The Day We Started "Cuddle Therapy"

My 15-year old cousin moved in with my sister and I this past August. The transition for all of us has been hard. In the last seven months we have been faced with so many issues, I wonder what's left that we could possibly deal with. That's a stupid thought for any parent to think, by the way. There is a list a mile long of things my kid could be doing that are worse than what we're going through. When I think I can't possibly take any more, I let my mind wander for just a second to this list, and then realize I should be grateful. And I do try...to be grateful. I try to put those big girl panties on, and strap on my warrior parent vest, and count my blessings like every good parent should. But the truth is...sometimes this job is just really, really...really hard. I have spent more time crying in the car and in the shower, recently, than I care to admit. It's just like that right now.

I am still trying to adjust to my adventures into insta-parenting. (I say "insta-parenting" because I've never actually raised children, and am now jumping into it with a 15-year old with some major issues.) The last time she was here, she was only here for 5 months. Now she's here for 5 years. Adrenaline only takes you so far, and then the honeymoon period ends and the kaka starts hitting the fan. I think our "honeymoon period" literally lasted the length of most honeymoons (probably a week or two), before we started getting slapped in the face with it. I wish we could have had one of those rich people honeymoons that lasts for like a month. That would have been nice.  :)

Before you go thinking that I hate parenting, or my cousin-daughter, let me tell you about some really cool things about being a parent, and my kid in particular. First of all, she is AWESOME!! She is super-creative. And if I were ever able to pick what kind of child I would have, it would be a creative one. She draws and paints, and makes crafts, cooks (without recipes), and loves color...on everything (her hair, the walls, her body, etc.) She often draws on herself, and I feel like (if she wants to), she would make a great tattoo artist some day (if she keeps practicing her art).

Her brain thinks differently than a lot of people's. Chances are, she will never work in a corporate setting (at least not in the way most people think of "corporate"), and I'm okay with that. Those people are stuffy anyway. I like the creatives, the nerds, the geeks, the people who are tattooed up to their necks, with weird hair and ear lobes the size of golf balls, the people that tend to be socially awkward, but have hearts of pure gold, and are usually geniuses that just look "weird". (And yes, I think gauging is ridiculous.) But there is something about these people that strikes a cord with me, and that's how I feel about my kid. I WANT her to be weird in this way, because it allows her to be herself, and because it makes her more awesome, and I think the world needs more awesome.

The next cool thing about my kid is she's really perceptive. She can sense when I'm deep in thought, when I'm sad, or when the mood of a room is just "not right". She's tuned in to that stuff more than most people I know, and I think it's great. Honing those skills will do her good in life. She's also very spiritual and introspective. She knows a lot about herself. Combined with years of counseling, and her own natural giftedness, she is able to say to me, "I NEED ATTENTION"...literally. She says that to me, exactly those words, exactly that way. Who does that?! I don't. I beat around the bush like, "Hey, wanna do something together sometime?" Yeah, no. She is not like that. She just comes right out with it, and is very opinionated about what she thinks, and what she wants. She'll walk out of yoga and say, "Wow, I feel so at peace right now!", while I might just think it was a great workout.

She has never met a stranger. Whether it be the stray cats on our property, our neighbors, random people on the street, this girl just talks to anyone. I feel like "stranger danger" was not introduced to her properly, or maybe she was absent that day in kindergarten, because even at 15, I'm constantly trying to remind her that there are dangerous people out there, and she needs to be careful about going into stranger's homes. ?????? Yeah, it's like that. She has named all the stray cats on our property, and knows practically every dog-owner in our complex, by association to their dog. (She doesn't know their human names, just the dog's names.) My kid is also hilarious...and VERY sweet!!(when she is not acting as Sassy McSassypants...haha)

The last thing I'll mention, in a long list of what could be a novel about the awesomeness of my cousin-daughter is that she loves to be loved. Her biggest love language (for those of you who have read that book) is physical touch. She loves to hold hands (a LOT), walk arm in arm, have her hair played with and her back scratched to fall asleep. (I will just point out here, that having a 15 year old that craves love and physical touch is TERRIFYING!!!)
Ahem. Okay, back to her. My cousin-daughter was adopted by my aunt and uncle when she was 2 1/2 years old. Her birth mother was using cocaine (and other drugs) when she had her. She was also abused and severely neglected during her first two years of life. She was finally removed from that home, and that is ultimately how she ended up in our family. I believe those first years have a hard link to her craving for physical touch, and her constant need for nurturing.

