Author Archives: AdoptiveBlackMom

About AdoptiveBlackMom

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I'm a single Black professional woman living in the DC area. I adopted my now adult daughter in 2014, and this blog chronicles my journey. Feel free to contact me at adoptiveblackmom@gmail.com, on Facebook at Adoptive Black Mom, and on Twitter @adoptiveblkmom. ©www.AdoptiveBlackMom.com, 2013-2025. All rights reserved. (Don't copy my ish without credit!)

Support Group Side Eye

It continues to stun me how myopic folks can be. I left a support group yesterday because grown folk could not have a civilized conversation amongst adoptive parents, birth parents and adoptees views on adoption. (I did reluctantly rejoin the group and immediately hit the “silence notifications” tab. #whoneedsthedrama)

Adoption makes for a bunch of interesting bedfellows, some of whom have big voices and a lot of privilege in the narrative. As a part of the triad, I’ve learned so much about how the diversity issues I work on professionally permeate the world of adoption. I was naive to think they wouldn’t, but I am repeatedly stunned by how things play out.

If we hope to build community with others, we have to be willing to feel some discomfort, even pain at times. I had a therapist that used to tell me that growth never occurs without some level of discomfort. We have to learn to exercise our muscles of compassion and empathy and to talk/type less and listen more.

The voice of the adoptee is an important one.  Man, when Hope speaks I’m like old skool E.F. Hutton—I shut up and listen. Why? Because nothing else on this journey compares to her voice, her needs. She is not just the center of my world; this adoption is about what she needed/needs. Oh sure, I wanted to be a mom. But honestly, I didn’t need to be one. I can’t say I feel like I was born to do this. I can’t argue that my maternal instinct couldn’t have been satiated in other ways besides becoming a mom (an all expense year of luxury in Bora Bora might’ve done it…). Hope needed a family. Hope’s family needed her to have a stable family and a stable home. I was available and a good match. I fit the bill.

I got a great kid; I got to be a mom, and she is getting her Mazlow’s needs met.

During the last two years, I’m sure I’ve done and said some stupid things about my adoption journey, about birth parents, about supportive folks in and around my life, about Hope and other adoptees. I’ve had to stretch, not just to understand what might be Hope’s perspective, but the general perspective of adoptees. I get that it’s hard for adoptive parents not to take some of the sadness and grief personally; but really, it’s not about us.

Except when it is, and it is when we are dismissive and silencing to the adoptee voice. Then we make it about us, our feelings, our narrative.

We are entitled to our feelings, we are. But we aren’t entitled to them at the expense of our children. It ain’t fair, but thems the brakes.

It infuriates me to hop onto an online support group that is supposed to welcome all members of the triad to the conversation, only to find that APs are whining about everyone being too sensitive. Yo, check it, everybody in the room typically has lost something, is grieving something, is struggling with something. Let’s get over ourselves. Most of the public narrative about adoption is about us anyway, what we want, what we’ve endured to finally become parents, what we feel then and now. It really is okay to pass the dutchie to the right and let someone else take a puff on the mic.

When an adoptee tells me something is offensive—especially something I, as an adoptive parent, have said is offensive—I take them at their word. End of story.

I don’t do/say any of the following because they are inappropriate:

  • I know this other adoptee and they are okay with it. What’s your problem?
  • Hey, it was just cute/a joke/darling! You are too sensitive!! Lighten up.
  • You always makes everything so negative!
  • You always make adoption about you!
  • Hey, why are you so angry?
  • You must be anti-adoption.
  • You must hate your adoptive parents!!
  • You aren’t grateful for being adopted?

