Post Traumatic Stress Disorder PTSD or Continuous Stress Disorder or C-TSD, C-PTSD Complex Traumatic Stress Disorder

What? Why? Who?

Soldiers? Weak? Symptoms?

These are the same questions that I had once asked about our nation’s heroes returning from Afghanistan. And now I find myself trying to give an answer to those around me about my own current mental health – My PTSD.

Ya know when you open your Netflix app? You often see a message on your screen:


or if a storm completely knocks out your internet?

Connection Lost

These onscreen notifications tell the viewer what is happening internally – in the wiring. PTSD sufferers have a damaged (a wounded) wiring system of sorts, internally. When I personally come undone, I stammer, I stutter, I have to ask “What are we talking about?” mid-conversation, I use the wrong word or can’t think of a desired word. My CONNECTION IS LOST.

I’ve gotten lost driving around in the town I have lived in for over ten years. I’ve been asked my phone number and nothing CONNECTION LOST.. That’s a terrible experience: knowing you are an intelligent adult, have a college degree, and you can’t access the part of the brain storing your phone number…

(not good) SELF-TALK BEGINS: “I mean come on… You’re in your 40’s and you can’t offer the most basic of information… Seriously- you are such an idiot..” [and the vicious cycle of being so flippin’ stressed out that your brain shuts down and you are screaming at yourself in frustration because] – “Come on Suzanne, you are frickin’ smart enough to remember your phone number!”

I am trying to come back online… BUFFERING THROUGH LIFE.

After suffering through another unimaginable set of circumstances with one of my two adopted children, I opted to stay overnight with a friend rather that go home yesterday night. Mi amiga listened kindly to me try to explain how my brain was operating at that moment. While lavishing food love on me – homemade French toast, blueberries, bacon, and O.J. for dinner, she tried to understand the fears, the shaking, the stuttering, … and the danger I faced that she couldn’t see. [Side note: Are there many things better to comfort a person with than breakfast for dinner? I think not. She is the best!].

When attempting to explain to her how I was currently engaging in our conversation … about returning home after drinking the bleach my son had maliciously put in my cup,… I was SIMULTANEOUSLY being bombarded with countless intrusive thoughts and concerns racing through my mind.

[The background or intrusive thoughts clamouring about my head included escaping, safety, scanning my body for physical manifestations of trauma, a voice of someone terrified screamimg a litany of cuss words, noises and the no noticing of noise, self-talk of “pay attention, focus, focus,” I AM GOING TO DIE on repeat, et cetrera- as in there is more]

In seeking to understand what I was going through, my dear friend, Courtney came up with a brilliant analogy.

When you encounter someone triggered by what likely is an innocuous sound or image to most, to the one wounded by trauma, it sets off a MAINFRAME OVERRIDE MESSAGE.

Personally, I have been triggered by a beach ball thrown at my back, logs for sale at Publix to put on camp fire, an unexpected person coming around a corner, ice in a cup, and a Tae Kwon Do demonstration just to name a few.

These triggers either startle my auditory system or visually remind me of something related to the traumas. Oh, and then there’s the triggered state for no apparent reason.

Aaaaaaand the fun begins.

HYPERVIGILANCE kicks in. Every sound is amplified. PTSD sufferers even have better hearing when triggered. The blood flow in the body is rerouted during fight, flight, freeze or fawn. There is increased blood flow to the ears! (I know, pretty cool design by our Creator don’t ya think?!) An overactive startle reflex is in place. Peripheral vision is sharpened. All systems are a go for launch!

My husband can’t even figure out how to enter the room post trauma. If he walks into the space I am in and my back is facing the entrance, when I turn around, his presence makes me catch my breath, heart rate speed up, and fear grip my chest. I just wasn’t expecting anyone.

If he tries to signal me with a noise, that makes me jump as well. And jumping may be a slight underestimation of the response and reality. I am TERRIFIED. Being afraid in your own home is the absolute worst.

I am always planning for an attack with a minimum of two escape routes…

but all this is not evidenced on the homescreen. The home screen, what you see, is the same prior to the injury, the seeing, the experiencing, the trauma(s).

