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 speach 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 prescence 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 trying to make it to their buses. Kendal fell into my arms, crying as soon as he sees me. I can feel his relief as he exhales. He wasn’t expecting me, but he loved that I was there. Puddles of tears fall from his deep brown eyes.
"Mom! I want to be like everybody else. At lunchtime, they're 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. They all attended each other's birthday parties. We would have some of them over to swim in our neighborhood pool during the summer.
In the fourth grade, he started to notice that he was different from his peers. They were growing into another "boys being boys" phase that he didn't understand.
Days later, at home, he told me he wanted to die for the first time. My heart was absolutely shattered. I can still see myself on my knees comforting him on our living room floor.
When I finally get them to bed that night, I call my mother. She lives in California while we are in Texas. She has no idea the degree of pain and chaos I live with from day to day. It can’t be explained in a 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 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.
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.
Oh Karen, I just want to give you the biggest hug. I felt all of this and grieved with you. I don't even feel like I have adequate words but I am sending you all of my love. I hope one day the world with be better for neurodivergent people, especially children.
I so feel your heartache through your words. And your love.