On a typical morning I come home from work and try to have a little quiet time with Riley. He often does not get up to greet me. Even when I speak to him I'm not sure he recognizes me as a safe adult. So I force myself on him, gently of course, by sitting on the edge of his bed and touching him. Sometimes I'll lay on the floor next to him. You can see in his face that he's a little timid and unsure. But if he doesn't turn away from me I'll put my hands on him.
This particular morning I got lucky and he rested his head in the crook of my arm and relaxed. Even his lips got floppy. He likes having his face touched, and I've been stroking his cheek.
I'm taking pictures with my phone, which makes a gentle shutter sound. Riley can hear this sound so I almost always have my sound turned off. But I turned the sound on to hear if a text came in from my son, and forgot. Then I took a picture.
And this is the face of fear, and an end to snuggles and relaxing for the day. A very small sound triggered this. This happens every day in a hundred different ways. This fear is so deep, it breaks my heart that we can't love it away.