"JUST A PARENT"
There is no such thing.
For those who didn’t catch that, there is no such thing.
For those who STILL didn’t catch that, THERE IS NO SUCH THING.
Other people have their own pet peeves – nails on the chalk board, toothpaste tube folded the wrong way, and things like that. Well, this is mine.
I was on the board of directors for Attach, an international organization dedicated to healing children who have experienced complex trauma as a result of early abuse and neglect. One of the unique things about Attach is that it is
composed of clinicians and parents helping children, rather than just one or the other.
As a board member, I recently helped people “check in” for our mini-conference in Omaha, Nebraska. At the check in table, there were two of us – one who handled clinician registrations and me, the one who handled parent registrations. As people came up to the desk, we would ask, “Are you a clinician or parent?”
That question prompted this blog. In response, I was amazed and disheartened by the number of “I am JUST a parent” responses I got.
While I understand the complexities of determining “who” you are in this context, I had to stop myself from entering into my lengthy monologue regarding the role of parents, particularly in the attachment arena. Today, I couldn’t stop myself.
In truth, my message is one that each of these “just parents” understood. They were parents of children with attachment disorders – one of the hardest, most thankless jobs in the entire world. They spend hours upon hours upon hours working with children who, from early abuse and neglect, have learned not to love. Not just “not to love,” but “not to love” at all costs. All costs.
Attempts at loving these kids can result in being kicked, hit, beaten, and worse. Issues like fecal smearing, self injury, and cruelty to animals can be routine, too routine.
For those who don’t know about this type of parenting, you may be asking who these parents are, these unsung heroes that deserve your help and admiration? They are the people next to you in church. They are the people at your child’s school. They are the coworker you see each day. They are the ones with the precious child who always greets you, smiles at you, and touches you, often
inappropriately.
Due to the nature of attachment issues, strangers get the best treatment from children who have suffered early trauma and abuse. It is an amazingly astute survival mechanism. Typical children learn early that primary caregivers are safe and strangers are bad. Kids who have been severely abused and neglected learn the opposite. Caregivers are dangerous; strangers are safe.
This backward learning in early childhood can have dire consequences. Children who do not form strong attachments early on have trouble developing conscience. Children who do not or cannot attach to caregivers may fail to develop empathy. Equally severe, children without attachment often experience significant development delays and may not be able to form meaningful relationships later in life.
Unfortunately, “strangers” are often all too approving of the charasmatic charade portrayed by children who have been deeply hurt. As a result, parents of children with complex trauma – a term meant to encompass the vast impact of early abuse and neglect – are often left extremely isolated, unable to get respite or help.
When properly understood, the amazing part of it all is not only that the child has learned such survival skills, but that the therapeutic parent will now, too. Without respite, understanding, and any meaningful help, the parent will shower empathy, love, and attention on the child until the child can learn – or rather, unlearn – the lessons of early childhood.
Hugs and kisses may be met with spit and snot. New toys can be ripped to ruins within hours. Nighttime stories can turn into all night rages.
But, this parent sees something that the strangers do not see. This parent looks past the superficial engaging charm the child hides behind. This parent looks beyond the spit, the snot, and the shreds. This parent looks deep into the heart of the child and, within that adolescent body, sees the heart of a traumatized infant.
A heart that has been mortally wounded and may have been left open to continually bleed.
It is this heart that keeps this parent going. When former friends forsake this parent, the parent learns self nurturing techniques. Not for herself or himself. For the child. This parent has long ago memorized the oxygen principle – you can’t help your child until you help yourself. As a result, this parent receives only the minimal standard of care, sufficient only to keep the parent going for another hour or another day.
This parent doesn’t live by smiling faces or handwritten love notes. Instead, this parent cleans up feces, hides knives, and stands constantly vigilant.
What keeps this parent going?
Hope.
Love.
Faith.
Most of all, it is that vision – the vision of the infant heart within the child. The vision and the skill, now learned, to perform the most miraculous heart surgery ever performed. Performed from the inside out. No incisions. No cuts. Only hugs and love and therapeutic skills.
The parent knows why the child fights so profoundly. The cuts are so deep, the infection so severe. The child is fighting to survive. And, the parent?
The parent is fighting for one more chance. One more chance for the child to let someone in. One more chance to reach the gash before it is too late. One more chance for the child to feel love, compassion, empathy. One more chance for the child to live, happy and free.
And, when rightfully considered, the marvelous part of it all is that they will both get that chance. They will both succeed. As important and critical as doctors and therapists are, they can only direct the parent, the true surgeon of the child. They cannot do what he or she alone must do – perform the ultimate healing of a damaged infant heart. Only a parent can do that.
But again, each of these parents already knew that. They have lived it 24/7. They know what rides on their shoulders. They know success is at their hands alone and they know their child depends on it.
So, why do they say they are “just a parent?” Because of you.
They don’t know that you know what they do. When their child engages you and is so easy for you to entertain, they wonder if you can even begin to understand their minutes, their hours, their days trying to heal this child. They wonder if you know what is at stake.
Now you do. Now, you know that there are no “just parents.” You know that every parent, particularly parents of a child with misunderstood special needs, is a true surgeon fighting for the survival of one child at a time.
Next time you meet ”just a parent,” let him or her know that you now know, too.