When you walk up to a computer you don’t always know how many other operations are running.

With the bandwidth of a computer maxed out, the front open program is sluggish and everything takes forever!

Completely me! Trying to lock the car door eludes me. I look at the two icons on the electric button- one has a lock in which the curved metal steel touches the squarish bottom part, the other icon has the curved part in an unlatched position. I see this visually, but I got nothing. I question myself, “so if the metal is touching, that means what? And the open latch.. Does that mean the door is open or will open? Do I want to unlock, lock, so frickin’ confusing!

But it literally isn’t.

Then the stress of not thinking straight hounds me, hisses at me, “Stupid, deficient, broken, helpless”. Biblical side note: That hissing is from a serpent, on his belly, lying, hoping I believe all of these labels. In my current state, I believe and beat myself up.

This mostly inactive, lethargic and listless presence of mind responds to commands internally or imputed by others- Unresponsive. Like when you can’t remember the right combination of username and password and the message in red reads Our system doesn’t recognize this information.

Thats exactly it!

I bet you can’t pat your belly and rub your head. Or is it pat your head and rub your belly. I am going with guess #2. Anyways, it is hard to do two tasks that use different systems in the body. Want to run for your life? You will need use of the parasympathetic nervous system. Would you like to find something gluten-free, reasonably priced and not made from cornstarch and sugar my just to get around the whole gluten thing? Believe me, you will need full executive functioning of the frontal lobes in your brain to make it out if the grocery store in under 3 hours.

Without being mentally “online”, actions take tremendous time and effort to accomplish. Actions like ordering your words coherently, deciding what to wear, retelling a story without you listener falling asleep because you have told every contingency and fully disclosed every backstory to “where did you go for lunch yesterday?”

The details seem so important to get your message out. From my research, I think it involves a complicated web of physiological, mental, spiritual, and social motivations. One thing I haven’t read put together by PTSD experts is the wounding messages of

1. I CAN’T TRUST MYSELF BECAUSE I OVERPLAY THE TRAUMAS I EXPERIENCED OR I AM TOO SENSITIVE. Therefore a full fleshed out explanation of a midday meal is warranted.

2. IF OTHERS HAD MORE INFORMATIOM (LIKE I NEEDED TO BE ABLE AVOID MY HURT), THEN LIFE WOULD BE BETTER. So I go on and on about the decision making process between Panera and Outback.

3. I’VE BEEN TOLD I AM MAKING NO SENSE REPEATEDLY AND OFTEN. I think “that aspect may be a little muddled. Let me explain in greater detail.”

Surprisingly, this syrupy roundabout thinking and then responding or reacting may occur years after trauma. It may generate hurt feelings as the murky thought processes are often hog-tied together with self-esteem.

So to you, my sweet friend who has stuck around quite a while in this lengthy blog post, picture the circular arrow you impatiently stare at on your computer screen after trying to pull up a task or operation. You expect a prompt output from said computer. But then you get nothing, nada, zero. (The “beach ball of death” as one of my friends calls it.)

The arrow circles around and around like a dog after its’ own tail – but not near as amusing. In fact, it can be quite irritating or exasperating. I can see that look in your face. I start to understand the social cues but for the flippin’ life of me, I can’t connect.

There are other issues going on in the background that you can’t see.

I could go on and on.

Bahaha.. Laughing at myself. My injuried brain wants to clarify still more.

Pretty sure this behavior came up yesterday telling something to my oldest daughter.

And to you my sweet friend struggling with PTSD, I will keep clarifying until mental health isn’t perceived as a weakness. It’s the most natural response to the things we’ve seen. So go reBoot. Find your equilibrium.

Via con Dios… 

“But I can’t let her get away with talking to me like that!  She needs to learn that people deserve respect!” first thoughts after rude comments from 12-year-old daughter

Where is the justice?  upon further thinking

Shouldn’t right be rewarded – like all the time!?? clearly

Shouldn’t mean people, jerks, sin, and bad decisions be punished?  Uh… emphatically YES! preach sister

And No.  Not always.