About two weeks ago we had some major stuff go down in our house, some big issues were discovered, and some very devastating choices were made by our cousin-daughter that has left us all in a state of damage & safety-control. Schedules have been revamped. Items have been removed from our home, and most importantly we are on 24-watch patrol. Needless to say, it has been stressful on all of us!!! And what 15-year old wants their parents around 24/7?! Right. NONE!

A few days after all of this went down, the emotional breakdown hit. It's the post-breakdown breakdown. Not the initial one, but the one after that, when all the depression hits and it starts to get real. It was my day off, so I was home in the evening. She was getting ready for bed, and started crying over what seemed like really insignificant stuff, so I calmly talked to her to see if we could resolve it before she fell asleep. The tears actually had nothing to do with the insignificant crap (as they rarely do with any woman). They just kept coming. Not sobbing, but they might as well have been. Just constant tears from a very broken heart.

So I did what any mom (or quasi-mom) would do. I climbed in next to her in her little twin bed, and held her up against me like I was holding a baby...a little 5'10" baby. If I could have walked her around the room, bouncing her, and patting her back, I would have. As we lay there on our sides, facing each other, her crying into my chest, I learned all about what was plaguing her brain and her heart. I allowed her to cry, as I kept stroking her hair, speaking affirmations to her, praying for her out loud, praying for protection, for angels, for any living or celestial being available, to come protect my child's thoughts, dreams, heart, life and well-being. What else was I supposed to do at this point? So far we had us, our friends, our family, therapists, church...what else was there??!!

I held her for almost an hour and a half like that. I had been silent for all of two minutes when she says in her almost-asleep whisper, "Say something." (Remember previously mentioned calls for attention. She is not shy about asking for what she needs.) So I start in again with the affirmations, with the prayers, until her breathing is so heavy and deep, I determine that she is finally asleep. I stay holding her for several more minutes until I can remove my grip from her, and go into the other room. Ten minutes later I hear her frantically calling my name from the bedroom. I go in, and she's asleep, but breathing like she terrified. I start in again with the stroking and the praying, until I feel it's safe to leave again.

That night may have been the first night in a week or so that she slept through the night. She was dead to the world the next morning. Something had worked. After a week of nightmares and not sleeping well, something had finally worked. After speaking with her therapist, he explained that this act was similar to rocking a baby to sleep (something that she rarely, if ever, experienced). With all the therapy she was getting, and all the stuff being drudged up, she was literally craving the nurturing one receives as a baby. He suggested we continue our now fondly named "cuddle therapy" every night to help her get the physical touch, and comforting nurturing she had been craving. Some (hopefully a lot) of her behaviors would be helped by this.

We are a week in to "cuddle therapy", and I notice a difference. I wouldn't say I "love" half-hanging off a twin bed three nights a week, for an hour and a half, praying I don't fall off. But what I do love is filling a love tank for my cousin-daughter, that has been empty for 15 years. I love that. I love hearing about her day, and allowing her space and safety to talk about what is on her mind and her heart as she falls asleep. I love telling her about herself, and praying for her as she goes into her dreams every night. And I love the effect that it is having on her behaviors, as the blow-ups don't seem so bad, and the frequency has decreased (at least for the time being). Along with all the other coping mechanisms we are learning as a family, "cuddle therapy" has turned out to be really rewarding.

I heard someone say recently that kids are often not craving attention. They are really craving is connection. And her therapist repeated it only days later, so it must be true!! The proof is in the pudding, I suppose. I'm sure we'll learn how well this "cuddle therapy" (and all the other therapy) is working out. So...here's to cuddling!

One thing is for sure though...we really need a bigger bed.

Signing off for tonight as I keep practicing...