Dear Daughter: It’s OK to hurt.

Tonight I sat on the couch with my broken little girl and held her while she cried. Tonight we watched a movie and held a puppy while we waited for the grief to subside.  Tonight, once again, I told her that it’s OK to hurt.

As a mother, my instinct is to kiss boo boos and dry tears.  It hurts me to see my children hurt.  I want to pull them to my chest and keep them far from any one or any place that would ever do them harm.  The problem is that my children came from the place of harm.   My children were born to the family that hurt them.  I can do everything in my power to change their present and future but I can’t erase their history.

Adoptive families often struggle with how much contact to have with their birth families.  Open adoptions are a great option for many people but in cases where children were adopted from foster care there are often safety concerns and painful histories that have to be taken into consideration.  My husband and I have chosen not to force contact with our kids’ biological parents until our kids ask for it.  They know that they are adopted and when the time comes that they want to reach out, assuming that it is safe and healthy, we will support them.  In the meantime, we continue to cultivate a relationship with their biological siblings.  Those kids love my children and did not do anything to deserve their family being torn apart.  We promised them that we would work hard to maintain their relationships with our kids and we have stood by that.  It hasn’t been easy though. 

This weekend we had a visit with some of Bradley and Alyssa’s siblings.  The kids looked forward to it for days and Alyssa literally jumped up and down and started dancing in the middle of the restaurant when she saw them pull up.  She spent an hour and half with her sister, T, taking turns braiding and rebraiding each other’s hair.  They have a special connection and adore each other even though they are not able to connect as often as they would like.  

When it was time to go, Alyssa clung to T like her life depended on it and she sobbed.  Her little heart broke like it did when she first lost her birth family and like it does every time we have to say good bye.  Even though she knows that she will see them again, it hurt.  Even though she was promised a phone call in the next few days, it hurt.  The whole thing just hurts. 

I watched my husband scoop her up in his big, gentle arms to carry her to the car and I wondered for a moment if it was worth it.  It makes no sense to bring your child to a visit knowing that she will leave in tears. The mama bear in me wants to hole up in a cave and never come back so that she won’t hurt again.  Instead, I looked her in the eyes and told her that it was ok to be sad about leaving. 

When we got home we cuddled on the couch and watched a movie while she tried to sort things out.  That night she raged and said she hated me.  In the morning she asked if I remembered the time that she was really sad after seeing her sister.  I told her again that it’s ok to hurt sometimes.

I try not to tell Alyssa that it will be ok because I don’t know that it will.  I don’t attempt to stop the tears because they exist for a reason.  It would not be fair for me to deny that her truth is painful.  Instead, I give her permission to grieve and I sit with her until the storm passes.

I want my kids to grow up knowing that they don’t always have to run from pain.  I want my children to learn to love bravely and that means embracing risk.  We mediate that risk by preparing for visits, planning downtime afterwards and monitoring closely what is said but we know that seeing their siblings may open up old wounds.  If you aren’t intimately acquainted with adoption, that may seem reckless. We understand though that the benefit of love is greater than the cost.

Over the past few years I have had to learn the lesson that Alyssa is learning now.  Sometimes love hurts but it is worth it.  Foster children may leave and take a piece of your heart but it is worth it because what remains is better than the whole you had before.  Friends may walk away but it is still worth it to trust and feel connection with others.  The epilepsy could win but it is worth it to love Alyssa. 

It is better to love and hurt than to never love. Painful goodbyes mean that you had a chance to say hello.  Even if it hurts to leave, an evening spent braiding your sister’s hair is worth it. It would be easier to walk away and hope that she forgets about her birth family but that’s not what is best for my daughter.  I want her to know that even if they can’t grow up together like they should have, loving your siblings is worth it. It’s ok to hurt because that means that you loved.

Let's continue this conversation on Facebook and in the comments below.

Adoption & Epilepsy

Ask any adoptive parent about their home study and they will tell you about the invasive questions they were asked.  Most of us have stories of the awkwardness of a complete stranger sitting calmly in our living rooms while demanding information that would make even the most open person blush.  It is the adoption equivalent of prenatal care.  Birth mothers have to put their feet up in the stirrups for the OB/GYN but we have to open our nightstand drawers for a social worker. 

Looking back, the part of my home study that stands out the most is not the section with the intimate questions, it was the discussion about the children we would someday take into our home.  I vividly remember the social worker asking us if we were interested in taking in children with special needs.  My husband and I had spoken at length on the topic ahead of time and told her that we were willing to take on learning disabilities or minor challenges.  I remember saying that I admired the families that fostered and adopted kids with special needs but that just wasn’t us.  I said it wouldn’t fit our lifestyle. It all feels pretty ironic now.