Sometimes the effort to parent is exhausting – crushing – suffocating –  both to the parent and child.

And sometimes wisdom is unearthed only by living on the planet and experiencing HARD – more than once.  Eventually our decisions change, or should, if we are able to see the value in the lessons life teaches.  At some point, people, mother’s especially, need to evaluate the circumstance and say:


It is acknowledging (FINALLY) that I am not/ I ain’t gonna fix him.  Solo Dios.  Only God.  Therefore, the current situation necessitates the sweet Spanish well-wishing good-bye:


Realizing his character defects are beyond the scope of the moments and my mental health, I am learning to think: 


[And this can be said with a little sass..]  When you see your adopted child with severe limitations to their emotional stability make another poor decision, you have options.  #1 Think up a well-worded correction and launch into a lecture.  #2 Loudly proclaim, “Are you freakin’ kidding me?  #3 just repeat and shake one’s head mumbling  “NO NO NO NO NO NO” ad nauseum.

But WISDOM from God rescues you from a near collision with crazy.  You see it a time or 2. or 3.  or 25.  In situations 1-24, you opened your mouth and said in the face of the committed bad behavior:


But what was the eventual outcome?  Ahhh – it goes something like this:

      a little yelling, 

     a lot of frustration,

      a lot of stress and exasperation for the others in the vicinity,


But I have a secret.  A parenting diamond for those of you mining:  You don’t have to address “it”,   – not every time, – not in every season.  You don’t have to confront injustice every time and in every season.  

It is time to step out of the way.  Over the land mine.  Avoid the crater of pain that will explode from collarbone to hip bone.  Picture a scene from a Vietnam war movie.  Not good.

So many times before, you had to address the child’s foolishness.

But you really don’t.

I can’t believe I am saying this.  It only took me being poisoned with bleach by my son, discovering paraphenalia for smoking weed in your baby boy’s room – who happens to now be 18, being hard-core judged by Christians who are more fake than real, being frightened so regularly by your adopted children’s violently insane behaviors that you develop PTSD, years of counseling, and a hubbie who suggested it for years:


But as a human woman given the high calling motherhood and nurturing five souls unto glory, let’s be honest, this is all about my journey. I – in good concscience- felt like I would be failing if I didn’t do  ____________________,  If I didn’t talk it to death with my perfectly clear analogies and scripture references and anecdotal stories,  I felt like it was going to be completely understood and listened to.  If I did _________ or if I said _________________.  

But alas, there are teenage and adult children walking around on the planet unsaved, even when parents faithfully poured the Word of God into their lives.  Salvation and spiritual maturity is a work only done is His timing and by His will.  We don’t add anything to salvation.  We don’t save our children.  

Huge Mind Altering Thought:  We don’t have to save our children.  We only HAVE to glorify God.  

Often Imagine a hostage negotiation going down and a bullhorn in hand as God declares:

  3.   MA’AM…  MA’AM.  YES, YOU THERE.  DRONING ON AND ON.  SHUT       UP!  I  really wish God would say shut up to me sometimes.  It is such a very good idea every now and then.


Let the sovereign ruler over all time and space work providentially and/or supernaturally.  Let the yuck of the life pass without launching a full scale assault on things like an eyeroll.  Sometimes let it go.  Now I am not saying always let stuff go.

But sometimes – Smile as wisdom whispers her brilliant counsel in your mind’s ear and say:


The Death of My Happy Family

Please don’t ask me to stop being me.

We’ve experienced such pain

Both been treated wrongly.

Life has been tough for you and me.

Now, I just want to be treated kindly.

It’s been years of complete insanity.

I’m weary but I am healing in recovery.

Back on 2010 – violently,

An earthquake rumbled beneath the sea.

And devastated the island of Haiti.

Then God whispered to Haylee-

“Can I use your family?”

And the very least we could do was to say YES obediently.

Yet a few years back in 2003,

A young broken Haitian girl felt so lonely.

She lay with a man, longing to be loved desperately.

