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!)
July 6, 2015

The Truth about Yappy

By AdoptiveBlackMom

Yappy is an adorable little terror, and a lot of that is my fault.

When I sought out the company of a new pet last winter, I searched for a maltipoo mix. The Furry One (RIP) was a shih tzu/maltese mix, and I wanted a similar mixed breed type to cuddle. I was expecting something like this.

Instead I ended up with what seems to be a yorkie-poo, whose great grandpa/ma might’ve, could’ve, should’ve, would’ve been a maltese…#maybe. #probablynot

Him cute though…but a tad scruffy and funny looking.

Don’t get me wrong I adore Yappy, who incidentally doesn’t yap much at all.

I’ve never had a terrier before, so I’m getting used to Yappy’s general temperament. Let’s see, he’s super smart, super affectionate, suffers from separation anxiety triggered by as little as me going to the bathroom, generally always happy, possessive, curious, stubborn, demanding and mischievous.

Oh and he hides stuff everywhere.

Hidden chewys in the couch cushions. smh

I have lost several pairs of shoes to his chewing. This weekend he ate the wrist band on my sports watch. Hope has lost nearly every hair tie that has fallen to the floor since Yappy has lived with us. Recently he got into a box of panty liners, and well, he shredded them to make his lair (under my bed) more comfortable.  Sigh.

I had him in training but the schedule during the week was kind of grueling, so I took the summer off. Yappy, despite full well knowing the commands and what’s expected of him, has reverted back to his pre-training wild ways. #feral

This weekend while being left alone for a spell at my parents’ house, Yappy managed to climb up on their kitchen table. #hangsheadinshame #Yappyhasnohometraining

Gotdern it! I should submit him to that dog shaming tumblr site. SMH!!!

Yappy is incorrigible.

He at least has the good sense to run under the bed when I screech, “Bad Dog!” Of course he pops out moments later with a happy-go-lucky bounce in his step and wagging tail. #sideeye

I wrote a couple of months ago that I seemingly had more patience with Yappy than with Hope, which is the source of much rivalry between the two. My patience is running out with both of these characters!  It’s one thing to have a surly teenager who has some post-trauma, psycho-social issues. It’s another thing to have that and a cute but unwieldly puppy running wild.

But gosh, when those little brown eyes look up at me…#weak.

My terrier is a terror.

Who am I kidding? My life is a bit of a terror!

3 Comments   |  tags: , | posted in Other Stuff

July 5, 2015

Leaning In

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I just spent a couple of days being wined and dined. It’s nice to be recruited. It’s absurdly flattering. It’s also confidence building to know that my work speaks for me. It was a great trip.

I can honestly say that I could see myself living in that area and doing the work.

I can also say that I immensely enjoy what I’m doing in my current job.

I learned a lot about other people’s vision for me, what I would be doing, and how I would be doing it. I found myself thinking, ”Well, some of these are interesting challenges; I could do some cool things here with this team.”

Someone talked to me about an ultimate career goals, and I realized that although I previously thought the trajectory she described was where I wanted to end up, maybe I really didn’t want to do that after all.

That realization, alone, made the trip worth it.

During the last few months of this professional flirtation, I never once doubted my ability to do the work or to be successful in the role being offered to me. My biggest professional questions were always did I want to do it, and would it position me to do things I wanted to do later in my career.

Some months ago, Mimi and I mentioned the book, Lean In, on Add Water and Stir. I grimaced when she mentioned it, and I recall Mimi asking why. We didn’t really go into it on the show, but I remember thinking that I have always felt like I was leaning in. I pushed boundaries; I created stuff; I might lack confidence, but you’d never know it (#neverletthemseeyousweat); I had goals and I would meet them if it killed me. I didn’t think that book was written for me.  #nope #notforme

Personally, adopting Hope was the epic lean in for me. It’s totally changed my life, of course. It has made me behave differently professionally, recognizing my need and desire to slow down a bit as a mom and especially as a single mom. My priorities shifted. And while I’ve still been really productive and taken on new challenges, I simply haven’t revolved my life around my job like I used to. And I’m good with that. I’ve taken some time to lean in on parenting Hope and shepherding her into adulthood.

So, now, here is an opportunity to take on a new challenge: uprooting my kiddo and moving her…again.

