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Trauma has a way of sneaking up on you. One minute you’re driving home from soccer practice, singing along to the radio, and the next you’re blindsided by a memory from a previous life—one that brings you to tears without warning.

If you have any understanding of adoption through the foster care system, you know that these wonderful, amazing kids come with trauma. Even in the simplest cases, there is the trauma of losing biological family in some way. Add to that the reality that many cases also involve abuse or neglect, and it becomes clear how layered and complex their experiences can be.

It’s hard to know exactly how Boy1 feels about his past. I remember dropping him off at his foster home after a weekend visit—he cried his eyes out, and it shattered our hearts. We wondered if it was a miserable place to be, or if he had simply had such a great time with us and his brother that he didn’t want to go back. Since then, he hasn’t really communicated specific bad memories or distress. With his disabilities, it’s possible there was a lack of understanding (and for that, I’m thankful), but it’s also possible that his trauma shows up in quieter, less obvious ways—through things like incontinence or learned helplessness.

Boy2 carries his past differently. His feelings are mixed, but mostly sad. He misses some people from his past, but not all of them. He talks about his foster home and how he was treated differently there—something that was also confirmed by social services, which adds a whole other layer of frustration and heartbreak. We never push Boy2 to talk about his past, but sometimes he brings it up on his own. When he does, we listen with open minds and open hearts. He needs to know that we are present with him in that moment, and that we are a safe space for whatever he’s feeling. It saddens me to think that there may have been a time this little boy wasn’t able to sing along to the music in the car – that his voice was ever silenced.

Our boys are such good boys. Such good boys. It’s devastating to think that anyone would ever treat them as less than—intentionally or not. My husband and I know how incredibly blessed we are to have them in our lives, and we are fiercely protective of their hearts and their minds. We, as parents, carry such a tremendous responsibility: to keep our children safe in all the ways that matter. I pray I never, ever take that responsibility for granted.

I will never share my boys’ stories in full on this blog. If that’s something they choose to do one day, that choice will always be theirs. Writing has always been therapeutic for me, and maybe one day it will be for them too.

If you’re parenting a child with a hard past, how do you create space for their story while still protecting their heart—and your own?