She Can Stand On That Beam

I could make a dozen metaphors out of this photo. Mostly I look up there, and remember that a year and a half ago, she couldn't even stand up on that beam. Now she can walk backward across it with her arms out to each side. There are a million things that matter more than this though, like that I can't figure out how to get her to stop saying hurtful things to people at school. And I can say, "Hurt people hurt people" til I can't even make sense of the words in my brain anymore, but it doesn't help the little kid she's last verbally knocked down - probably just an hour ago. Past trauma doesn't go away, many special needs aren't visible, and working with kids from trauma is shockingly difficult. But a year and a half ago she couldn't stand on this beam. Three years ago she couldn't sit through a 60 minute basketball game because it was loud and bright and boring and you must follow so many societal rules. Four years ago she couldn't function without constantly gripping a full ziplock bag of cheerios because food insecurity is long lasting. Five years ago she couldn't see a backpack without a complete panic stricken violent meltdown because moving to unknown houses nonstop for 30 months is terrifying. She can use a backpack now. She isn't scared that she won't get fed now. She can sit through a basketball game and mostly follow societal rules with little issue. She can stand on that beam. We keep going.