This is just a sampling of some of the things I read on a support group thread yesterday. Now, this might be hard to connect, but much of this is offensive to adoptees much the way that the following is offensive to me as an African-American:

  • I don’t see color.
  • You’re just an angry Black Woman!
  • All/Blue Lives Matters as an “opposite” to Black Lives Matter.
  • You must hate White people.
  • The upside of slavery is that you were saved from the savagery/poverty/etc of Africa.
  • 400+ years of institutionalized, legacy driven racism and genocide has no bearing on today now that you’ve been “free” for 152 years—even though the last of the slaves didn’t even know they were free for about 2.5 years after the Emancipation Proclamation.

And if I need to explain why any of these bullets are problematic, please feel free to drop me a private email, and I’ll happily send you a prospectus about my diversity consulting and the attending fee scale.  I still have dates for private consulting available for 2016. #sideeye

To all of this BS, I say…

GTFOH.

It’s crap. Just crap. Let’s all spend more time respecting one another and listening to one another. Let’s all remember that adoption is really, really about the adoptee, despite all of our personal roles and feelings. It doesn’t mean those latter things aren’t real and important, but ultimately, adoption isn’t about us APs. It’s just not.  Yes, I know…we wish it was.

If a support group is going to be true to its moniker, then actually offer support by taking time to listen to all of the voices, giving them equal weight and taking them all at their words. Otherwise, just be honest about it and rock it like an old skool treehouse. Name it something clever and post a sign on the e-door that says “No adoptees or whatever” allowed. Let folks know whether they are truly welcome. Don’t waste anyone’s time, and finally, don’t be a jerk. Honestly, it’s not hard.

Rant Over.

#FliptTheScript

ETA: I will not be using the hashtag above in future posts or on Twitter.  Despite very much supporting the movement, a wonderful adoptee brought it to my attention that the use of the hashtag by a non-adoptee–even for purposes of support–is a form of attribution. I should’ve considered that, but I didn’t. My bad.

So although I have used it before with no complaints from adoptees, I recognize how it can be an inappropriate use of my AP privilege to use the hashtag. So, I won’t in the future.

See how easy that was?


Better

Ahhhhh, this week has been…good.

Sometimes I find myself crawling to Friday evenings. I’m tired, worn out and emotionally drained. This week, I’m happy to report, I only felt tired and worn out.

I wasn’t emotionally drained!  In fact there were many more moments this weekend when I thought, “THIS is what I thought life would be like as a mom!!”

I haven’t had a week like this in a while. I needed it. Hope needed it.

Ahhhhh. Inhale…exhale.

So what was different about this week?

I colored. I colored a lot. It really is meditative; it is calming and my tolerance for everything is a bit higher when I color. Of course, I’m coloring so much that I’m worried about my healing hand…repetitive movements are probably not all that great post-op for carpal tunnel. #whatever

20151206_212830

I was in bed by 10, 10:30 at the latest. Sleep is restorative, and Yappy is a precious cuddle bug.

I worked out everyday. Fitbit challenges have me going hard daily! I’m hitting 5-6 miles of steps a day.  That’s definitely contributed to good headspace.

I felt good after seeing friends and family over Thanksgiving.

I realized that I’m not alone on this journey.

Hope and I stayed away from meat this week after she announced her desire to go vegetarian recently. I didn’t eat much meat before Hope came along, so two years of hardcore carnivorous behavior has wreaked havoc on my body. ABM’s bod was much happier being more plant based and Hope LOVED my veggie cooking.

And finally Hope, Yappy and I had quality, real bonding quality time this weekend.

20151204_202944

Family movie night featured Max. Yappy is a fan. 

For once, I took care of myself and committed to meeting my own needs. know that every week won’t be like this, but dang it; I feel like a new person. It’s a powerful reminder that we parents need to practice routine self-care. The absolute bonus was getting a peek at the life I aspire to; it was totally dope!

The other bonus I discovered was that Hope’s behavior was dramatically different after pulling back on the meat. I hope that it continues; I hope it’s sustainable. It was dramatic. She was more focused, more thoughtful, more motivated about school. She was a bit more mellow. Hell, we may never eat meat again! (Hahahahah, just joking, I like bacon way too much.)

