My Overthinking

Philly Area mom, Life forever changed by adoption

It shouldn’t be this hard

You spent hours in training. You learned about what trauma is and what it looks like. You probably even have a certificate to prove it. You spent more hours in another type of classroom, reading books that made you stop and catch your breath and blog posts that made you question what you were signing up for. Are they trying to scare me? Is adoption really as hard as it sounds like it is? You pressed onward regardless, with fear and trepidation yet hopeful. Maybe it was all the before-and-after pictures you scoured the Internet for that encouraged you. Those children were smiling; those families looked happy.

It seems like forever ago. Now here you are.

He was the perfect baby. That’s what his mom told me at her first appointment. She told me how smooth their transition was, how he wanted her to hold him all the time and how she swooned for him. The pictures that filled her phone and her Instagram feed proved it. He was the idyllic before-and-after child, wide eyed and serious before and swinging from monkey bars and smiling with mommy spotting him after. She gave all the books she had read before he came home away; they were for other families. Yet, here she sat sharing in tears about how hard the last year had been, how the boy who was content and never tantrumed at age 2 now is seemingly out of control at 8.

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The time between going through ovulation kits and putting together a dossier wasn’t long. When biology wasn’t cooperating for baby #2, they decided adoption was how they were called to build their family. And, build they did. When #2 wasn’t nearly as hard as they expected, they pressed on. Three and then four children sit at their kitchen table every night for meals full of spaghetti and meatballs as well as redos, choices, and time-ins, all the strategies they read about put into practice. They’re happy, for the most part. They love each other. They’re committed to each other. They want the same things. And, they both want more for their family than what they have now. They find themselves whispering at night wondering if those books were really true after all. They’re doing everything right, so why isn’t everything right?

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She was so cute. Her mother had looked at her picture so many times; for some reason, she still wondered if she’d know her when she saw her in person for the first time. The trip to meet her and bring her home was nothing short of a dream. They made a great video to memorialize it. Now, it was life. It was balancing the needs of more than a few children. It was a lot of appointments and a lot of tired and just a lot. One afternoon while she sat on the floor watching that cute baby—her baby—toddle around the room, she found herself thinking, “What have we done? Am I really cut out for this?” For the first time in a while, something actually felt more overwhelming than the task of mothering—shame.

It shouldn’t be this hard. I did all my homework. I checked all the boxes. I read the books, heeded the warnings, knew the red flags….Why are we here years later?…What’s wrong with my child?…What’s wrong with me?

They are some of the words they hear in their heads. They are some of the words I heard in my head when I sat on that living room floor.
Until I replaced them with truth.

There is hope. Take a deep breath. Your child may not show it, but he needs you. He needs what you can provide and do for him; but, more than that, he just needs you. When she’s screaming and biting or stumping her feet, I know she’s saying she doesn’t need or want you at all. But, that’s just the expression of a whole lot mixed up inside her; it’s not truth. Look for glimpses of something beautiful—a carefree laugh, gentle touch and whispers given to the family dog, accepting a “no” from you without fighting back. It may seem like such a little glimpse, but those little glimpses are something to celebrate. Magnify the good. Practice paying attention to those glimpses and calling them out for your child’s sake and your own. When you magnify something, it gets bigger and bigger so it’s easier to notice, easier to pay attention to. And, you just may find that those celebrated and magnified moments start to redefine what is hard and easy, bad and good so that those words you hear in your head start to change too.

This is hard. It doesn’t look good or feel good right now, but right now is only right now. I’m not perfect. My child’s not perfect. Our relationship isn’t perfect. There are things we can do better. But, I am seeing something good, and I’m going to think about that good right now. There is hope. And, I’m pressing on with fear and trepidation as I did years ago but with hope for my child and for me and for our family, for today, for tomorrow, and tomorrows after that.

Don’t stop here. Read It Shouldn’t Be This Easy HERE.

This post appeared first on No Hands But Ours.

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It shouldn’t be this easy

You spent hours in training. You learned about what trauma is and what it looks like. You probably even have a certificate to prove it. You spent more hours in another type of classroom, reading books that made you stop and catch your breath and blog posts that made you question what you were signing up for. Are they trying to scare me? Is adoption really as hard as it sounds like it is? You pressed onward regardless, with fear and trepidation yet hopeful. Maybe it was all the before-and-after pictures you scoured the Internet for that encouraged you. Those children were smiling; those families looked happy.

It seems like forever ago. At least it does for me.