The challenge isn’t the job, I can do that job in my sleep. The challenge is the life logistics of what’s best for Hope.

To my professional flirt’s credit, they appreciate my concerns, but they also don’t truly get it. I got school tours, meetings with the principal of the “preferred” school in the district (I could and should write a whole blog about that “preferred school” thing). We talked about how fabulous the music programs were at the school and throughout the state, and how Hope might musically thrive in that environment. Folks had been briefed about our situation and genuinely offered suggestions on how to make it work.

In all though, only one person really appreciated the fact that I would need a ton of referrals to create a new medical support network for my daughter and, the referral of the great team notwithstanding; I wouldn’t have any additional support in the area. Even this one person simply said, “Oh Hope will adapt, the start of high school is a great time to pick up and move.”

Sure I think she would adapt, but Hope’s had to do so much adapting because of the adults in her life during her 14 years. Maybe for once, someone should make a decision that doesn’t involve her having to be the one to adapt.

That seems reasonable right?

In the end, I don’t see this opportunity as attractive enough to put my career above leaning in on Hope’s needs. I mean, I guess for a crazy amount of money perhaps, but crazy money isn’t in play here (though the offer is generous). Hope needs me; she needs stability, she needs the opportunity to fulfill some goals she has at her new school here. Hope has hope, right now, that we are home, that she can count on our routine, that she can continue to work on the social relationships she has here, that she can have access to her entire family—adoptive and birth—within a few hours drive. She needs roots. And we’re growing them.

And while I know that there have been a lot of people who’ve cared for her along the way, my sweet girl has been shuttled about nearly all of her life. For once can she just breathe easy that she doesn’t have to go anywhere for a while longer. #canHopelive?

My career is going fine. It’s nice to know I’m a prize. I am so very fortunate to be so happy doing what I’m doing, where I’m doing it. But I am making a choice to continue leaning in on mommyhood for a while longer. Hope needs to be able to lean on me.

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | posted in Finalization Life, Hard Stuff, Lessons Learned

June 28, 2015

Baby Fat

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I have baby weight.

Ok well, with Hope being now 14 and 5’8” I suppose it’s not baby weight. To be fair, it’s more like adoption/dissertation weight.

I’ve never been a skinny chick. About 5 years ago my internist actually said that I have a large bone frame (I’m legit big boned!) and I nearly wept with joy. I put on about 15lbs while I was doing my EdD and I’ve since gained about another 10 since Hope’s arrival in 2014.

This is the heaviest I have ever been in my life, and I don’t like it. I try not to beat myself up about it too much, especially since I have a checked history with disordered eating. But still, this body thing has not been good for my psyche.

A couple of months ago I went shopping for some new work clothes and was horrified that I’d gone up two sizes and the new size wasn’t even all that flattering. I ended up buying two wash and wear dresses at J. Crew that didn’t look like tents despite my having to purchase them with more than one X on the size label. The whole experience was really depressing, and that’s no exaggeration given my recent post on the subject.

This week I’m on the road to visit a prospective employer. They’ve been relentlessly recruiting me for a couple of months, and despite my repeated pleas of disinterest, I’m flying out to do a site visit. (SIDE NOTE: Friends/Colleagues who are reading this, seriously, I do not have plans to leave the current gig. If I was serious about a move I wouldn’t be writing about it *wink.*)

Yesterday I set out to purchase a new business suit. I stepped up my workout routine the last two months with yoga, a plank challenge and cardio. I psyched myself up to go to the “Women’s” section of Macy’s to find a pant suit that would make me feel good because it actually fit. I told myself not to be concerned with the numerical size, but just focus on fit and feel.

What I did not tell myself was to leave Hope at home.

I’m still eager to have the shopping experience with my daughter that moms and daughters long to have: Sifting through racks looking at clothing, playfully bickering and then picking out stuff. I mean, it’s happened, kinda, but Hope really doesn’t like clothing shopping despite having the long lean body that I might be willing to lose a lower arm for. Her recent growth spurt had her going from a size 8 to a size 4, and her legs go on for days. Oh and she could live off of chips, ramen and those nasty vienna sausages that come in the can. #thatmetabolismtho

Ick.