In two years time, she had delivered two babies.

They all existed in squalor horrifically.

Neglected and abandoned,

In the babies’ first years sadly,

Left them with wounds damaging them permanently.

(And hurt children build massive walks protectively.)

2012, Our opened home, inspected painstakingly,

We prepared to add two more to our happy family.

But the neglect turned into a cry,

Then a howl to be “seen”.

While our other kids’ needs went unmet tragically.

And there began the slow destruction of our “happy family”.

Adoption demands ripped open wounds never seen.

And fear torn at foundations affecting us mentally.

Diagnosis of Reactive Attachment Disorder, PTSD.

Anger, chaos and fear screamed so loudly –

“Someone please help us!”

Our desperate plea.

…. But not before our biological children began to flee.

The oldest out with friends or at work generally.

The youngest sealing off her once open heart ironically.

And our son didn’t get the chance to live normally.

Vigilant to respond to my cries so quickly.

He was always there to defend and protect my safety.

We have lost and grieved mournfully…

The death of our once happy family.

And you,my husband, have suffered horrendously-

Health issues,


And depression you battle sadly.

And I had to move to the garage for safety,

Barely forming sentences because of depression and anxiety.

Years of this battle,


Violence and

Manipulation resulted in this momma’s PTSD.

When we called DCF for help,

We were charged with abandonment FALSELY.

Adoption and abandonment gas changed us – each separately.

Each just trying to breathe – hopefully.

We have hurts –

And we’ve hurt each other – unfortunately.

No one could have prepared us for this tragedy.

No one.

Loss has become our language – a sad melody.

We sob.

We question.

What happened to our family?

So please understand when I pray and…

Don’t ask me to stop being me.

And I won’t try to tell you how to be.

I Weep..

I WEEP for every soldier who suffers from PTSD.

A leg blown clean off would be better.

Without PTSD- she heals, he recovers, and returns home from the war to a helpful family that can SEE the injured limb…

But for the warriors with an injured BRAIN,  they go home with “just PTSD”…


No one knows that there are times when a single sound, or even no sound at all, a sight – something out the corner of her eye, a meaningless word or an any action can send her back into the HELL in which she lost her mind.

No one understands the days, week, months, or years it may take to crawl out from the weight of the trauma that crushes the soldiers ability to think rationally, causes flashbacks played across the screen in his mind and disrupts the relationships America’s hero wants to return to normally.

I WEEP for the soldiers with PTSD. 


And I WEEP for every girl who has been  decimated by sexual abuse and develops PTSD…

Her worst nightmare,

the RAPE, doesn’t happen once to her.

It happens in her bruised brain, over and over-

     …in the produce section of the grocery store getting apples for the kids’ lunches,

     …in the restaurant with her children laughing at dad’s dumb jokes,

     …in the parking lot after a fun day of shopping with the girls.


Something triggered her…

Maybe it was the man in the royal blue hoodie,

And she was immediately transported back to her HELL again- LOOKING FOR AN ESCAPE ROUTE, LOOKING FOR A WEAPON IF SHE HAS TO FIGHT, trying to find a safe place.

I WEEP for the abused woman with PTSD.


And I WEEP for the adoptive moms with PTSD,

She just wanted to be there for a child neglected- a little one who didn’t have a childhood as wonderful as her biological kids did,

     …moms who have stood  between a child with a broken piece of mirror held over head and her other children…

     …moms who choose to get the shit beat out of them while driving so that she can get her brother to his soccer game on time…

     …moms who hear one child shatter a glass window, then hear the heart of their other child shatter because she wanted to go to her friend’s birthday party.  Instead of having a normal childhood, the police and DCF show up all too often and ask her questions about her parents that rob her of her innocence -way too often.  She doesn’t get to eat birthday cake with her good  friends -there.  No she is here, at home, her HELL. 

     …moms whose hardened hearts are broken into a  1,000,000 pieces of rubble because of the violent child’s siblings,

     – the sibling, a son, an older brother, that always sprints from his seat in front of his favorite video game because he fears that mom is in danger. And she usually is.  He too have become hypervigilent.  He hears even the slightest sounds, notices small movements, judges facial expressions and body language. 