Every night before their light is turned off, our daughters snuggle up in Lydia’s bed for what has become an evening ritual. With a pencil in hand, Ashlyn reads a prompt from a daily diary, Lydia answers, and Ashlyn writes it down. Every so often, while I am waiting to braid her hair or make a bed, I flip through and catch up on what has been added. Sometimes, I giggle. Sometimes, I shake my head. A lot of times, I end up asking Lydia to tell me more.

January 22nd. What makes you feel special?

I can think of 10 things in about the same number of seconds that I’d guess she’d say—snuggling with Mama in her bed, reading books with Daddy, eating a big bag of popcorn all by herself, being able to climb door frames and bend her body backwards into a circle…But, she didn’t name any of those.

I feel special because I am the only Chinese child in my family.

 

I teased her about it when I read it. Lydia, while you are very right that being the only Chinese person does make you special, you do know that each of the kids in this family is special, right? She giggled. She hugged me. She said she knew. It was one of those all-is-as-it-should-be moments. Here’s my girl, my girl who had a very hard start who suffered great loss, who failed to grow for no known medical reason, who had a hole in her heart in more ways than one. And, she’s doing okay. Actually, she’s doing really good.

It shouldn’t be this easy. While I’m serving other adoptive families, have I missed something right here in my own?

They are some of the words I hear in my head.
Until I replace them with truth.

This is good. She is safe, and she feels safe. She is the only Chinese person in the family, but she doesn’t feel alone; she feels special. In this season, today, right now, she feels no shame; she’s proud of what sets her apart; she knows her story at the depth that a little girl can, and she likes it. That doesn’t mean that there’s something I’m doing that I shouldn’t be or not doing that I should be; it simply means that’s where she is which means that’s where I am. I’m sure there will be harder days. They may or may not be as hard as some of those days I read about years ago when we were wide eyed with wonder about what adoption would look like for our child, for us as parents, for our family. They may start tomorrow, or they may start many tomorrows from now. But, if I spend today wondering why it doesn’t look more like those days, thinking today is too good to be true, I’ll miss today entirely. And, today is simply too good to miss.

Don’t stop here. Read It Shouldn’t Be This Hard HERE.

This post appeared first on No Hands But Ours. 

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Her “Have you ever…?”

This girl. Asked to write a “have you ever…” piece by her 2nd grade teacher, this is what she wrote.

Have you ever been to China?

Sweet thing spent her babyhood in China but I’m certain she never walked the Great Wall. But, if she wants to write about that wall and what she imagines it to be right down to the person panting because of the hard work to climb it and the “twet twet” of the birds, I’m quite okay with that.

 

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Microphones and stickers, cameras and more stickers. {advocating}

He’s a hard kid to match. On paper, he’s a hard match. 7 years old. Serious heart condition. And, he’s a boy.

“Help this one,” the nannies told me. “He’s open and clever. He’s a good boy.” I nodded and agreed. Yes, he’s so sweet. yes, I’ll help him. But, I know he’s a hard match.

Day 1. He loved the dollar store echo microphone and ran around with it like a game show host, inviting others to speak into it and marvel at the sound it made (and the way it made all the grown ups jump). Of course, this was made better via stickers and funny poses.

Day 2. He thought the flippy ball thing was pure magic. He and his buddies smiled for the camera, all of them requesting to see each shot on the screen after it was taken. And, he sang EIEIO with some serious passion acting out a tiger, chicken, rabbit (what does a bunny say?), and elephant. Apparently, American farms are seriously boring compared to Chinese ones.

Day 4. He walked hand in hand with a new friend at the zoo, calling out to her with “Ayi!” to get her to admire along with him the pandas and the giraffes and the hippos. (Again, an experience clearly sweetened by stickers.)

“Help this one,” they said again as we prepared to leave. “Yes, he’s so sweet. I promise I’ll try.” And, I meant it. After all, he’s an easy kid to match. He’s animated and social, well loved and content. Everybody likes him. And, he’s pretty incredibly adorable with the stickers and microphone.

I heard that he crossed his arms and refused to go to kindergarten class the day after we left. “I won’t go unless the Americans are here,” he told his teacher. That sweet teacher smiled and said, “Okay, that’s fine. Wait to go to school again until they come for you.” That seemed to satisfy him enough to get him to comply. And, I’m pretty sure he’ll be singing EIEIO until then.

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“Wayland” has been waiting for someone to come for him and is eligible for adoption through Madison Adoption Associates for only 2 more weeks as of today. He’s labeled “special focus” which means that any family regardless if they are paper ready or just considering adoption for the first time can say yes to him. Email me personally or Sarah@madisonadoption.org, who works for Madison Adoption Associates, for more information.

Most pictures (aka the really good ones) courtesy of Nicole from Living Out His Love. Video courtesy of an ayi who wanted me to know that the children and she missed us. 

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