There's a hole in my sidewalk...

From the public time-in on Friday, a four hour time-in on Sunday, and a time-in with Daddy on Monday--we've been going through hell lately. Almost a month ago I realized how much more Daniel needed and that we really had to step up our game. Since then Loreli has been on this downward spiral. Logically I understand it. Emotionally I've been freaking out, "How can this be? We've come so far! All of our lives have been so much better since mid-November, I just can't go through this hell again!"

Apparently I can.

After four hours (our past record was two) in a time-in on Sunday she finally decided to try to talk to me. Using a stem sentence I encouraged her with, "I'm afraid because..." 

Tears...stammering..."I'm afraid because I think you never really wanted me."

We talked about that a little but looking at it now I think I should have asked her, "What is it that makes you think I never wanted you?" maybe we would have gotten to what I think is the crux of the problem--when I give attention to Daniel she no longer feels loved--or she has something else going on in there that I don't yet know about.

Instead I asked her what Hiro (the part of her that is "survivor Loreli") thought. She wasn't sure, she just feels unwanted.

We talked about how our brains kind of get a "groove" in them and that groove is comfortable. It may not feel good but it feels familiar and sometimes familiar is mistaken for good. Maybe Hiro is pushing her toward that groove. I told her I have my own inner Hiro and she's always pushing me toward living in that groove too. She thinks it's safe in there. 

Loreli looked at me with big eyes and said, "What does your Hiro tell you?"

I looked into Loreli's eyes and thought, "Is this wise?" It's probably some serious ammo that will be flung back at me someday but going along with my wish to live a more full, deep, big, open-hearted life, I said, "It's ugly. My inner Hiro says, 'You aren't perfect. You aren't even good enough. You aren't good enough to help the kids. What makes you think you can do it? You suck.'"

Loreli looked shocked. Then teary. Then resolute. "Mom, that's not true. You are good enough. You help us all the time."

Then I was teary...

I told her I fight my inner Hiro all the time and sometimes I succeed, "I hear you but I don't agree. Bug off."

We talked about one of our favorite poems by Portia Nelson:

Autobiography in Five Short Chapters

Chapter One:
I walk down the street.
There's a deep hole in the sidewalk. 
I fall in.
I am lost...I am helpless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

Chapter Two:
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in this same place.
But, it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

Chapter Three:
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in...it's a habit...but,
my eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

Chapter Four: 
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

Chapter Five:
I walk down another street.

I told her I think I'm in chapter three. She didn't think she was. We recited it and she decided that she was in chapter two. "When I fall in the hole I think I might want to stay there forever. I can't get out on my own. I need you to pull me out."

This kid.

"I'm glad I'm a step ahead and can help you get out of that hole. Just imagine how it will feel when we both 'walk down another street.'" 

I talked to her about what I call "The Trauma Pie". "Imagine a pie with a bunch of pieces, let's say it has..."

"27 pieces."

"Okay, 27 pieces. They are all pieces of one trauma. For 7 months now you've been working through one piece at a time. You fall into the hole in the sidewalk, you allow me to pull you out, we look at the pie piece of that trauma, talk about it and then let it fall into the dirt, buh-bye. Now we have 26 pieces to work through. Each time the pie gets a little bit smaller. Every piece we look at, talk about, work through and let fall into the dirt just means that we are that much closer to "walking down another street" someday. For that trauma. There are others too, right? We keep chunking away at those Trauma Pies, both of us! But someday we will both "walk down another street" and our pie plates will be empty. And when another trauma pops up, because we are human, we'll know how to work our way through and we can help each other do it."

After going through all that emotion though she was back as Hiro the next evening with Brad. Damn. Amazingly though, Brad tried his first time-in! Yay Brad! This is not an easy process and takes a lot of listening to your Inner Voice. 

I wasn't around because I had dealt with so much verbal abuse from Daniel earlier and was sick of the whole thing so I was hiding in my car in the garage.

No, I'm not kidding. 

No, I didn't have a bottle of wine with me. I don't drink but sometimes I wish I did.

I was so exhausted that I fell asleep and woke up with a scream and flailing out in the dark, not having a clue as to where I was. The light had gone off in the garage and it was pitch black in the car. I must have hit the power lock button in my panic so when I finally realized I was in my car and tried to open the door, I still couldn't get out---aaaarrrrgh!

Anyway.

The time-in devolved into this poster that she propped in her door:

Which is the saddest thing I've ever seen. When I posted it on a private Reactive Attachment Disorder list I'm on, I got a lot of comments saying, "Thank God she's verbal about it. It's scarier when you don't know what they are thinking."

I was distraught though. I had definitely "fallen into the hole in the sidewalk". I saw it but I didn't know what else to do.

So I listened to the call of the horses and went to see them yesterday. I took my camp chair with the foot rest, a big floppy hat (it's 65 degrees here in Colorado) and my journal. Here is what I learned:

Wynter kept snuffling me, trying to gently nibble me and my chair. I kept telling him to, "Be gentle..." After I had said it for the twentieth time I actually heard what I was saying. "Yes, I hear what I said Wynter. Thank you." I'm supposed to "be gentle" with my children.

Like a petulant child I asked him, "Who's going to be gentle with me!?" And he said, "We are."

He stopped nibbling and stood quiet vigil over me for about ten minutes, his head and neck hanging over me in my chair. It felt I had a protector. And with Wynter being a near 18hh horse (very, very tall), that was quite the feeling!

He went to get a drink and then came back to curiously nibble at my chair again, he was so persistent!

... ... ...

Oh, got it! As I am supposed to be! Stay the course, don't give up! Stop doubting what I know. 

He wanted me to remember my saying about children of trauma, "Manipulation is a cry for help." Say it with me here:

Manipulation is a cry for help.

Rayn came to me to lend her support and show me to take care of myself. She's like a trusted girlfriend.

And then sweet Remi came over to me. Oh, my heart.

 

With his inhalation, "We..." and his exhalation, "Love you..." over and over and over again.

Crying, I synced my breath with his and the, "We love you," changed to him saying and then me following his lead--together with our breathing, "We love. We love. We love." 

 

He said, "It is what we (all of us) are here to do. Because we (the horses and I) open wide to love we are easily hurt."

And then Remi said, "If that is the price to be paid, I'll gladly pay it."

 

"Boundaries are necessary but don't use them to wall yourself off."

"Come to us," and then he put his nose in the center of my chest and said, "We clear your energy." (I had been thinking that maybe I needed to go get some Reiki for myself).

Needless to say I left feeling loved, protected, clear on my purpose, and ready to take on the rest of the day. 

I can do this. I am doing this. And when I have fallen into the hole in the sidewalk I need to climb out and go sit with the horses in their pasture. Next time you hear me in a panic please tell me, "Climb out of that hole and go to the horses!" :-)

And if you got this far--bless you. That was a novella!