When I was pregnant with my son, I prayed that he would be healthy and did everything I could to give him the best shot at a good start.  I stayed pretty healthy, went to my appointments, decorated a nursery and ate animal cookies every time my developing baby demanded them. Still, I knew that there was always a chance that something would happen and we could face challenges.  Even when you do everything you can to improve the odds, childbirth really is something of a crapshoot. Adoption is different though.  A professional comes to your home and writes out exactly what you are looking for in a child. She asks you about race and age and gender.  You get a choice about disabilities, except when you don’t.

Finding out that your child has a disability can be devastating for any parent.  We often go through the stages of grief much like you would after a death but we can cycle back through them with each new limitation, emergency or worsening prognosis.  We have to learn to live in Holland and give up on dreams that we cherished since we ourselves were children.  Often all of this is done while in crisis so we do not have the time to sit down and fall apart because we are fighting desperately for our children’s lives and futures. There will come a time when we adjust to this new life but the initiation is brutal and leaves wounds that never really heal. 

Looking back I think that our adoption experience complicated how I processed Alyssa’s diagnosis.  No parent wants their child to have disabilities but we had specifically requested a kid that was “normal.”  When I got the call about Alyssa, her case worker explicitly stated that she did not have epilepsy.  We had these grand life plans that didn’t involve constant trips to doctors and therapies or always having to live near modern medical facilities.  We did something good by choosing to foster and adopt so it didn’t seem fair that the child we received was not the one we asked for. I was angry about the unfairness of it all for a very long time.

I relate to the other parents of children with special needs on many levels but I don’t bear the guilt of having been the one to pass on Alyssa’s genetic disorder or the constant questions of if it was something I did caused her problems.  I relate to adoptive parents too but our story isn’t just about adoption anymore.  I switch back and forth between groups depending on the support I need at the moment.  It is hard to find your tribe when you really fit somewhere in the middle and it is easy to feel alone when there isn’t a group with your name on it.

I don’t say all of this to make anyone feel sorry for us.  I am not asking for pity or pats on the back or patronizing comments about how God only gives special kids to special people.  I have realized over the past few weeks that there are many other families that find themselves in our position and I think maybe they struggle like I have.  I’m writing this tonight for the people who aren’t quite sure what group they belong to.  I’m writing to the mother who is raging at God for rewarding her good deeds with the chance to watch her child die.  I’m writing this for the people that lay awake at night wondering what they did to deserve this horror.  I’m writing this for the person who feels guilty because they are so angry and overwhelmed when that gets mixed up with the fear and grief.  I’m writing this to the parent that feels alone because I want you to know that I’m here too.  

We said exactly what we could handle and life didn’t listen.  We had great plans for the families we were building but those changed when the special needs surfaced. It is confusing and hard and not at all fair.  I can tell you though that it will eventually get better.  I know you didn’t ask for these trials but I also believe that you can make it through.  Give yourself some grace, accept the messiness and just keep breathing. 

Should Everyone Consider Adoption?

   Someone asked me recently if I thought that everyone who wants children should consider adoption. I am absolutely an advocate for adoption but I found myself pausing before I answered.  The problem is that sometimes when we promote adoption and highlight the happy families it can create, we gloss over the darker side.  The truth is that every tearjerker story about a family being brought together starts with another story of absolute devastation.  Our children are not simply gifted to us, they are taken or abandoned or orphaned first.  Sometimes the love of a new family helps to heal the wounds of that loss; sometimes it isn’t enough. 

   When we recognize that adoption is so deeply connected to loss, it changes the conversation.  It is no longer simply about adults who want to be parents and fulfil that dream through adoption.  We also begin to recognize that adoption is about children who have lost everything.  Studies show that even infants who are adopted at birth, grieve their first mother.  Children who spend time in orphanages, foster placements or abusive homes lose their self of normalcy, the people that they depended on, and often their identity.  They grow up in a world focused on survival instead of play and connection.  Fortunately, in the majority of cases, those children can go on to live happy and loving lives when given the right supports but some struggle to ever really recover. 

   When someone is considering adoption, it should be with the knowledge that it is more complicated than parenting a typical, biological child. You should know that sometimes the wounds are deep and do not heal easily.  To make things worse, sometimes the supports that you were promised for after the adoption never materialize.  You should know that your child’s past is not sealed at adoption like their original birth certificate.  Everything that their old life gave them or made them remains after the judge declares you a forever family.  At the same time, you should know that you will grow to love this child deeper than you ever thought possible.  You should know that when you get through to them you will feel as though you have just won the Olympics.  You should know that there will be moments that you find yourself in awe that God is allowing you to parent this amazing person. 