I WEEP for the moms with PTSD, who have watched the childhood of their other kids be destroyed.

The trauma that often injures the deepest and hurts the most.

    I have watched one of my children turn to pot to try and escape,

     I have watched one of my kids turn to anger and shut down,

     I have watched another child turn away from the God. 

I WEEP for the mommas,  the women,  the men, the children –  who develop PTSD from wounds and trauma to the brain.

The HELL continues on and on.

They go through it over and over,


     in the grocery store,

     in the restaurant,

     in the parking lot

        TERRIFIED  again and again.


I WEEP today because I was terrified again today. 

I was flooded with fear.

I was fighting for survival again.

I was poisoned again. 

I was punched again.

I was in the fight alone again

     -abandoned again.

Feeling like no one can protect you,

But worse- feeling like no one will protect you.

I wept today.




    We suffer alone I the grocery store full of people…

     We suffer alone in the crowded restaurant…

     Alone in the parking lot of our mind. 


3 Flat Tires in a Week – Perceived or Real Threats?

Coincidence or not?


Seems highly suspicious but there are nails on the roadways, so theoretically you could get THREE FLAT TIRES from nail and screw punctures in a week.
Our 14 year old’s behavior – Threat or not?


He does not seem to possess the skills to change his pattern of behavior.  His behaviors are worsening and have been terrifying.  He needs therapy.  We have tried therapy many times from home.  We have tried to find a placement outside of the home where he can work on his life.  We are running into dead ends.  And we are running out of time.

Yet God can do a miracle at any time in anyone’s life.

God can make dry bones arise and breathe.  He can make a donkey speak.

Does God often do these things?  No – God usually works providentially in the natural world of what we see and hear.  Like when God heals someone of cancer through chemo and radiation.  Providence.  The right doctor.  The right course of medicine decided by team of doctors.  The right place.

Sometimes God works supernaturally.  sometimes people are healed from heart issues without prescribed, planned, and executed medical intervention.

At 29, I had symptoms of a heart attack.   Fortunately, it was FARTS — haha — abdominal gas.  Who knew stomach gas  pressure could feel similar to a heart attack?  [Side note: Doctors know.   Haha!]  I was told to go to a cardiologist; just to be sure my heart was okay.  Well, it wasn’t.  And it isn’t.

At 30, my cardiologist recommended I go to the renowned Shands Hospital in Gainesville, Florida to have surgery to correct the severe MVP – mitral valve prolapse.  On a scale of 1 – 4, 4 being the worst, I have a level 4 MVP.  Go big or go home right?!  There is a significant amount of blood flowing backwards in my heart.  Not good.  This allows too much blood in one area, creating pressure and enlarging the heart.

That is what generally happens. The value in a heart needs to open and close properly to not allow backwards blood flow.  My valves, that should open and close like secure doorways, flap like the Grand Ol’ Flag on a breezy day.  I have seen the ultrasounds, the pictures, the videos.  There is clearly a problem.

At 30, I went to Shands Hospital in Gainesville, FL.  I was scrubbed in for surgery.  I was placed under anesthesia.  I was told I may be confused or forgetful coming out of anesthesia after surgery.

I was so confused after coming out from under the influence of anesthesia. My husband was there telling me I didn’t have the surgery.  I just looked at him thinking, “Oh, the anesthesia thing.  It sounds like he is saying ‘ya didn’t have surgery’ but that can’t be right!  My mother and sister are here from Tennessee caring for my 3 small children.  I have been planning this surgery for 7 months to be done in the summer when my teacher husband can be home to help in recovery.  I have traveled hundreds of miles to Shands Hospital.  I KNOW I WENT INTO SURGERY!!!!”

Again with the ‘ya did not have surgery thingy’.  ANESTHESIA IS WEIRD.  This is my first time being placed under it.  I don’t know what the heck is going on.


