“She seems happy” says Hazel* (from school), as she sits on a table with our social worker Mo*.  We three are discussing how best school can support Bubbles to feel safe and secure.

I sigh deeply and remain silent, shaking my head a little.

Bubbles, like many traumatised children, lives her life behind a mask. A mask of control, of pretence, of keeping her feelings and emotions hidden. The mask only slips when she feels safe – when she feels secure enough to express the inner conflict of her world.

“Is Bubbles happy at school?” Hazel asks, her tone a mix of bewilderment and concern.

What should I say? There isn’t an easy answer.

A High Functioning Traumatised Child

Bubbles achieves in school. She is meeting expectations in all areas, exceeding them in reading. She tries really hard to do what she is told and what is expected of her. She tries (so hard) to please and be recognised and rewarded in school.

To all intents and purposes she might seem like a model pupil. She is what I call a highly functioning traumatised child. Yet a deep dark secret lies beneath the surface. 

But in holding in together, the truth leaks out as clues

• The way she can tip into anger or frustration with a single misplaced word
• Her reaction to friendship issues, to rejection taking it beyond personal into a slight on her very soul
• How any stress or frustration shown by an adult will stress her out ten fold (by taking perceived safety from her)
• Her chewing (raw, powerful grinding)

At a recent assembly I watched her chewing (as my heart went out to my amazing girl). It wasn’t just a curl of hair that strayed near her mouth; Bubbles was stuffing great handfuls of hair into her mouth and gnawing it with gusto. When it wasn’t her hair, it was the shawl I had crocheted for her. Yet minutes later, when I gently asked her if she was anxious, she denied it and seemed surprised that the shawl was wet.

The touching sight of her anxiety led me to action: whilst school had been hesitant when I had previous suggested one, that day I bought her a chewigem pendant to bite in school and at home (Bubbles was delighted). Her chewing isn’t the issue; anxiety is the issue. Bubbles isn’t present during her anxiety.  She is stuck in flight or fight mode (when her amygdala – what we call Amy – is in charge). Sometimes she simply doesn’t even remember being anxious or angry, as if her brain has blanked it out.

And because she doesn’t know she is anxious, she won’t tell you she is either.

Her Mask is Safety

Bubbles problem is simple: she doesn’t feel safe. Her early years were sufficiently chaotic and disorganised that she learnt that the only way to be safe was to be in control.

• To take charge of every situation
• To do what she is told to avoid anger or violence or harsh words
• To deny her own emotions for they were too painful

She Yearns For Love

To her teachers and the staff, she seems a happy, cheerful model pupil. Like a swan. All elegant gliding on the surface, but beneath the water, her insides are churning like crazy.

Her need for love, for praise, for acknowledgement, for recognition competes with her anxiety. Bubbles sits and practices her times tables, her handwriting, her reading because she wants someone to notice her and smile.

A little eye contact and a smile mean the world to her.

Yet shame is just beneath the surface. A harsh word and her world crumbles. She tries so hard, exhausting herself every day holding everything tight, holding her world together, taking control of every tiny aspect of her life, losing the carefree years of her childhood.

The Mask Falls Away

At home Bubbles feels safe.

She can express her raw, intense emotions without being shouted at, without incurring the attention of the class, without being shamed. The mask falls away and I see just how much keeping it all together during the day costs my little girl.

I am humbled that she trusts me enough to express her rage, her anger, her intensity – and writing this the guilt rises up at the times when I didn’t react with empathy. On a day when multiple things have gone wrong, her rage can last two hours.

Homework is hard. Not because she is lazy or doesn’t care. Sometimes she cares too much.

• Sometimes (after a good day) she has energy and enthusiasm to spare and aces her homework, which builds her fragile self-esteem
• After a hard day, when her anxiety left her running on vapours, then it triggers rage because it feels too hard (and rocks her self esteem)
• If her anxiety is still sky high, then it triggers shame because she can’t remember her spellings or times tables.

Her battle is real, every school day. Yet somehow through all of this, she still manages to absorb information, to learn, to have moments of fun and friendship.

But when you ask me if Bubbles enjoys school, I don’t really know what to tell you.

* not their real names.

This blog is an excerpt from Emma’s forthcoming sequel to her book “And Then There Were Four” that charts the struggle to learn to parent her adoptive children therapeutically, to get support from school and the adoption agency and to educate herself and others in the needs of her adopted children. It will be published in 2019 and entitled “Hugging the Cactus”.