One of our weekend movie nights was Inside Out; I wish I’d gone to see it in the theater. If you have or know an adolescent and have any curiosity about the mayhem going on inside their heads emotionally, this is the movie for you. Today we talked a bit about how Hope felt when she moved here to be with me, when she started a new school and just day to day emotional upheaval. Being a teen ain’t easy; being a teen who’s a former long-term foster kid, now adoptee ain’t a walk in the park either. I can’t pretend to get it, but I feel a little closer to getting it and that’s important.

I’m optimistic. I’m going to keep plugging away and hoping that things will settle down for a little while.  It’s nice to have a little less drama during a time known for lots of it.

 


The Privilege of Attachment

I never once thought about my attachment to my family. It never occurred to me that there was a word for the inherent trust I felt that they would take care of me. It never occurred to me that there was a word for our mutual affection. It never once occurred to me that the unspoken elements of our relationship even needed a descriptive word.

I know now how privileged I was, and am, to have that experience.

Wikipedia defines privilege as “the sociological concept that some groups of people have advantages relative to other groups. The term is commonly used in the context of social inequality, particularly with regards to social class, race, age, sexual orientation, gender, and disability.”

I’ve written about social privilege before, as well as other social diversity dimensions I’ve tripped over on my adoption journey. Chalk attachment up as another privilege of intact biological families that are, at least, reasonably functional.

I now know what it is like to not have the privilege of attachment with my daughter. I mean, we’re working on it and I would say we are more attached than not. But oy, it is tough.

I can’t and wouldn’t speak for Hope, but the range of emotions I feel as I try to form a healthy attachment with my daughter are powerful, overwhelming and, honestly, often unpleasant. When it gets rough, which it has been lately, I spend a lot of time willing myself not to miss my pre-Hope life, willing myself not to be resentful, willing myself not to just practice avoidance. I often have to force myself to spend even more time with my daughter because I know that’s what she needs even though none of my emotional needs will be met…not one.  I have to swallow my feelings when my feelings are hurt because our attachments are weak and because, as a teen, Hope’s narcissism game is real. A lot of the time, I feel emotionally starved.

Dang. Yappy and I have a stronger attachment, I think. Well, I know he does…#separationanxiety.

I cry. A lot. I go for walks. A lot. I cuddle with Yappy. I go to therapy…more frequently than we go to family therapy.

I try to check my emotions. I try to curb my anger. I try to hold back my tears, because well, when my emotions betray me and Hope sees the outburst, it only serves to push her further away. I actually find that honest emotion from me that is not anything but sparkles and rainbows is detrimental to our relationship. That is an enormous burden to shoulder; it’s heavy and it’s painful.

At nearly 43, I can still sit on the couch with my mom or dad and curl up and put my head on their shoulders or lap and feel loved and safe. Hope doesn’t and won’t do that. It is like she can’t, not just that she won’t. It is so painfully rare for her to just run up and hug me, a long, lingering hug. Those moments are so incredibly precious. I don’t want them to end because at least for that moment, I’m really mom and I can save her world. I feel like my mothering is making a difference. Those moments are rare.

Don’t get me wrong, we have come so very far on our journey. The reality though is that we struggle with attachment. We don’t enjoy that privilege. It is something we are fighting for; something I know we both want even if we can’t always articulate it. But it really is something that we don’t have in large supply.

I am hopeful that we’ll get there. In the grand scheme we haven’t been at this mom-daughter thing very long. We’re not even 2 years old yet. We’re barely toddlers. It is a journey. Wishing for a speedier process is like being 7 and wishing I could get a driver’s license. Not going to happen.

I am thankful for how far we have come, but I can’t help wishing that we were able to move things along and that both of us, me and Hope, could make and sustain the emotional connection that we both desperately long for. I think that is probably my greatest wish as I begin considering my wishes for 2016.