And now 16 years later,  same heart.  Not enlarging.  This is very atypical of level 4 SEVERE MVP.  Many women have a MVP. Lots.  Not so many women have surgeons tell them on their annual visits:

  1.   Yes, you have severe Mitral Valve Prolapse.
  2.   Yes, you can have surgery at any point  – cuz it is very severe.
  3.   We don’t have any idea why you heart has not enlarged .
  4.   Come look again at the monitor to see what I am talking about.  The blue color represents the backwards blood.  There should not be any.  You have a lot.

Maybe my heart is stretchy..

Oh, good segway back to healing.

My heart has been stretched “emotionally” and my mind has been stretched physically – to a breaking point – in which my brain developed PTSD.  My adopted daughter terrified me with her violent and explosive behavior.  She had to be held often to stop her from jumping out of the car.  She actually jumped out of the car while I was driving at 35 mph.  That is not good.  That signaled some serious problems.  She was kicking through wooden bedroom doors.  She threw mirrors.  The kicked out her window to run away.  She shoved berries into her mouth and asked if they would kill her.  She had an onset of Bipolar Disorder and has also been diagnosed with autism, ADHD, has low than average cognition, PTSD, and RAD – reactive attachment disorder.

I have a medical diagnosis of PTSD- Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  My war is my adoption journey.

I was diagnosed with PTSD in the summer of 2016.  On my first visit to my therapist, he now states, “I strongly considered taking you to the hospital immediately.  You could barely form a sentence.  You were a hot mess!”  He did not actually call me a hot mess.  I am paraphrasing.

Fast forward to this school year 2017-2018.  Our adopted son is now displaying terrifying behaviors.  He has written many disturbing things like – “I WISH SUZANNE WERE DEAD”  in his closet, in  notes, on his bed frame, on the back of a picture frame.  I am Suzanne.  He put bleach in my drink as he washed the dishes- not with bleach though.  Although, he did tell his 18-year-old brother that the bleach was for “cleaning.”

Turns out the bleach our oldest son had seen *******  with was intended for me!

As we headed out the door,  I said to *******, “Let me go grab my water!”

He watched as I went to the kitchen.

He lied when I screamed WHAT THE [HECK OR BLEEP] – [I could have said either.] IS IN MY DRINK?

I couldn’t fathom bleach was in my drink.  I have been asked, “Didn’t you smell it?”  No, I did not.  I drank a sip to try to determine what ****** had put in my cup.  I assumed it was something gross from the fridge  and I wanted to know what it was.

He stood there.  Passively.  Lying.  “Nothing.”   That was all he would say.

My older son started questioning.  My 16 yr-old  started questioning.


The wheels started turning in my oldest’s head.  Give me you cup Mom.  [Smells]  He screams ,”How could you?  I know what it is!  Tell everyone what you did.  Tell everyone what you put in mom’s cup!”

Pinned to the floor for my safety, he continued to lie.

I wanted my oldest son to hit ******.

When our oldest finally forced him to admit what he had done.  my mind did not want to process the fact that my adopted son had just put a known deadly chemical in my drink.

My oldest never hit him.   Never hurt him.  Never has.  And frankly, I don’t know why.  We aren’t that kind of family.  We have never hit our kids.

But this was HIT – WORTHY  in my book.


I called my husband, shaking.. “What do I do?  We can’t call the police because of our daughter.  I don’t want ****** to affect her chances of reunification after all her hard work in therapy.”  My husband agreed.  We would look for a placement outside of the home and not call the police.

We have looked for a placement.  For months now.

My husband is like a warden watching ****** every minute of the day.  We have locks, alarms, cameras,  … and I generally don’t stay at home anymore.

So is he a threat to our safety?  DEFINITELY A THREAT.



I HAVE RAGING PTSD SYMPTOMS that had subsided after years of therapy and prescription meds.