For those who didn’t catch that, there is no such thing.
For those who STILL didn’t catch that, THERE IS NO SUCH THING.
Other people have their own pet peeves – nails on the chalk board, toothpaste tube folded the wrong way, and things like that. Well, this is mine.
I was on the board of directors for Attach, an international organization dedicated to healing children who have experienced complex trauma as a result of early abuse and neglect. One of the unique things about Attach is that it is
composed of clinicians and parents helping children, rather than just one or the other.
As a board member, I recently helped people “check in” for our mini-conference in Omaha, Nebraska. At the check in table, there were two of us – one who handled clinician registrations and me, the one who handled parent registrations. As people came up to the desk, we would ask, “Are you a clinician or parent?”
That question prompted this blog. In response, I was amazed and disheartened by the number of “I am JUST a parent” responses I got.
While I understand the complexities of determining “who” you are in this context, I had to stop myself from entering into my lengthy monologue regarding the role of parents, particularly in the attachment arena. Today, I couldn’t stop myself.
In truth, my message is one that each of these “just parents” understood. They were parents of children with attachment disorders – one of the hardest, most thankless jobs in the entire world. They spend hours upon hours upon hours working with children who, from early abuse and neglect, have learned not to love. Not just “not to love,” but “not to love” at all costs. All costs.
Attempts at loving these kids can result in being kicked, hit, beaten, and worse. Issues like fecal smearing, self injury, and cruelty to animals can be routine, too routine.
For those who don’t know about this type of parenting, you may be asking who these parents are, these unsung heroes that deserve your help and admiration? They are the people next to you in church. They are the people at your child’s school. They are the coworker you see each day. They are the ones with the precious child who always greets you, smiles at you, and touches you, often
inappropriately.
Due to the nature of attachment issues, strangers get the best treatment from children who have suffered early trauma and abuse. It is an amazingly astute survival mechanism. Typical children learn early that primary caregivers are safe and strangers are bad. Kids who have been severely abused and neglected learn the opposite. Caregivers are dangerous; strangers are safe.
This backward learning in early childhood can have dire consequences. Children who do not form strong attachments early on have trouble developing conscience. Children who do not or cannot attach to caregivers may fail to develop empathy. Equally severe, children without attachment often experience significant development delays and may not be able to form meaningful relationships later in life.
Unfortunately, “strangers” are often all too approving of the charasmatic charade portrayed by children who have been deeply hurt. As a result, parents of children with complex trauma – a term meant to encompass the vast impact of early abuse and neglect – are often left extremely isolated, unable to get respite or help.
When properly understood, the amazing part of it all is not only that the child has learned such survival skills, but that the therapeutic parent will now, too. Without respite, understanding, and any meaningful help, the parent will shower empathy, love, and attention on the child until the child can learn – or rather, unlearn – the lessons of early childhood.
Hugs and kisses may be met with spit and snot. New toys can be ripped to ruins within hours. Nighttime stories can turn into all night rages.
But, this parent sees something that the strangers do not see. This parent looks past the superficial engaging charm the child hides behind. This parent looks beyond the spit, the snot, and the shreds. This parent looks deep into the heart of the child and, within that adolescent body, sees the heart of a traumatized infant.
A heart that has been mortally wounded and may have been left open to continually bleed.
It is this heart that keeps this parent going. When former friends forsake this parent, the parent learns self nurturing techniques. Not for herself or himself. For the child. This parent has long ago memorized the oxygen principle – you can’t help your child until you help yourself. As a result, this parent receives only the minimal standard of care, sufficient only to keep the parent going for another hour or another day.
This parent doesn’t live by smiling faces or handwritten love notes. Instead, this parent cleans up feces, hides knives, and stands constantly vigilant.
What keeps this parent going?
Hope.
Love.
Faith.
Most of all, it is that vision – the vision of the infant heart within the child. The vision and the skill, now learned, to perform the most miraculous heart surgery ever performed. Performed from the inside out. No incisions. No cuts. Only hugs and love and therapeutic skills.
The parent knows why the child fights so profoundly. The cuts are so deep, the infection so severe. The child is fighting to survive. And, the parent?
The parent is fighting for one more chance. One more chance for the child to let someone in. One more chance to reach the gash before it is too late. One more chance for the child to feel love, compassion, empathy. One more chance for the child to live, happy and free.
And, when rightfully considered, the marvelous part of it all is that they will both get that chance. They will both succeed. As important and critical as doctors and therapists are, they can only direct the parent, the true surgeon of the child. They cannot do what he or she alone must do – perform the ultimate healing of a damaged infant heart. Only a parent can do that.
But again, each of these parents already knew that. They have lived it 24/7. They know what rides on their shoulders. They know success is at their hands alone and they know their child depends on it.
So, why do they say they are “just a parent?” Because of you.
They don’t know that you know what they do. When their child engages you and is so easy for you to entertain, they wonder if you can even begin to understand their minutes, their hours, their days trying to heal this child. They wonder if you know what is at stake.
Now you do. Now, you know that there are no “just parents.” You know that every parent, particularly parents of a child with misunderstood special needs, is a true surgeon fighting for the survival of one child at a time.
Next time you meet ”just a parent,” let him or her know that you now know, too.