Anyhoo, Hope tagged along on my trip to Macy’s where she proceeded to do the following:

  • Play in the clothing racks like she was 5 years old.
  • Repeatedly yell out my slacks size from 7 racks over in an effort to *help* me find something to wear.
  • Yelled out how all of the clothes in the “Women’s” section looked like granny clothes.
  • Kept asking if I was going to buy her something. #nodammit #shoppingformeonly

Eventually I snatched her up in the dressing room and explained that she was kinda killing my shopping vibe since I wasn’t feeling really good about myself. Oh and dang it, this shopping trip was not about her!!!

She had no clue. She said she hadn’t had a chance to play in the racks as a child, and she thought she was being helpful. From her perspective, *we* were having a great time. From my perspective I wanted to take my fat curvy self home to eat another piece of Hope’s birthday cake with extra icing. #emotionaleater

Sigh.

In the end, I did get back in the right head space. I got a nice black suit that will meet my needs. The slacks are little big so I’ll have them tailored sometime in the next couple of weeks. #vanitysizing I feel good about my purchase, and after our chat, Hope ended up being more helpful than hurtful. She tried and I was grateful.

My lesson yesterday was realizing that Hope doesn’t seem me as a chunky girl. I’m just mom, and I transcend size. She can’t understand why I would be concerned about my size or her yelling it across the department store. She’s always mystified that I workout and that I actually enjoy it or that I eat so many fruits and vegetables. I think she actually thinks I might be modeling a relatively healthy life and decent body image to her.

Imagine that.

I guess Hope can teach me a thing or two sometimes.

Still, she bet not run through them dang racks again. #nomaam

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in Finalization Life, Hard Stuff

June 25, 2015

Fighting Depression

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I’ve really struggled the last few months. It’s easy to look for external triggers for the struggle.

Spring blossomed and things that fly…well they started flying again, triggering Hope’s bug phobia. The schedule was crazy. We initiated a medication change for her that we were getting used to. Her anxiety was running high because of a general fear about high school. We’ve been dealing with a lengthy resolution to a criminal case in which Hope was a victim. Work has been insane, and I’m being heavily pursued for a new gig in another state. Yappy had puppy school every week at 8pm.

All the external stuff was really, really extra, and I spent a lot of time focused on it all because it all demanded my attention.

Oh and then I was just generally upset by the constant issues and images of Black folk trying to live and being impeded from doing so.

On a Monday a few weeks ago, I found myself crying and I couldn’t stop. I mean I just could not stop crying.

I was sad.

I was in a state of despair.

I wanted to just lay in the bed; getting up felt like it took all of the energy I had.

I found joy in nothing.

I was always irritable and snappy, and Hope was increasingly reacting to my bad moods which just made our relationship that much more strained.

I felt like a dark cloud was just hanging over me.

giphy-downsized

via giphy

 

I finally made an appointment with my internist, who sat back in his chair and let me cry and sob for 15 minutes. Then, he handed me his handkerchief and started talking about the need for medication to help me get myself together.

I was anxious and depressed—not just sad, but clinically sad. Somewhere along the way I fell off a cliff and was just free falling, and I didn’t realize it.

coyote.gif

via giphy

 

Depression is an effed up thing. I have struggled with it off and on for years. Usually I can see it coming, this time I didn’t. It makes me sad because it’s another sign that I haven’t done my best at self-care, but more concerning is that my depression had a chilling effect on Hope. I regret that. Not in a way that I’m beating myself up over, but I still regret it because it’s another little thing I need to bounce back from.

Resiliency is still an issue for me.

Parenting is a tough business. Parenting a child who has experienced trauma is…especially tough. Sometimes it feels like you’re just looking for puzzle pieces in the dark. You need the pieces to help put the kid back together, but you’re looking for them with no flashlight.

 

It’s kind of easy for the dark to consume you when you don’t even have a flashlight.

Beating back the darkness is actually the most important thing right now; actually it is more important than getting the parenting thing just right. Fighting the darkness is essential to both my and Hope’s survival.

It’s been a few weeks since I hit that low spot. I’m feeling much better now. I’m on the mend, on the upswing, if you will. Pharmaceutical help is a beautiful thing. It’s unfortunate that dealing with mental and emotional issues is a taboo thing in communities of color. If you need help, get it. I could sit around and do that “strong Black woman” thing, but Hope and I would both continue to suffer. I think getting help is a better demonstration of strength.

So that’s what’s up. I tripped and fell into a bit of a hole. I am fighting depression. But I’m climbing out and stepping back into the sunlight. And it feels good.

