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Therapeutic parenting and CPV

I've been doing some thinking this evening.

I've not had a brilliant day today; nothing out of the ordinary - not our ordinary anyway - apart from the fact that I had a big work thing this weekend (the sort that is a year in the planning) and that I think all the holding-myself-together that I've been doing for the last few months came suddenly and spectacularly apart at the seams. I finally let myself think the unthinkable in a way I'd never really done before, and not only that I went and admitted it to both Tickle's Social Worker and our Adoption Social Worker.

So this evening I'm worn out, and I've got a hell of a headache from crying for six hours, but I do feel a tiny bit relieved to at least have got it out in the open. Our Social Worker was practical and solid. She asked questions and she took a lot of notes. We formulated a bit of a plan of what we were going to do over the next few days, and she's going to come and visit again next week. Tickl…

I'm not having a great day

I've been sat here with this browser window open for at least an hour without writing anything. I don't really know where to start.

I am living in a world of domestic violence. There is not a day that goes past at the moment where someone in our family doesn't get hit, head butted, bitten, or kicked. Fairy is getting hit on the head about once a week, and only last week had her hair pulled so hard she was pulled right over. Missiles are thrown, sometimes just in a fit of anger, sometime aimed with precision. It's only a matter of time before one of us ends up visiting A&E.

If it was Husband acting like this, the authorities would be all over us. But at the moment war is being raged on our house by a small boy of seven.

It might sound silly, written like that. How can a child do that much damage? And yet Fairy had a lump on her head for a fortnight from something that he threw at her, and the only reason I avoided a broken nose was because I saw it coming just in ti…

Widening our vocabulary (or, The Great Attachment Swindle, part 2)

In part 1, I wrote about why attachment may not be the big deal it can sometimes be presented as, certainly in adoption circles. I definitely don't think we should be ignoring it completely, but I do think we should use vocabulary that is more specific to the problems our children may be facing, and that help us to move forward.

I ended the last post talking about trauma; below are some more suggestions for different ways of thinking about the common issues our children face.

Shame

Shame is something that is talked about a lot, particularly in relation to education, reward charts, etc. Nicola Marshall from BraveHeart Education has written a lovely blog about it, and why children can find it hard to move on from that intense feeling of shame.

If you want to go a bit further in to the science, we can have a look at Kohlberg's stages of Moral Development. (Disclaimer - theory, theory, theory. Even with the supporting research, it is never going to be a perfect answer, only a theor…

Attachment may not be the massive deal we all think it is...

I am aware that in the circles I move in this will be a contentious post, but I'm hoping that people can read it with an open mind... here we go:

I wrote a post about attachment some time ago, mainly because I was fed up with the massive mis-appropriation of the term, and the lack of understanding surrounding it. Unfortunately this sort of stuff is still being pedalled, so it's worth having a quick recap with some of the key points of what attachment is, and what it is not.

Attachment is a descriptive term which denotes a dependant relationship, i.e. the relationship a child has with a care-giver. Attachment is not a term for the relationship you have with your partner. (I have heard of people being given 'attachment questionnaires' by Social Workers to determine what their attachment relationship with their partner is like. While this may be useful on some levels to reflect on the relationship you have with your partner, and while yes, there is a school of thought tha…

I'm OK

I'm OK.

For those who read my last post and are worrying, I'm OK. Not brilliant, obviously, but I had a long chat to my mum, and a cry, and it was OK for me not to be the one that copes with everything for a few minutes.

All day even the thought of being around Tickle was making me almost recoil, emotionally. It was like it was a trigger, for me. Fairy was chatting about him at one point, about one of the cute things he'd done, and I could actually feel myself shutting down inside.

Husband had kept T out all day, and whisked him straight upstairs when they got home. Eventually he stuck his head round the door and asked if I wanted to say goodnight. I didn't want to, but I did it anyway.

Then Tickle said "Will you stay with me mum?"

I said yes.

There was no thunderclap, no choir of angels, no glowing halo of light surrounding both of us. Nothing changed.

Just, he wanted me to stay with him, and I wanted to be there.

So, I'm OK. Not brilliant, obviously, bu…

The Walnut under the Mountain

I'm drowning.

I'm in bed, at 10.30 on a Saturday morning, because I can't bring myself to get up and face the day. Face Him.

On Thursday afternoon, Tickle head butted me, full in the face. In the nose, actually. It was incredibly painful, and would have been even worse if I hadn't read his body language and reflexively started to move backwards. I suspect a trip to A&E would have been on the cards.

Since the incident, I haven't really spoken to him. Husband and Gran between them have picked up the slack, and I've not had to do much more than say goodnight.

I'm struggling with the idea of being in the same room as him. I was thinking earlier that he doesn't even feel like my son any more, though when I came to write it down I was relieved to find it didn't feel quite right. I do still have that tiny knot, deep in my stomach that connects me to him, though at the moment it feels like a walnut buried under a mountain.

Mostly at the moment he feels …

It's been a tough week

It's been a tough week for us, my Little Man.
A week in which you've pushed your sister down the stairs
Yet stroked her back while she lay coughing.
"It's ok, sweetheart" you said,
Not three days since launching a missile at her head.

It's been a tough week for us, my Little Man,
As your hard veneer at school has cracked
In spectacular fashion;
Hitting teachers
Throwing plates
Overturning tables and chairs
Pushing, shouting, spitting.

I see you, Little Man.
And I see the Monster you struggle with inside.
I see him rushing to protect you from the danger he senses
but doesn't really understand.

I see him in your board-stiff limbs.
I see him on guard in every vein
I see him shove your sweet nature aside without a second thought,
To attack, bite, spit, and claw
When he thinks he's the only thing
Keeping you safe.

It's been a tough week for us, my Little Man.
Your Monster is close, overpowering you.
Protecting you.
He screams, drowning out the raging …