Sabotaging Self – Part 1

“Self-sabotage is when we say we want something and then go about making sure it doesn’t happen.” ~ Alyce Cornyn-Selby

So, Kiddo woke up to some small gifts, happy at first to see the presents in the stocking, and then slowly began to destroy the joy.  

And like a crab in slow boiling pot, I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was almost too late.

At first “them” was having fun with one of the gifts, sitting and playing and laughing, the natural thing to do.

After some time though I gave two more minutes, saying we had an appointment that couldn’t be missed. I explained the next couple of minutes could be used to finish up playing OR we could work together quickly to get ready and then use the rest of the time to play.

Kiddo chose that we hurry so there was enough time to play. “Great idea,” I said.

Truthfully, we had plenty of time before the appointment, so I wasn’t very concerned either way, yet Kiddo’s unconscious mind had plans of its own.

Part way through getting dressed, “them” began to slow down to the pace of a lethargic snail. I had all I could do to keep prompting with a patient smile.

“Everything okay?” I asked as calmly as could be.

Kiddo nodded then finished getting dressed.

A few minutes later, we were eating, and same thing — Kiddo began staring off into space and then stopped chewing altogether. It was so out of character I began to grow concerned.

I checked Kiddo for a fever and almost had myself convinced that “them” must be sick, but there was no indication of that being the case.

“I see you’re eating really slow. Could you go faster please?” I asked.

“Yes mama,” I was told, but as soon as I got up to feed the dogs, the snail-pace continued. It was like watching a slow motion scene on a screen.

Soon we were almost out of time, so I tried something new. I starting using the stocking’s contents as a lure.  “You told me you really wanted to play with your new toys, correct?”

Kiddo nodded. “Then I’ll need you to start mover faster,” I encouraged.

Though this led to a finishing of breakfast, when it came time to brush teeth, Kiddo stopped moving altogether and just stared into the mirror.

So I said what most parents would, “I see you are staring into the mirror and I’m happy you like looking at yourself. Right now though I need you to brush your teeth good and fast if you still want to play with one of your toys.”

Kiddo began to cry, refused to cooperate, pulled pants down to sit on the toilet with head in hands only to admit, “I don’t hafta’ go.”

I knelt down to this child and looked deeply into this little Kiddo’s eyes. They were sad, and that’s when I finally recognized what was happening.

Having a child who is traumatized is difficult enough but holidays and special occasions contain triggers with even bigger challenges.

Kiddo was self-sabotaging. — Stuck in a conflict between a conscious desire and an unconscious want that results in patterns of self-destruction.

And now that I knew that, I knew what to do . . .



Part 2 coming soon

Dog- Tired Part 2

“It’s a great feeling when your work is appreciated.” ~ Jacqueline Fernandez

For the most part, Kiddo’s been progressing really well. On some days, doing much better than hubby or me. Because at this point in the story the honeymoon stage of fostering was at its end, and my inner Snapperhead snapped because I was dog-tired.

Steve agreed to let me sleep in the next day, which was the first time in a few months.

I awoke to the sounds of Kiddo having a meltdown. From what I could tell, Steve was handling it well, yet I wondered if I should still get up.

My intuition said to stay in bed.

Moments later, I heard Steve start to move down the hall. “Get dressed while I get going on breakfast,” he said.

Kiddo replied with a lot of sassy talk.

Steve’s footsteps returned.

“You may not speak to me that way,” I heard him say. “Now get dressed like I asked.”

More whining . . .
More crying . . .

I pulled back the covers to get up. My intuition prompted me to sit still and listen in.

Steve then asked Kiddo, “Do you need a hug?”

I didn’t hear anymore crying, so I laid back down.

“You better?” I heard Steve ask.

Kiddo giggled with a yes.

“Good. Now please get dressed.”

Steve’s footsteps passed the bedroom and into the kitchen. The refrigerator peeled open followed by the sounds of coffee brewing and cupboards closing

I shut my eyes, feeling grateful I had a little more time to rest.

Half awake and half asleep, I was later jolted by something banging.

Steve was crying out in pain. “Ow! Open the door.”

I scrambled to my feet and peered across the hall. Steve was bent over, holding Kiddo’s door with one hand while cradling his leg with the other.

Kiddo was pushing against the door with all “them’s” might.

Being bigger, my husband could open the door, but as he moved toward the bedroom, Kiddo swung at his face and began kicking him hard.

Though Steve handled it well and we all talked as a family to address the behaviors and feelings, when it was all over, my husband was exhausted both emotionally and physically.

“I am sorry,” he said to me a little later, when we had some time to ourselves. “I didn’t know how bad it could be until I walked a mile in your moccasins.”

I hugged him and accepted his apology.

The next morning Steve kissed my forehead and told me what an amazing mom I am. Then just as I sat up so I could go tend to Kiddo, he lovingly encouraged me to continue sleeping in.

After my hubby left the room and closed the door, I seriously considered his offer.

Although catching more zzz’s was most tempting, deep down I knew what I had to do.

Dog-tired or not, we are a team.

So I joined him and shared in the morning routine.



Dog-Tired Part 1

“If you’re completely exhausted and don’t know how you’re going to keep giving this much of yourself day after day, you’re probably a good parent.” ~ Bunmi Laditan

So it happened. My patience gave out and I yelled hard.

Hubby and kiddo were gone. I  had a small window of free time and was so grateful for the silence I almost cried.

Though deep down I had known I’ve been grieving solitude, I had been far too busy to process it all.

Head’s up: My pent up feeling were about to have a field day!

“You’re becoming a snapper head,” my husband Steve had said the night before. It’s the name I’ve asked him to call me when I’m acting like a “B.”

“I know it” I admitted, “and I’m sorry, but all these responsibilities are starting to take a toll.”

Steve laughed. “Whatever. Just please stop making me walk on eggshells, okay? Besides, how hard can staying home be?”

I did my best to explain but he didn’t get it. For 10 straight months I’ve been knee deep in playtime, bath time, bed time, and meal time day after day plus running Kiddo to at least 3-4 doctor, counselor, therapist and specialist appointments per week.

For anyone who has every been the primary caregiver of a child with special needs, I understand how exhausting it can be.

And now, with a moment to myself,  I was determined to relax no matter what.

I moved to my office downstairs. My desk was covered in receipts. It had been months since I was able to reconcile the books or file the bills.

Tension moved through my shoulders and tight neck.

Staring at the futon, I sighed. Should I take a nap? When was the last time I had gotten at least 8 hours of sleep?

My head turned toward the laundry. I winced. Wet clothes were in the washer, another pile on the dryer, and when I opened the hamper it too was full.

Stress stacked up inside me with no escape.

Then the dogs started barking from the back yard- the kind of bark that goes right through you – the kind that makes you cringe because you cannot help but wonder what your neighbors might think.

I took a deep breath, hoping it might calm me down, but the dogs kept yelping so loud it pierced my ears.

“Ahhh!” I loudly shouted, running to the window on the lower floor. I spotted some turkeys near the front of the house.

The barking persisted and would’t let up.

I took a flight of stairs so I could let both pets inside. As I opened the door, one of the dogs ran past me and left a long trail of mud on all the floors.

I screamed. I yelled. I lost my sh*t.  I was aware of my volume and didn’t care.



Part 2 coming soon . . .