Communication Problems

When I was in elementary school I was enrolled in a program called TAG. It was a program for “gifted” (yeah, right) kids who needed a bit more intellectual stimulation to nurture them. For the first couple of years it was cool; TAG was fun.  We did lots of puzzles, logic games, stock market games, brain teasers and the like. By the time I got to middle school TAG was a drag. I was being pulled out of my classes to go, and the activities weren’t really entertaining anymore. They felt more like work.

The big kicker, though, was that being in TAG in middle school made me different; it put me firmly in the “nerd” social caste, which was akin to being untouchable unless someone wanted to copy your homework.

Nerd coming this way!NERD ALERT!

I enjoyed writing even back then. So, I wrote a pretty passive-aggressive play for the fall festival. It was all about how TAG had become socially stigmatizing for me, how I hated it, and that I really didn’t want to go anymore.

My TAG teacher was basically like, “Oh, ok….sooooo, you want us to perform *this* play at the fall festival?”

Yep.

In hindsight, I’m guessing that she probably called my parents to give them a heads up that I was using my “talent” to say “Screw this program, I’m dunzo!”

My parents sat and watched the play that fall night, and we drove home in near silence. I don’t know if they were embarrassed or proud or what they were feeling, but I distinctly remember the energy in the car being kind of thick. Frankly, I’d gone through all of the trouble of writing a play, convincing my teacher that I wanted to do it and dragging some classmates into the performance—I wanted a response dang it.

I got one.

Eventually Dad said something like, “Sooooo, you don’t want to go to TAG anymore? You could have just said so. You don’t have to go anymore.”

And that was the end of TAG.

Looking back all those years, I don’t know why I couldn’t just tell my folks I wanted to quit the program. I just remember that talking to them didn’t even really seem like a viable option to getting to my desired goal.

I also don’t remember considering whether they might be embarrassed by my elaborate “messaging.” In many ways we’re a down to earth family, but I’ve always, always felt like we were concerned with our image. Or maybe it was really just me. My family was very involved in church; I always felt like I needed to behave in a way that would honor their positions for fear someone might see me acting out. I don’t know if that was me or if it really was a family thing, but it was an enormous amount of pressure I put on myself way back when, at such a young age. Ironically, I would never have dreamed of doing that kind of play at our church; gosh, parishioners would have talked about me forever. We couldn’t have them saying bad things about me. Nope.

I’ve carried that pressure to perform with me always, so it’s probably more internally driven, I guess. Achievement means a lot to me; a lot a lot. I have failed, but I’ve succeeded more than I’ve failed—which in hindsight is probably a bad thing.

I live in an area of the US where status is a cultural touchstone. We meet someone new, learn their name and ask what they do for a living. Sure we may be genuinely interested, but many also do some social sorting based on the response.

It’s a rat race of keeping up, at least for me, it’s always been that way. I guess it is hard wired as I describe it here.

So, as a new mom, this image conscious, high achieving, control freak has met her match, and I. Am. Losing.

I can’t even say I fear failure anymore because me and failure are like…BFFs now. Probably not, but it feels like it so it might as well be so.

Every one of my magical super powers of problem solving, Olivia Pope-fixing, being a total badass with a sterling reputation that I prided myself in have all come crashing down like a mirror around me. And I’m sure there’s a black cat somewhere lurking about (no offense to black cats…).

I have internalized the need to “fix” Hope, to be validated as a mom by the people who mean the most to me, to want to feel like I am totally winning at life. And well, I might not be able to do those things and that reality is settling over me such that I seem like a shadow of my former self.

The one thing I want to do the most, help Hope, seems to be the one thing I can’t do. Now intellectually I know that this is a long haul process, and that in the cosmic scheme of things, we *are* winning, but it doesn’t feel like it. And intellectually I know how this is all supposed to work, but see…my imagined reality is soooooo off, it’s not even funny.

