When a child comes into my home, they are usually confused, lost, scared or angry. At one time or another in my healing process, I have experienced those same feelings. That is to say, I am an adult experiencing them as a child. I've learned so much over the past few years about trauma and how it affects a child. Trauma can cause a child to cease developing emotionally and even begin to disconnect the heart from the head, metaphorically, of course. Until that rift is healed, both parts remain separate. The head takes over the life process, compartmentalizing and numbing events that can bring fear, sadness or anger. In the meantime, the heart becomes secluded, away from anything or anyone that could hurt it. Its ability to feel withers as it hides behind the more rational mind.
Interesting stuff, really. Pretty complex yet so simple. Every child that I care for is in this position, having the realities of their world shattered as they are removed from everything they have ever known. Initially, when I became a foster parent, I would receive a child and just go through the motions. Their basic needs were met but I didn't know how to go beyond that. My actions were almost robotic - time to eat, time to bathe, time for bed. The interaction was limited. The affects on my heart were nil. And, at the time, that was ok. It was how I survived. But all of that changed when I began my healing process.
I never considered how reconnecting my heart to my head would affect specific areas of my life. Yes, I was able to feel more deeply and relate more wholly but these were taken to a whole new level by one child in particular.
His name was Christopher and he was 2 years old. His mom had trouble with alcohol and mom's boyfriend was bad news. Mom would leave Christopher with a friend for days on end while she went out drinking and partying. Thankfully, her friend had had enough and reported her to CPS. Christopher came to me soon after and stayed for two weeks. During that time, I was able to feel love for this little guy. Not because he was cute and sweet but because I was able to connect with him in a way that I had never experienced with anyone else. The way he would look to me for things or hold my hand stirred something inside. I came to understand why Jesus loved little children so much. Until this time, that concept had escaped me.
We had a routine. He realized that I would put him to bed at night and be there the next morning. And every morning brought the sweetest smile. What a gift. Christopher didn't say much when he first arrived. He would get angry and scream if I didn't understand him. With little effort, however, we were able to communicate. His first word was "you" which was the result of sitting in front of the mirror and pointing to him in it. "You", I'd say. I'll never forget how much pleasure he got when he sat in the bath tub and played with wind up toys. His hands would shake with excitement, his eyes were wide with wonder. I looked forward to that almost as much as I did getting him ready for bed. Every night, I would sit on the couch with the lights off. He would fall asleep at the other end of it and I would carry him to his bed, safe and sound. He could sleep when I was near. And that felt pretty good.
When the decision was made to place Christopher long term, I knew I couldn't continue to care for him so another home was arranged. That was devastating. I couldn't give him up. He was mine and I would take him to Mexico if I needed. But the reality of it was that he would eventually go back to his mom, who loved her son enough to get the help she needed. So, I would always be temporary. My supervisor reasoned with me - it would be easier to give him back now than in a year. Reason aside, it would be hard no matter what. I think I spent most of my last days with him in tears, praying to God to remove my heart from my chest so that I could give him up. No dice. My heart was being reconnected and I was feeling pain. It was a very sad time for me, selfishly. I don't know if he knew it, but Christopher surprised me that night during his bedtime routine and left me with the sweetest memory. After I turned the lights off, I laid across the opposite end of the couch from him. He looked ready to fight sleep at all possible costs but I would wait him out. Within a few minutes, he crawled over to me and laid on my chest where he stayed until he fell asleep. My arms were wrapped around him as I cried, praying over and over again that he would grow up to know God and feel His protection around him. I don't know how long I stayed on the couch but I wish I could have stopped time for I had found a peace within myself that I hadn't known before.
I've had foster kids since then but none affected me the way Christopher did. But what that experience left me with was a genuine concern for these kids and a strong desire to love them, protect them and care for them in much the same way I wish I had been. Whatever trauma I suffered as a child, whatever events forced a change in my emotional growth no longer has a hold on me. God used a child to help heal this child. Praise God!
