-I pray every day for God to give me His love for Mila.
-I am faking it and I hate faking.
-I miss how things used to be. But I am so ashamed to say that.
-I see glimmers of hope. But I am terrified to hope. Hope leads to being let down and if this is my reality I need to accept it.
-Sometimes the kids all play together and it takes my breath away.
-The physical transformation of our girl is absolutely amazing- yet I rarely let myself marvel at it. Though this is the thing friends and outsiders see and comment on the most.
-I never doubt that God purposefully placed Mila in our family.
-I do doubt my purpose in all this- as I am completely failing on so many levels.
-I wonder if my existence in Mila's life is adding more trauma to her than healing.
-I see my kids and am so proud to call them mine.
-I love the relationship Mila has with her brothers.
-Every once in awhile I get a taste of that dreamy mother-daughter relationship that is clearly fabricated in my mind but was a driving force in bringing Mila home. I savor those moments.
-Trauma is everywhere.
-Somedays trauma looks like hateful rages. Ripped off clothes and shoes thrown forcefully in my direction.
-Trauma looks like hours of walking on eggshells around a tiny ticking time bomb that is insistent on fighting.
-Trauma is taking its toll- when I am offered help I don't even know what to ask for. If I have a free moment, I don't have any idea what to do in order to recharge and refill myself.
-Some days humor is the best medicine.
-Some days my head pounds from the constant teeth clenching I do to prevent myself from doing the wrong thing.
-I know it is getting better. I want to do everything I can to help her, to give her the tools to communicate and connect.
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