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Once upon a time, a trauma mom named Jennifer took a chance, and reached out to me with a text message. We met up for lunch and poured out our hearts to each other, as moms of adopted, traumatized kids. We became fast friends. The best thing about our relationship? We met each other exactly where we were…in the ugly, lonely trenches of adoption. No questions. No judgement. No expectations. Just us, there for each other. In my harder days as a trauma mama, the quiet, dark master bedroom closet was my safe space. A closet? Yep, there is a draw to the inside of a walk in closet.

The closet contents muffle the sounds of trauma coming from the littles in the house. The smallness of the space feels protective, like being under a thick blanket in a thunderstorm. It was out of arms reach of fighting hands, endless questions and chatter, scowls of defiance and disapproval, and angry words. I went there to cry, take a break from the chaos and loud, or to calm my over stimulated self. As our friendship progressed, we both realized we had the same secret solace of the closet, and kept a stash of our favorite soda and snacks for ourselves.

I even had a refrigerator in mine. In a particularly hard week, I received a text message from Jennifer that simply said, “check your front porch”. I found a box full of snacks for my closet escape. I cried. It was everything to me in that moment, in that week, in the trenches of my trauma mama work. She understood the what and how without an explanation, and so did I. And so, born was the idea of my Trauma Mama Friend Amazon List. Hold tight to your trauma mama friend. They are worth more than all of the dollars together could ever buy. If you don’t have one, take the same chance Jennifer did and go find one. She’ll meet you where you are, because she gets it.

From The Trenches of Adoption, Rebecca