   Although the dark side of adoption is not highlighted on commercials, I think it is critical to understand before you consider adding to your family.  You must take the time to have some honest conversations about whether your family can handle adoption and, if so, what type is best for you.  There are important differences between international, domestic, and foster care adoption. You should also decide what child(ren) would fit best with you.  The waiting list for healthy infants is long but there are thousands of older children, sibling groups or children with a wide range of disabilities who are legally free and waiting for a family today.  If your heart is open to these amazing kids, please consider opening your home too but if they are a consolation prize for the baby that you really wanted, please step back in line for the one that you will give your whole heart to.

   So, should everyone consider adoption? My answer is no.  I do think that everyone should consider how they can help the orphan. That could mean anything from donating duffle bags for kids being shuffled between homes to mentoring youth or providing respite care.  Or, maybe you will find your niche in some of the many great programs working to reduce the need for adoption around the globe.  It could also lead to a realization that the children you were destined to raise had another family first.  We all have a different roles to play and I think that we should each consider where we fit best.  Adoption can be beautiful but it is not simple or easy or for everyone.  Is it for you? What are you considering for your family?

I know that my thoughts on this are out of line with the typical Adoption Awareness Month message.  I want to hear your thoughts.  Let’s continue this conversation on Facebook.

Mother's* Day

I saw a post on Facebook recently about Caregiver’s Day.  It was a more inclusive version of Mother’s Day that incorporated all types of relationships that “have made a significant impact in our life.”  They talked about the many people that don’t get a day because society doesn’t call them fathers or mothers and suggested that you  “hug your caretaker whether they’re your mother, father, siblings, aunt/uncle, cousin, grandparent, foster parent, mentor or friend and tell them thank you for valuing you as a person and taking the time to show they care.”  Now, I’m all for showing appreciation but this really irritates me.  I guess it irritates me a lot if I’m postponing the blog I have in my head that breaks my multi-month silence to vent about it.  It’s about more than just the rebranding of a hallmark holiday though.

In foster care, there is a push right now to re-label me as a foster carers.  In fact, a few states have already legislated the change because, I guess, there was nothing else important going on in the government that day.  Apparently that is more PC and it doesn’t hurt the birth parents feelings as much as hearing us called foster moms and dads.  Now, personally I don’t think that should really matter.  If your child is in foster care than 99% of the time it is because you royally screwed up.  You need to be uncomfortable because maybe that will motivate you to step up and be the parent your children desperately need you to be.  More importantly though, I’m not a carer.  I’m a parent.  There is a BIG difference.

My kids go to a sitter after school who cares for them.  She feeds them snacks and plays with playdough and sends them home.  If they are sick or cranky or mean to the other toddlers, she calls me and I have to go get them.  I sincerely hope that she cares ABOUT my kiddos (and I feel like she does) but her job as a caregiver is really only to care FOR them and their basic needs while I am away.  That’s not the job that the state wants me to do with foster kids.  I am supposed to spend the night on the floor in their bedroom when they can’t sleep because they are afraid of their abuser coming back.  I am supposed to love them enough that they can learn to attach even though it means my own heart gets broken.  I have been hit and kicked and bit and spit in the face and called every name under the sun and I am supposed to just take it because I understand where that came from.  A carer doesn’t stick around for that.  When Little Miss came to me, she would scream at the top of her lungs for hours at a time and flip off strangers and get violent in a way that I would not have believed a child so young could.  A simple caregiver calls someone to pick up a child like that; a parent loves the broken baby who doesn’t have words to say how bad she hurts and celebrates as the fits eventually get shorter and fewer because it means she is healing.

I am a foster parent.  I do everything that a parent does, only I do so with kids from hard places who might stay forever or leave tomorrow and take a piece of my heart with them.  I think it is insulting to rebrand my position to appease child abusers who don’t want to be reminded that their baby needs a mom and right now, because of their mistakes, that’s me.  It seems to me that instead of changing my title to further emphasize my status as a less-than-real-mother, we should expand the definition of mom.  As a society, we should recognize that there is more to parenting than blood and there are many paths to motherhood.  Women who adopt or foster or raise step children or take in kinship placements or fill the role some other way are mothers.  We do them, and their children, a great disservice when we ignore that.  So, I’m eschewing Caregiver’s Day.  Instead I want to wish a happy Mother’s day to all the moms and all the moms*, no matter what your asterisk represents.