I am not ashamed of my little family, on the contrary, I’m so proud of me and Hope and our naughty pup, Yappy, but our success is so radically different than how I saw and defined success before. It’s different than how my social and professional circles defined success. It’s like I tripped and fell into an alternative universe.

I’m on Star Trek, and well…I never really was into Star Trek.

It’s so different and hard to describe and explain that it’s easier to be somewhat self-isolating rather than to try to build bridges back to my pre-mom life.

Right now, I can’t keep up with the Jones’ of my pre-mom life, and so I feel like I’m slowly drifting away from so many of those connections. I am so insecure about how my new brand of success will be viewed. It’s awful, and it’s really not fair. It feels so very shallow because I am giving up on relationships, things, people that were once important to me because I can’t fix my mouth to just explain that my life is so different now, and I need people, I need emotional connections, I need reassurance, I need to get my cup filled. I’m guessing it’s probably offensive to my dear friends because I have convinced myself that they just won’t understand.

Oh, look there’s that self-loathing again!

I’m going through a lot of mental and social gymnastics rather than just calling up pals and saying,

“Hey, how are you? I miss you. My life is so different now,

you really cannot imagine,

no, really, you have NO EFFIN IDEA!

I don’t want to bore you to tears with the ups and downs

(besides I might breakdown in tears, snot and whatnot),

but there are massive ups and downs and some days it’s just soul crushing,

mind-erasing, and earth shattering in good and bad ways,

and I don’t feel like I can talk about it because so many folks

(but not everyone) assume it’s just “Add Water and Stir.”

I could really use a bourbon; don’t you want a bourbon too?

Can we grab a drink and catch up?

Yeah, I’ll bring Hope next time, but right now,

I just need some grown folks’ time to hang out like we used to…”

Instead, I’m writing 1300 word essays that echo a “quit” play I wrote in 6th grade.

Sigh.

At least I’m consistent, right? Consistency is supposed to be good for parenting…Ha!

Local peeps…if you’re reading, get at ya girl because I’m not sure I can break out of my rut to reach out first.

He Ain’t Heavy by Gilbert Young


Too Much

 

Sometimes this mothering thing is just too damn much.

There is a lot of shame around saying that. So many women are unable to have biological children and some hoops to clear for fostering and adopting can be tough. Saying that mothering can involve misery feels rather taboo.

I’m actually not supposed to say that, right? Because I wanted to be a mother. I’m not supposed to not love every effing minute of it, right?

And yet, this week I’m pretty miserable.

As the holidays approach, expectations seem to rise. My dear Hope seems to struggle as we get further in the school year, but her pride prevents any kind of help from cracking her protective casing. Yappy has developed separation anxiety. Work is…well, busy is an understatement.

The mental energy and gymnastics to parent a traumatized kiddo while being on top of things in the other areas of my life has driven me back to white knuckling it and popping anxiety meds reserved for….

breakglass

Well, this is that time.

I melted down this week. I hadn’t had one of my meltdowns in some time, and when I crumble it’s like…

falling-rocks1

The exhaustion and frustration and anger were and are just so real and too much. I hit my limit, my hard limit. And somewhere along the way I took all the things that Hope won’t/can’t do personally. No good can ever come from that, and yet it is a rabbit hole that I fall into ever so often. Hurts like hell to to fall into and climb to get out of.

I am struggling with parenting. It requires me to toss out 99% of everything I learned from my parents. If my parents gave me a list, I got that list done because they told me to do it and not doing the list would be considered disrespectful and disobedient.That combination didn’t go over well with them.

I give Hope a list and it will be balled up on the floor in minutes. And I can’t reconcile that with the narcissism that is simple teendom and the narcissism that is trauma teendom. My reserves are so low at the moment that it quite seriously causes me lots of anxiety as I attempt to keep my anger and frustration in check.

I’m singed

Last night I failed.

So, I lost my ish…royally.