13 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in Dealing with the Past, Finalization Life, Hard Stuff

June 22, 2015

Thoughts on Charleston

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I am really tired of writing about the challenges of feeling unsafe walking around in Black skin, raising a Black child.

I am tired of feeling like it is open season on Black lives.

I am tired of being fearful of watching the news, choosing to binge watch Hulu or Netflix because the reality of living in this skin means that it is more likely than not the news will relay a story of the death of a brother or sister…at the hands of someone White…because that’s what makes national news these days.

Oh sure, yeah, I hear the rumbling excuses used to distract us from living under the threat of social terrorism—“What about Black on Black crime?”

What about it?

I am tired of hearing about why we can’t get serious gun control in the US.

I am tired of seeing, reading, hearing about how White mass killers are “loners with emotional problems” who write racist manifestos, tell friends and family that they want to start a racial war, and are gifted a gun by parents.

I am shocked that this young killer was taken alive, given a bullet-proof vest and humanely taken into custody. That alone seems to be a privilege not afforded to Black folk who are walking down the street.

I fear that a time will come when my economic and educational privilege will be shown, in dramatic and terrifying fashion, not to trump the disadvantage of my skin color.

I am angered by the unmitigated gall of South Carolina to fly what I believe to be the treasonous flag of the Confederacy;  the Confederacy lost. We’re supposed to be a union.

I grieve for the dead:

Rev. Clementa Pinckney
Rev. Sharonda Singleton
Myra Thompson
Tywanza Sanders
Ethel Lee Lance
Cynthia Hurd
Rev. Daniel L. Simmons Sr.
Rev. DePayne Middleton-Doctor
Susie Jackson

I am so weary of this general subject matter. I feel compelled to write about it too often.

I am scared for Hope. I don’t want to keep explaining this ish to her. There is no explanation. None. I feel a sense of anguish after this massacre in Mother Emanuel. It is shameful. It is horrendous. I don’t know how the families can offer forgiveness. I am clearly not as far in my faith as they are, because I can’t offer that at all.

I am not even sure I can write anything else…the grief, sorrow and anger are just too much. I’ll just end with what my dear friend Mimi said on one of our early Add Water and Stir podcasts: “We’re trying to raise kids here!”

15 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in Hard Stuff

June 14, 2015

Girl Bye

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I am not here for Rachel Dolezal.

I am not here for her brand of blackface.

I am not here for the flippant and co-opted use of the term “transracial” to explain her choice to identify as Black.

I am not here for the ability to put down and pick up privilege at will and at the expense of an entire culture.

I am not here for a faux brand of “keeping it real.”

I am not here for the appropriation of color and culture.

So, check it, this week the parents of Rachel Dolezal, president of the Spokane chapter of the NAACP, went on local TV and blew up her spot as a White woman who’s been posing as racially Black for nearly a decade. Apparently, Ms. Dolezal has a special affinity for Black folk, culture, skin, hair, etc, etc.; so much so, that she simply put it on.

No really: She. Put. Black. On.

hellnah

She put it on like it was a sweater and carried a culture and history around in her handbag. She constructed a back story, you know, “of the struggle,” complete with a fake Black father. She darkened her skin. She permed her hair and/or scored some fabulous curly fro wigs, dreads and braids. She taught Black history. She painted Black and Brown bodies and stories, some she claimed to be autobiographical. She fought the power with a fro and an afro pick.

Oooooh weeee. Wooosaaaaa.

That’s what’s really interesting to me. She’s “committed to the cause,” with a clear interest, personally and academically, in Black life and Black issues; she has a compelling CV dedicated to civil rights, equity and inclusion. I’m here for White allies. I’m here for White folk who take a personal and academic interest in the African diaspora.

And I’m all down for inclusion…authentic inclusion.

But…I can’t with this chick. I cannot.

I’m not sure what her deal is; honestly I don’t even care, but this idea that you can just decide one day that because you like a culture so much that you’ll just…become a member…

#nope #memberapplicationdenied

#allthenopesinnopeville

But Rachel wasn’t about that life, she wanted a different connection, a different identity, so she just created one. Really girl? Really?

REALLY?

