I can't fix her.

She is my daughter, and I can't help her. And my inability to see that I can't help her may have cost her years of treatment. Or my unwillingness to admit that I can't help her may have given her the best memories she will ever have. We may have created the moments that she can hold onto when... if...


Or all of the above.


I used to think I understood diagnoses, but I don't. Her diagnoses are Reactive Attachment Disorder and Complex PTSD. As far as I can tell those things can really mean just about anything, and can present in the same way as bipolar disorder, dissociative disorders, even schizophrenia. I used to think I understood diagnoses, but I don't.


I struggle for words to describe the pain of parenting a child of trauma. It is, in itself, trauma. It is a cycle of trying everything you possibly can for as long as you possibly can, and then thinking it is working, just long enough to be devastated when you realized it didn't. It hadn't. It is blaming yourself. It is blaming others. It is feeling constantly misunderstood. It is having a secret. It is hope. It is perpetual prayer. It is punishing yourself for being too optimistic. It is punishing yourself for not believing enough. It is fighting with your spouse. It is isolating.


And yet there are moments. There are moments when you think you might have gotten through to her. When you survived a week or a month that wasn't that bad. And she will try to take that away from you - not just end it, because that is going to happen, the good time is going to end - but she will try to take the good time away, erase it, make you feel like a fool for believing it, make you feel like YOU were hurting HER by letting her experience some small, incremental, relative success. We can't let them take away those moments, from us or from themselves.


I am starting this blog because I have found so much comfort from reading the courageous blogs of other RAD moms. http://www.marvinsgrowinggardens.blogspot.com/ is one. http://letterstoabba.blogspot.com/ is another. There are a lot out there. Thank you, women. You are a source of strength. We have to tell our stories. Remember when I said it is isolating? We have to tell our stories.


Because the truth of the matter is, I can help her, but I can't FIX her. I can be there and I can try to make good decisions but ultimately it's her story. She's not broken - she's just living her life. It's not the life I would choose for her, but good news! I am not responsible for choosing other's people's lives for them.