I didn’t yell at her. I just yelled at the universe on the other side of the house. It was all just too much. The truth is that it’s always too much. Parenting my daughter is really is about how much I can I manage me; it’s clear I can only do so much in managing her. This control freak has nearly no control, and it’s driving me nuts.

After about 30 minutes, I went to talk to Hope, only to find her packing. The dresser drawers had been emptied, and she was working on the closet. She screamed at me that I could just put her back in the system so that I could get my life back and not be miserable anymore.

Oy, Great, now both of us feel like ish.

We talked after I quietly unpacked all her stuff. I reminded her that families fight, but no one is supposed to leave. I’m entitled to my feelings just like she is, and sometimes my feelings boil over and those feelingd aren’t fair to anyone around me either.

These last two years have been hard. Really hard. They’ve been traumatic in ways I never imagined. We’ve been through the ringer. But we’re still here, even when it feels like it’s all too much, and last night it really was too damn much.

I apologized for scaring her, but I didn’t apologize for my feelings. They are real. They are mine, and I’m entitled to feel some kind of way. I honor her feelings.

It’s hard have so few folks around for whom I can drop the veil, reveal my true feelings and have them honored as true and authentic.

So on top of everything else, I’m realizing that I’m lonely too.

Single parenting is both awesome and sucky at the same time.

This week, I’m just surfing until Friday because it really does feel like too much.

 


Add Water and Stir’s Latest

I’ve been talking about my journey with Hope for 2 years, but no one had ever heard her voice until now!

I’m so absurdly proud of my daughter and this was such a fun experience for us. I hope you enjoy it as we observe National Adoption Awareness Month!

AWAS 033: Hope Shares Her Script – http://www.addwaterandstirpodcast.com/awas-033-hope-shares-her-script/

#flipthescript


Adoption Culture Wars

So in the last few weeks I’ve had an opportunity to shift focus. Instead of writing, I’ve spent more time reading. I’ve been a little more active on a couple of online support groups (long time followers know I think these spaces can be a bit iffy). I’ve rested my brain. I’ve found new stories, learned about new foster care/adoption organizations, followed the #NAM2015 and #FliptheScript movements. It’s all been fascinating, largely because I’m a voyeur/people watcher-studier at heart.

Amazingly I will be getting some more time in a few months to have this breather when I have my other hand surgically repaired.

Of all my internet cruising, I found that there really are a few culture wars going on within the adoption community.

Though culture wars are fascinating, they are rarely pretty.

Where oh where do I begin?

How about the #ShoutYourAbortion/#ShoutYourAdoption trend from a couple of weeks ago? OMG, seriously, folks can’t have nothing. Folks who aren’t necessarily a part of the conversation have to clapback about ish that is really not their business.

So, in an effort to remove the stigma from abortion, a hashtag was born- #ShoutYourAbortion—because well, isn’t that how “movements” are launched nowadays?

Anyhoo, not to be outdone and/or ignored in a story, folks launched #ShoutYourAdoption as a response to all the abortion shouting in hopes of apparently reminding folks that adoption is an alternative to ending a pregnancy and shouting out all the families who apparently “saved” kiddos from inevitably being aborted.

exhaustion

Yeah, I get it. I do. Um, ok. But why come?

The conversations became ugly and corrupted, because well, adoption is actually *not* the opposite of abortion, and because this is what happens when critical conversations are reduced to less than 200 characters. As someone who’s been on both sides of the conversation, I would understand how it might serve to push more women who question continuing a pregnancy into a closet and away from meaningful support systems that could lead to different choices.

We all have belief systems, view points and experiences that allow us to sort information/data into categories—good or bad. This hashtag culture war about shouting to remove stigma resulted in exacerbating the frictional relationship among women. Ugh, messy and more disturbingly stigmatizing.

Really, really unnecessary.

Oh, then there was the American Girl drama.

