: I am just a dad.
–by Lorraine Fuller Raising kids who have experienced early trauma is hard. It’s scary, defeating, isolating, messy, stressful, overwhelming… It’s dark and depressing, sometimes so dark you feel like you can’t breathe or take another step. Your friends, family, and neighbors don’t understand. You feel like a failure. You hear criticism from everyone from your own mother-in-law to total strangers in the grocery store. You dread phone calls from the school. Did I mention
–by Laura Dennis “You’re safe now,” my friend said, stroking my hair as I sipped a glass of water. Some time later, my daughter said nearly the same. Both times, I curled softly into sleep. Not much of a story, is it? Woman gets scared, woman finds safety, woman sleeps. For me, though, this story is remarkable. I’d been fighting an epic migraine, one that had started clawing up the side of my face during a five-hour drive. That
Manager’s Note: Back in February, we published a guest post by “Emerging Mama” Monica. It was so popular that we decided to try another. Please visit Monica and see all the good things she has to say at http://emergingmama.com/, where you will find, among other things, the original version of the post that follows, which was written back in January, but will ring just as true today as it did then. —– PARENTING TRAUMA REQUIRES A MAJOR
Blog manager’s note: Due to the sensitive nature of this post, ATN has decided, as an exception to our usual practice, to allow the contributing blogger to publish this post anonymously and without images. We trust that our readers will understand. Most parents hear about a school shooting and cry because they realize their kids could have been the victims. I cry because my kid could be a shooter. Don’t worry: he’s not. We take
–Craig Peterson Manager’s note: you can read the original post, along with many others, on Craig’s own blog at https://adoptingfaithafathersunconditionallove.org/ Craig also has a forthcoming memoir, Adopting Faith: A Father’s Unconditional Love, and you can follow his son Andrew’s story by clicking “Like” on his special Facebook page, Andrew Peterson Goes for the Gold Jan was a gem, a dedicated child welfare case manager. With knowledge of maternal alcohol use during pregnancy, she drove four young foster children 85
-by Laura Dennis I was enjoying my coffee when a panicked voice rose from the back yard. “Help!” My spit cup is in a tree!” I never imagined these words in the same breath: help, spit, cup, tree. Well, not until I became a parent, and not just any parent, but a parent with special powers, for I am raising a child with attachment disorder. I acquired these powers thanks to a series of so-called