It takes mega-privilege, epic-privilege, next-level kinda privilege and serious cajones to just recreate yourself as a different race, especially since you still could just drop that identity when it suits or benefits you, and you know that folks who you knew “before you were Black” have receipts.

Rachel Dolezal is a liar, plain and simple. She’s co-opted stories like mine, being a Black woman, and actually profited from it. I just can’t!

I am not here for her foolery.

I’m not tripping over her being president of the NAACP—be an ally of any shade and be a leader—I don’t care; I’m tripping that she created a life and a set of experiences out of thin air, simply because she wanted to, because she “felt” Black, because ultimately “we’re all from Africa..”

Gurl… #smh

Race, ethnicity and identity are complicated things; they are. And lots of folks struggle to construct their racial identity, struggle to figure out what and how to acknowledge contributing heritages, struggle to either find a box to fit in or create a new box for themselves. And generally I’m not one to get too huffy on how people identify, but I do have a problem with racial and cultural appropriation, and I believe this is what Ms. Dolezal has engaged in. I’ve got a problem when you construct a whole false reality based on another race and culture. Where’s the respect in that? Imitation isn’t always flattering and putting on Blackness isn’t either.

Ms. Dolezal is expected to address the controversy in what is probably expected to be the most interesting NAACP meeting in recent history. I’m curious about what she will say. I’m curious about how and why she chose Blackness. I’m curious to see how the world responds (especially Black Twitter; I’m guessing the clowning/dragging will continue, just head there and search #AskRachel and commence to cackling).

I’ll watch, ‘cause I’m petty like that. But I’m guessing there is nothing she’s going to come up with that’s going to get drafted to my team.

I’m not claiming Rachel. #nopenopenope

I hope she puts that tube of self-tanner down and unleashes that sew-in and lives as I do, in her own skin, with some visits with a professional somewhere.

I am not here for Rachel Dolezal.

#girlbye

16 Comments   |  tags: , , | posted in Hard Stuff, Other Stuff

June 9, 2015

Thoughts on McKinney

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I’ve been dealing with a lot lately. A lot, a lot.

So when the news of #McKinney pool party fiasco blew up a couple of days ago, I thought to myself: “I. CANNOT. DEAL. WITH. THIS. ISH.”

I mean what else can we write about police brutality, about the worth of human life, about the invisibility of privilege, about fear-mongering, about the expectation that black and brown folks just be quiet and conform, about how if only black and brown people weren’t actually black and brown…

I respect authority.

I and my family have quite many law enforcement folks in our friend circles.

Not all cops are bad.

But we black and brown folks apparently have a problem with cops.

We do. Or rather, they have a problem with us.

And the increasing scrutiny, protests, anger, body cams, calls for peace, law suits, indictments and prosecutions seems to not have stemmed what feels like a persistent assault on people who look like me.

Sure, it’s easy to say that I have attained a certain amount of privilege thanks to sacrifices (by of a lot of folks before me and around me) and education, and that I’m not like *those* people in the numerous videos showing black and brown bodies being slammed to the ground, begging for their very lives. It’s easy with a bit of privilege to ask, “Well, why didn’t they just comply and do what the officer asked before he asks it?” It’s easy to dismiss the validity of the brutality that we are seeing day in and day out by digging into backgrounds of victims as young as 12, and recasting them as low-life thugs worthy of harassment, of physical and emotional brutality, of neighborhood terrorism (#yeahIsaidthatish) and of death.

It’s easy to write them us off.

It’s also apparently easy to conclude that we provoke the well-meaning folks around us committed to protecting us to turn on us.

There is seemingly a very, very, very thin line between love and hate.

Weekly…weekly…I have to have a conversation with Hope about police brutality. It doesn’t matter that we might be fighting like cats and dogs about ish going on in our house, but we will stop the war momentarily to discuss the latest video, the latest funeral, the latest indictment or why there isn’t one handed down by a grand jury.

I have to remind Hope, and myself, that not all cops are bad. I have to defend the blue line even if I’m not so sure they would defend or protect us 100% of the time. I have to try to help regain and retain trust in a system my daughter came to me hating because of her previous interactions with it with her first family.

I managed to avoid watching the video of the McKinney pool party for a couple of days. I just couldn’t watch it. I read about what happened. I saw the calls for action all over my personal FB page and all over twitter. But I would not click that link.

I didn’t want to be angry. I didn’t want to be sad. I didn’t want to be fearful. I didn’t want to imagine being a victim.