So, AG profiled an adoptee in a two dad household. Amaya looks happy and healthy and is surrounded by lots of love. Some folks went nuts because the story dared to tell the story of the girl’s family—namely the part about two dads. They were offended because reading the AG newsletter and being “confronted” with an adoptee story that features parents in a same-sex coupled relationship was tantamount to an “agenda” being forced upon them through the pages of a voluntary read magazine.

Fo real doe?

Oh good grief, just stop it.

The child was in need of a home with lots of patience and love, she found one. She found one with two dads, and if that’s the worst thing that happens to her moving forward in her life, I’m going to assume that her future is looking pretty bright. She is on her way and apparently doing well. But the adoptee and her future is lost in all the hullabaloo about gay parenting and the emphasis is put on the love lives of her parents.

Or rather the love and sex lives of her parents, because isn’t adoption all about the parents and not the adoptee?

Again, really?

And like I do in this post, those protesting make reference to a larger culture war at play; however, their argument advances a theory that we are all being hoodwinked and bamboozled into the fall of Rome, because of all the gay folks running around.

For me, this is just another distraction from a focus that should be on the foster children and adoptees. I’m not saying that folks are not entitled to their own values and opinions, but really, can we really, focus on making sure kids who need homes find homes with stability and love and not get hung up on a bunch of foolery?

And finally, it’s National Adoption Awareness Month in the US; it’s [always] time to #FlipTheScript. I personally love to hear adoptees tell their story and discuss their trials and triumphs in being adopted. I am interested in hearing about them, from them. I’m also interested in hearing from birth families and first parents. But dang if I’m still not seeing support group posts about adoptee gratitude, about feeling defensive and threatened, about how their adoptive child isn’t so pissy about being adopted. Sigh.

Just because everyone’s story isn’t palatable to the ear, doesn’t mean the story isn’t true, isn’t valuable, isn’t worthy of you just listening and being empathic for all one stinking month of the year.

And because we *can* actually walk and chew gum at the same time, you can meaningfully listen to adoptees flip the adoption script while still celebrating your adoption, your adoptive family and whatever else you want to celebrate during the month year.

flipthescript

Before I became an adoptive parent, I never would’ve guessed that there was so much drama in the adoption world. I was certainly naïve since it’s really just a microcosm of the world as we know it.

Adoption has been a beautifully difficult path for me. It would be nice if the community could treat each other with kindness and respect. So many of us really do live with some real challenges related to adoption; it isn’t easy. These culture wars and others mean that we end up living in relative silence; there’s no more air and space for the challenges to get the support that families need.

My wish for NAAM2015 is that we just be kind and supportive to one another, no matter what brought us to this journey or even if we made choices that didn’t bring us to adoption.

End adoption culture wars. Don’t try to be kind and supportive, just be kind and supportive. Life is hard; just do it.

Yoda


How Adoptive Parents Can Help Adoptees #flipthescript

I’ll be back to writing really soon.  Still babying my hand a bit.  But in the meantime, catch this great post by No Bohns About it on National Adoption Awareness Month and flipping the script with adoptees!

 

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As adoptive parents, let’s help adoptees #flipthescript

Source: How Adoptive Parents Can Help Adoptees #flipthescript


Let’s All Grow Up

Excellent post.  I’m am too emotional to blog on this incident, especially in light of my recent post on Living While Black.  This post provides a good challenge to us all to remember that we are grown,  and kids are not. Being being grown comes with responsibilities.

Get into it.

ABM

Ben Fields and Many White Adults Need A Refresher Course in Being Adults – http://wp.me/p2h2UO-30o


Recuperating

image

Carpal tunnel surgery. 

Will be back soon!

These drugs got that good-good tho! 😉

Zzzzzz…


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When Life Grabbed Me By The Ears

imashleymi.wordpress.com/

things are glam in mommyhood

wearefamily

an adoption support community

Fighting for Answers

Tales From an Adoption Journey

Transracialeyes

Because of course race and culture matter.

SJW - Stuck in the Middle

The Life of Biracial Transracial Adoptee