Drama or Trauma?
On a hike with my kids this week, one of my sons ran ahead and we came upon him awkwardly lying facedown on a sand dune looking like a corpse. We tried to joke with him, told him we wanted to keep walking… he didn’t stir. His younger brother ran up and jumped on his back. In the space between breaths, he shot up, furious, grabbed his brother’s hair, and slammed his face into the ground. My heart broke.
My kids are not okay. I mean, they are resilient and strong, and I have been stunned by how beautiful and kind and creative and tough they have been these last few weeks. But they are also not okay. They are raw. Their emotions churn unsteadily below the surface.
Quarantine is hard. Let’s be honest: This is not healthy. Isolating my kids, standing between them and their community, making them dependent on only me for all their needs, while I have no one meeting mine... It’s a recipe for trauma. In foster training, they taught us that trauma happens when stress exceeds a person’s ability to cope. It is an opening for lies to be believed deep down and unhealthy coping patterns to take root.
I notice now that what began as parenting through drama, has crossed the threshold into parenting through trauma. This means that how I parent right now will influence lifelong patterns whether they be healthy or destructive. If trauma happens when my children’s stressors exceed their ability to cope, then I had better start bringing great coping skills to the table.
One of the most helpful tools for coping is narrative. What story will I narrate for my kids about what is happening in their life right now? Will I listen as they tell their story, letting them choose their own words, express their own frustrations, and then gently guide them to a conclusion that resolves in healthy thinking?
I listened to a homeschooling podcast by Sarah Mackenzie this week about focusing on process rather than outcomes. She asked the helpful question: What do I want to be able to say about this season when it is over?
It’s a timely question.
What do I want to be able to say about our time of quarantine when it is over?
It was hard.
It was uncertain. Uncertainty feels unstable and scary.
But there was beauty, and a LOT of growth.
Family dinners became the feature of our evenings. We cooked on the grill, ate outside, made many new desserts, and we all worked together to clean up.
We listened to a few really good audiobooks.
We read an entire series of books aloud together.
My children worked through the hardest things in their relationships, because it was the only way to move forward. Years worth of confession and forgiveness happened.
A lot of time, energy, and attention went into the basics of life: housework, food preparation, apologies, conflict resolution, keeping the peace, listening, choosing beautiful words, valuing people, caring for our animals. And we got better at all those things.
We slowed down our consumerism.
We encouraged our friends in creative ways.
We connected with people more intentionally.
I was walking in a park this morning, and someone had left a message in the middle of the path with letters formed by twigs: Look around and see, beauty surrounds you + me. What a gift! People didn’t use to leave gifts on the path like that. Similarly, I found a sticky note on a post in my town that told me to keep my chin up, I can do hard things.
A week ago we participated in a birthday parade for our four-year-old friend. My children lit up with excitement planning their parts in the parade. We brought two cars covered in brightly colored signs that they made, my oldest walked our giant dog, my middle son did tricks and blasted music from his hoverboard, my little son threw candy from the back of our truck, the baby scowled from his car seat, and my daughter walked one of her alpacas with “Happy Birthday” signs draped across the alpaca’s back. It was resplendent. This will go down not just as a highlight of the quarantine, but as a best-birthday-ever memory.
As we await the governor's decision on what the phases of lifting restrictions will look like, my children are worried about their summer, and what new grievous disappointments await them. I know a lot of people are eager to rush back into normal life. I would be okay with easing in and bringing some of this beauty with me. I feel the need to make sure I get this story right for my family. When we look back on this time, what will our story be?
