His Trauma is My Trauma

An excerpt from my untitled memoir, plus A Letter From Love

In a healing cohort I participated in recently, I was asked to write a letter to my younger self to address whatever trauma I experienced. My first thought was, "I don’t have any trauma from my childhood." My childhood was a breeze compared to my adult life. The most traumatic part of my life is being a mom and raising my sons. Bearing witness to their pain is like small stabs to my heart, over and over, with no relief in site.

Trying to keep my black sons alive during their teenage years almost killed all of us. My childhood was a cakewalk compared to the struggles they faced, from their speech delays, to autism diagnoses, to ADHD, depression, and anxiety. Seeing them being "othered" by their classmates as early as 3rd grade was the most helpless feeling.

Once, I chaperoned a field trip with my son Cole. He was in the third grade. If there is one thing I did right, I made my presence known at their schools. Teachers and administrators were on notice. I am paying attention. We were standing in line about to go into a theatre to watch a film about Texas History. I watched as children pointed and laughed behind his back. He didn’t notice in that moment, but my heart sank.

Years later, he would tell me that the kids thought he was annoying. He asked too many questions and always said whatever was on his mind. He didn’t fit the mold. Kids don’t like “difference.” I don’t think they know what to do with it.

Kendal was nine years old when I picked him up from school one afternoon. I parked my car in the teachers lot near the school buses. He was just about to climb the steps to get on the bus when I stopped him. We had an appointment to get to. I didn’t have time wait for the inconsistent time the bus would arrive at our home. Students hustled around us running to their buses. Kendal meanders when he walks —like he’s not in a hurry, to get anywhere. He seldom smiles especially in a chaotic enviroment where all their are a lot of children and a lot of noise. I could see his eyes were welled up with tears as though he was ready to burst. When his eyes met mine, he collasped into my arms, crying. I could feel his relief as he exhaled. He wasn’t expecting me, but the way he clung to me, with puddles of tears falling from his deep brown eyes silently, I think we were both happy I was there.

"Mom! I just want to be like everybody else. At lunchtime, my friends are all laughing and having fun. I don't get it. I don't understand what's so funny. I want to laugh with them."

He had been a part of the same group of boys since kindergarten. There was a level of acceptance from them. They all attended each other's birthday parties. We would have some of them over to swim in our neighborhood pool during the summer.

The acceptance seemed to be slowly disappearing in the fourth grade as he started to notice that he was different from his peers. They were growing into "boys being boys" phase that he didn't understand.

Days later, at home he told me through tears he wanted to die for the first time. My heart was absolutely shattered. I bent down on my knees to hold and comfort him on our living room floor. I held on to him as he melted and continued crying. I never in my life expected that I would here these words coming from my nine year-old boy. My heart ached for him. I held back my own tears. I didn’t want to upset him more.

When I finally get them to bed that night, I call my mother in California. We are in Texas. I am alone with no family support system. My husband is traveling every other week on business. I could never fully explain the the degree of pain and chaos I live with from day to day. It can’t be done in a simple phone call, even though we talk every night.

"This is not normal! What child says they want to die this early in life? Something is seriously wrong here."

This is supposed to be the age of innocence, laughter, and fun.

Hearing my young son say he wants to die! This is my trauma. I can only imagine how hard it is for him. My heart is walking around outside of my body, aching, and there is nothing that I can do about it.

All of this this is just the beginning of all that was to come throughout their school years.

This is my life underwater.

My boys at the Grand Canyon, 2006

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My Letter From Love -

A self-compassion practice introduced to me by my dear friend Liz Gilbert. Liz doesn’t know she’s my dear friend, however, she is subscribed to this newsletter which thrills me to no end!

Dear Love, 

I need you and your wisdom today. Talk to me…

Beautiful girl,

You have the best heart. Your intenetions are pure. You a rare gift to the world.

Everybody ain’t made like you, Sis. Don’t be dismayed when you start to notice this more as you continue to heal.

You are a light. You make people laugh and feel less alone. Never let anyone dim your light or your sense of humor, not even the haters who can’t appreciate it. Your humor has kept you from going ballistic many a day.

Most people will not make your needs their priority. They are their own priority. You need to be yours. Over here playing Mrs. Nice Guy is not making your life better.

Saying yes to others, while saying no to yourself creates resentment, not love.

During the years when you were nourishing your children, no one was tenderly nourishing you. Not even you! Many have loved you, but no one drops everything to nourish you first. Nourish the Karen you were as a girl, as a mom, and as the grownup healing version of yourself.

You were not parented the way you have parented your kids. This is why you must do it now. Say yes to yourself, even when it feels weird.

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P.S. Today I share an excerpt from the memoir I hope to publish in the future. In the future, excerpts will be for Paid Suscribers Only. If you enjoyed it, I would love to have your support by upgrading your subscription to paid.

I thank you in advance.