  • I have high blood pressure often.
  • I cry often because I feel abandoned by everyone.
  • I fear everyone hates me – including me family who loves me.
  • I go into flight mode.  I sometimes just bolt out the door and run for miles.  I often get in my car and just drive … away.  Any where but home.
  • I lock myself in my room when I am home.
  • I only use one cup and have it with me at all times.
  • I don’t drink anything from the kitchen.
  • I have horrible intrusive thoughts.
  • I feel like  gun is pressed to the base of my skull.
  • I shake a lot.
  • I often can’t speak correctly.
  • I feel angry because I can’t speak.  I stutter and can’t come up with the words I want to say.
  • I feel angry that this is the mother my biological kids know.
  • I feel sad because our family is ripped apart again. 3 years ago from our daughter and now our son.
  • I don’t cook anymore. I am barely home and the kitchen triggers me.  I used to love  clean kitchen.  Now the clean counters are the trigger because he had cleaned the kitchen and left only my cup  WITH BLEACH IN IT on the counter.

Need help again support system.

We need help.




Drip, Drip, Drip: Water and Absorbing Materials

It was very early Sunday morning.  He was bleary-eyed and shaving with a sharp razor.

I held up an Always-brand Ultra Thin feminine pads eye-level and pronounced, “This is an answer to your prayers!”

He turned from the sink where he was rinsing his razor, his hand now dripping wet and stood frozen.  A lake of water formed on the bathroom at his feet.  (Like a whole bunch of water!)  He just stood silently, staring at the women’s hygienic product in my hand.

To back up, my bipolar, level 2 autistic daughter at our home on a weekend pass from her home – a therapeutic group home – waddled up to me a few moments prior.  Not being mean –  no – literally she waddled up to me.  It was early in morning and in an early- morning-and-easily-annoyed mood prior to taking my prescription meds for anxiety and depression , PTSD (brought on by violently extreme rages of our adopted kids) I said, “I can’t hear you and please stop waddling like a penguin.”  She approached me again with less waddle.  She whispered again, “I need a pad!”  I heard her the second time.  “We don’t have any here,” I responded, now understanding the awkward amble.  She had just gotten her period two other times.  Unchartered territory.  Then I added, “Have you brushed your teeth?”  She, “No.”  I said that it was not pleasant when she came so close to my nose!

She went to the hallway bathroom.  I went to my bathroom.  I fumbled around under my bathroom sink and ‘Lo and Behold’ — Always Ultra-Thin pads.

I stood up and held the pad eye-level and said to my hubbie, “This is the answer to your prayers!

Ah -hah!  The desired results I had hoped for enveloped his face: CONFUSION!

It may have helped to have filled him in on a few more details about my conversation with our daughter before telling him a pad was his gift from God.  He had yet to drink his morning coffee.  He does not function properly without it.  The drug in coffee has altered his executive functioning – I think.  So my strange and crazy way of making my husband scratch his head plus ginormous stress from the broken water heater forming a lake of water on the laundry room floor, and lack of regular sleep because of his own depression from watching his family be ripped apart from numerous adoption traumas, and me subsequently developing PTSD, my ears always attuned to the slightest noise in hypervigilence to catch any situation in its infancy before a full-blown implosion of bipolar rage sends me careening downhill might also be contributing factors to his confusion.   If you are keeping track, that is two lakes in 24 hours at our house.

I did later explain my comment, which made Kyle laugh (LIKE DEEP BELLY LAUGH) at the mission I accomplished in totally unbalancing an already  teetering pre-coffee man.  He just laughed as he communicated his thoughts or lack of them going through his head.  He frankly had no idea how what I said about Always made any sense.  Everything I said was true.  My purposeful delivery of the information was what confused him.

Since adopting our son and daughter, my husband has had to take on the roles of:






public middle school teacher,

soccer training business owner,


parole officer,

psychologist / therapist/ counselor,


and a plumber at times when lakes form in the house.

Prior to the adoption of our two loved kiddos and the ensuing trauma, his roles were largely amazing husband, best-ever daddy, and bread-winner.

It had all gone a little too well.  We began to believe the lie of Satan that we could control our lives while shaping and molding our children into godly, happy believers in the grace and salvation that we have found in Christ.  (… we can’t, He can!)