But by Monday morning, I couldn’t avoid it anymore. So after I got to the office for the day I logged on to YouTube and watched it.

I cried.

There are lots of reasons my emotional response. The video starts off easy enough; a cool headed officer talking with kids, explaining why they shouldn’t run from the cops. Enter the offending officer whose yelling and attitude changed seemed to change everything about what happened next. I couldn’t believe the language being used around these kids. I couldn’t believe the ease with which white people in the video moved around at their own leisure, while black people were chased, yelled at, snatched up, forced to sit, weapons drawn upon. I couldn’t believe that a grown ass white woman spewing racial epithets fought a teenager setting off a series of events leading to this fiasco.

I couldn’t believe how much that teenaged girl, flung around and sat on, face down in the grass, looked like my daughter Hope.

Both tall with lanky limbs, long twists or braids swinging as they moseyed on the sidewalk, apparently too slow for the officer to be satisfied (Lawd does Hope walk slow!). And she may have said something snarky as teens do, I don’t know.

But seconds later, I heard her calling for her mother. I heard her begging for a reason for why this grown ass man was sitting on her. I saw two teenaged boys move towards her to help only to be chased off by a cop with a weapon drawn, suddenly chased at his behest by two other cops.

I know how easily Hope gets scared. I know how easily she reacts to uncomfortable situations. She might’ve run to try desperately to get away from the unfolding drama, but that might’ve got her sat upon as well. I see her in my mind’s eye, crying for me, begging for me to come see about her, to come save her.

And I see me rescuing her, and hugging her, smoothing her hair, wiping her tears and calling someone to come sit with her while I proceed to lose my ish and wreck shop. #rideordie

It would really be nice to live in world where I didn’t have to have this conversation with my daughter every week. It would be really nice to live in a space where my skin didn’t mark me as other in ways that people apparently find threatening.

I. CANNOT. DEAL. WITH. THIS. ISH.

16 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Hard Stuff

June 7, 2015

The First Year

By AdoptiveBlackMom

The last month or so has been really challenging for me. Certainly I was struggling with self-care, but it’s more than that. I realized over the last month that Hope and I were entering a new phase, and I am having trouble adjusting to our realities.

I remember reading, what seems like an eternity ago, how you go through the honeymoon phase, the rough phase, a smoothing out phase and then, potentially rougher phases.

I think we’ve hit a rougher phase. And I think we’re both just roughing it.

I am realizing that so much of Hope’s challenges are largely invisible. Sure, she has some physical scars, but the emotional, psycho-socio scars…they are so hard to tease out sometimes. It’s easy to forget they are there sometimes until denying their existence is simply impossible.

Nearly 18 months of love, therapy, medical help, stability, routine, hard fighting, and it’s finally safe enough for Hope’s deeper issues to show themselves.

That’s a huge win to celebrate on the anniversary of our finalization, even if it doesn’t feel celebration worthy.

It’s kind of like opening the closet and finding one of the lighter Stephen King stories.

And interestingly, I feel more alone than ever in my on ground life, save for my most amazing couple of lifelines. You see a year after finalization and nearly 18 months after placement we couldn’t possibly have problems, right? Nope, no problems here.

I just lie and say we’re doing great, perpetuating the myth that post-adoptive families don’t struggle.

I was doing some reading this week about parental expectations, ahead of the recent episode of Add Water and Stir; the articles I covered explored adoptive parents’ emotional health. General findings were that APs with misaligned parenting expectations were at greater risk for depression, lower resilience, more challenges in bonding, and an extensive list of other depressing ailments, which all in turn trigger more challenging behaviors from adoptees. And the cycle continues.

Just awesome.

Oh and did I mention that most of these studies were done two years post placement and/or finalization? Hope and I are only 1 year out and these last two months have me feeling like I’m clawing my way through life.

Sigh.

Now I know those studies don’t *have* to apply to me and Hope, but I am increasingly aware that my expectations of parenting and of Hope are just…just off.

I thought they’d be more realistic after our first year together.

They are better than they were, but I’m thinking they aren’t as low as they should be.

Yesterday was my and Hope’s “gotcha” anniversary. It’s beautiful, but it’s also bittersweet. We kept things fairly low key with manis, pedis and brow taming, dinner and dessert on Friday and dress shopping today for the 8th grade dance yesterday.

