Resurfacing Trauma, Raising TCKs, and Rekindling Joy

Note from Rose: if you are facing a serious mental health crisis, I encourage you to reach out to someone and get the help you need. There are organizations (i.e. GRC, Oaks Counseling, Remote Access Mental Health) for expats facing depression and more. This post is no substitute for real counseling. 

Early in my twenties, I married a grounded and reliable man who shared my growing faith. We bought a house, brought two children into the world, and started to put down our roots. But despite my desire for roots and security, our family was meant for a big international move. We knew this also meant lots of goodbyes, paring down favorite things, and sleeping in unfamiliar homes. Here we had worked so hard to build a life of constancy for our children, and now we were dragging them all over the country and then across the world, away from everything they had known. It was difficult for me, watching my children struggle with all the uncertainty. I wanted to create a life where they felt safe and secure—something far different than the life of loss and abandonment I had experienced in my own childhood.

———

I can remember spending the night on my dad's friend's couch after watching a movie that may have been a bit too old for me. Though I was a bit spooked, I nestled comfortably into my spot on the couch, with my dad snoring nearby. As I drifted to sleep, my mind formed a dream so vivid most of has stayed with me into adulthood.

In the dream, my dad and I were on top of a giant, grassy hill, thick with a covering of delicate daisies. We were making daisy chains, digging our toes into the soil, and enjoying a cool evening breeze. The scene was so lovely and reflected the many hours I had spent making actual daisy chains with my parents (who were true hippies). But everything—except me—was larger than life. The cool breeze was ominous, and there was a shadow over everything. My dad and I were perched atop this hill, sticking off like cartoon stick figures in a child’s drawing.

Even in my dream, I had the familiar feeling of joy from being with my dad mixed with weariness about our transient weekend together. Who would I meet? What strange thing would I encounter? As my vivid dream progressed, I watched it unfold from the daisy-covered hill. It moved before me like a movie projected on a hanging sheet, except the whole sky was the sheet. Here, the scenes become less vivid, but I recall a giant bear, other large animals from paintings I had seen, and a very stormy night—all so enormous that the scene swallowed my small figure. My dad faded away, and I was left alone with these scary scenes.

———

The truth is, becoming an expat has dredged up pain and past trauma in unexpected ways. I’m certain this is very common, and that I am not alone in my struggle to attain mental health and a thriving life while living overseas. Your story may not match mine, but if you have any trauma, disappointment, loss or mental health issues in your past, perhaps you too have seen these issues resurface as you navigate life abroad.

My parents suffered with substance abuse and mental illness after I was born, so I went to live with my grandparents at the age of three. I spent the weekends with my dad, who didn’t always have a homey place for me to stay, who wasn’t always sober, and who was fun and loving, but also totally unreliable.

Maybe I am remembering my dream all wrong. Maybe I drew this scene once in a child therapy session, trying to explain the terrible insecurities and abandonment I felt in the midst of the beauty and love I also received. Either way, I carry this dream with me as a banner marking the intersection of pain and joy from my past and the way it impacts my life now.

Not every detail is as symbolic as the daisy chains and ominous wind, but when I tell the story of my dream, I am struck by the loss in my childhood. Having lived it, and now looking back on it from the safety of the life I’ve built with my own family, I forget that it was traumatic. My parents loved me in their own way, but they had to give me up. It could have been much worse. When I think about my younger self, I pity the child who faced so much. I certainly want to protect my children from such pain. Over the years following the separation from my parents, I had to pull away from them in order to protect the security I had built without them. This is a tremendous loss for any child—even once they’ve become an adult. This loss of security and the resulting desire to pull away for self-protection is the kind of loss I never want my own children to experience, yet here I was uprooting them and practically flipping their familiar life on its head.

———

Perhaps you, too, worry that your third culture kids are missing out, or will be traumatized by their ever-changing lives. I have learned over the years, as I have dealt with my own trauma, that a person’s feeling of security is actually forged in the arms of someone who loves them, at the early age of infancy.

My friend Lisa, a Joy Coach, says, “Joy is a spontaneous, genuine reaction between two people. This kind of joy is not a choice. And it all began at home.” She goes on to explain that babies look to visually connect with their “joy givers,” or the people meeting their needs. She writes, “as needs are being consistently met, the baby’s brain grows the framework it needs for identity and joy.” This framework sets the foundation for their entire life!There are tools to grow joy at all stages of life, in every circumstance, whether you experienced these connections as a child or not, and whether you are isolated with your family or thriving in a vibrant community. Lisa’s words have been an invaluable resource to me as I have worked through my trauma as an adult—and now as an expat and a parent. I make an effort every day to build joy with my children. I know these bonds will be able to carry them through every valley, just as this newfound joy has carried me through the ups and downs of parenting—without a mom, far away from family, and in a new culture and language.

The blessing (and it is so much more than a silver lining) is that my past enables me to relate to my own children, as well as other people, in unique ways. My home changed frequently, my relationships wavered due to distance, and I have a special bond with my grandparents. I grew up in my passport country, but I was raised by parents removed by an entire generation (one a first generation immigrant)—a third culture to be sure.

So, I rest in knowing I can speak to my children’s fears and frustrations and point them to the adventure that lies ahead. I am thankful that I have brain science on my side. Children forge a sense of security in their first community—their relationship with their parents. Expressing gratitude together, sharing meals around the table, and telling one another what we appreciate about each other are all practical ways to help your loved ones feel secure. No matter where in the world we find ourselves, we can still provide a place security for our children by sharing joy together.