We have learned some awful and great lessons in seasons of sheer misery.  The monsters of trauma nearly devoured me.  Only by the sustaining word of God and faith in His goodness, I was not completely annihilated.  Behaviors of our kids became increasingly aggressive and destructive – and aimed primarily at me…MOM.  I have been hit, bit, spit upon, and poisoned.  I have seen rages so strong and intense, my very young children have jumped out of cars traveling close to 40 mph, kicked through wooden bedroom doors and glass window to escape their captivity, and broken furniture, mirrors and anything lying around within reach.  While doing life as a mom with my other biological children in that same environment,  I feared for the damage being done to their minds and hearts.  There has been incredible damage.  I have diagnosed PTSD.  My kids have hardened and closed off their hearts to a great deal.  Some have turned from God battling with the questions I also ask, “If there is a God, why would He do this to our family?”

Well, deep lessons have been learned.  And other lessons are being learned.  Sometimes I wish I could tell God – we GOT IT!  Please let the lessons stop.  I am tired of being in the school of HARD.

Here is some of the instructions we have received:

LESSON #1:  We aren’t in control of ANYTHING except our responses to stimuli.  We don’t control our own lives.  We certainly don’t control the lives of our offspring and adoptees.  They are entirely in the hand of a merciful and loving God.  He allows things in our lives for his glory and our good.  That is promised in His word – the Bible.  He also allows us to make our own decisions outside of His will.  He is loving, his is just, but He isn’t a people manipulator.

LESSON #2:  There is absolutely nothing I can d to save my kids or another human soul.  Salvation is a supernatural event caused by a supernatural being.  I am not that.  In fact, I am pretty natural.  I eat, sleep, fart.. very natural.  And if you Google search about holding your farts in – I did that yesterday on a car trip to Florida Youth Sheriff’s Ranch for Boys – you will discover, it may contribute to bad breath.  I am natural!  He is supernatural.  I can’t save them.  And the best news is that I don’t have to save them.  That is a terribly big job.

LESSON#3:  Hurt people hurt people – themselves included.  Ever wonder why people turn to alcohol? I totally understand.  I don’t drink – too expensive was always my motivation.  But others, they didn’t think that becoming a falling down idiot would solve their dilema.  They did think that escaping from their hurts was a stupendous idea.  Suicide victims also believe this, as well as drug addicts, and people choosing really unhealthy relationships.

Avoiding hurts is completely understandable to me now since adopting children who would unknowingly traumatize me.  Very deeply, they altered my brain – injured by brain.  I know why the mom with prescription pills in her hand takes all of them versus the prescribed amount.  I know why people get into drugs.  I know why people lock themselves in their room and don’t come out.  I know why people eat and eat and eat and eat

They are all trying to avoid being hurt or soothe the hurt.  Even if just for a moment.

They hurt that bad.

I have a long list of avoiding hurt.

After being sexually abused from age 7 – 10, I equated physical intimacy with being liked.  Dumb Dumb HURT teenager thoughts.  Guys in high school are mostly looking for easy.  So I decided to be easy.  That added to my hurts.  I was looking for love, validation, approval, friendships, encouragement, etc.  I found none of those in high school relationships.

So when someone does something incredibly stupid, risky, dangerous, or even life-threatening, wonder WHAT THE HECK HAVE THEY BEEN THROUGH TO GET TO THIS PLACE?  She has been really hurt.  He has been through something terribly painful to act out like that.

Now, I have compassion for the tortured souls trapped in addictions, terrible habits and hang-ups.  It’s LESSON #4-100.  Taught over and over again, love others in their yuck.

[But this does not mean to agree with, support, enable, encourage, excuse or allow those hurt people to hurt you or someone else.  Healthy boundaries are essential in living in this hurt world.]

And now to answer:  Why are the pads an answer to my husband’s prayers?  He was taking our daughter to a soccer game and then back to her current living circumstances because we have demanded healthy boundaries.  We deserve to be safe in our own home.

If we did not have the needed feminine pads, Mr. Amazing would have had to make an unwanted stop to gets pads for our aging 12-year-old.