Shopping for the dress was such a nightmare that she asked to stop shopping, and I silently cried on the way home. Oh and we left the mall with no dress and Hope debating whether she should even go to the dance because she is ugly with no friends and no style and it will probably be awful anyway. No one wins.

Lately I’m crying almost as much as I was right after the initial placement. I’m feeling not very attached. I’m not even wanting to hang with her as much. I’m just having trouble dealing to our normal right now.

Yeah, this is our normal, and it kinda sucks. My kid doesn’t have many friends; she runs them away. She doesn’t get invited to anything; she differentiates the group she hangs with from school as just being that rather than true friends. But the kids at the new church? One couple hour block of hang time, and they are friends. I hope they become friends, but it concerns me that she thinks they are already friends.

I had and have so many hopes and dreams for us, together and separately, but I think they may just be too much. I’m trying to let go some of those hopes and dreams because I am not sure Hope will course correct, whether I can get her there (wherever there actually is), that I can be emotionally ok with not meeting milestones when they are supposed to be met, that I’m terrified about what the future holds.

I’m not sure I’ve ever been so pessimistic about the future, even if I do believe we will make progress. It all makes me so very sad. Really it’s grief.

I’m disappointed that commemorating our first finalization anniversary turned into something that brought in the gray clouds. I’m hopeful that the coming weeks will bring more sunshine. I’m hopeful that the coming year brings more progress.

7 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Dealing with the Past, Finalization Life, Lessons Learned

June 3, 2015

Add Water & Stir 022: Great Expectations

By AdoptiveBlackMom

If you’re a parent or you’ve ever considered becoming a parent (bio or otherwise), you’ve had expectations about the process of actually becoming a parent and what parenting would be like. You may have also had expectations about your child, what this little (or big!) person would be like and how you would engage your kid.

BigMotherhood

On the next episode of Add Water and Stir, Mimi, ABM and special guest, Future Adopter (who is expecting a placement *any day now*) will discuss their expectations related to adoption, mothering and their expectations of their kids.

Join the ladies of Add Water live on Thursday, June 4th at 9:30pm EDT/8:30pm CST on the podcast’s Google+ page or later on Itunes, Stitcher or Add Water & Stir podcast page! Be sure to leave us a 5 star rating with some feedback!

Want to share your expectations? Sound off in the comment section below and your comments will be read on the show.

Leave a comment   |  tags: | posted in Add Water & Stir Podcast, Add Water & Stir Podcast

June 1, 2015

Finding a House

By AdoptiveBlackMom

So after the fiasco that culminated in leaving my previous house of worship, I just took some time off from church. At first I applied a lot of pressure to myself to find a place that would hopefully offer Hope and me a place to fit. Aunty Therapist convinced me to just take some time off; she was right.

It gave me a little time to breathe.

A couple of weeks ago, I visited the neighborhood Unitarian church. I was intrigued by and attracted to the progressiveness, the commitment to social justice, the inclusiveness of believers. It all seemed to suggest that it might be a nice place to visit and to try out.

So, Hope and I get there and…we diversified the church by a factor of 200. I mean, I was looking for diversity, but I didn’t want to exclusively be “the” diversity. Also, the congregants were…older, a lot older.

And I struggled with the service. I was raised Christian; I identify strongly as Christian even though I believe a lot of other things that many folks believe are counter to Christianity. I have never been in an organized place of worship where I could also be open about all the other stuff. I also missed the routine of a more traditional Christian-oriented service. I like it; I know what to expect and generally what kinds of things I’m going to hear. So, despite being curious and interested, I found myself overwhelmed by being in a new space and not knowing anyone, overwhelmed by the service being so different, overwhelmed by my being so different than the other congregants. People were very nice, but it really didn’t feel like…I just didn’t think this was home.

And so then we didn’t go back.

Until this yesterday; off we went to the 10am service to try again.

Hope nearly shut down when I announced that she was expected to go to the Religious Education class today. I sensed her anxiety and yet I pushed her off anyway; we were really going to give this Unitarian church thing a chance.

So, the service…yeah, I’m still not connecting the way I would like to, but ok. It was nice, really nice, but just really different. While having snacks after the service I chatted up an older couple who joined the church about five years ago. I had my little visitor tag on and shared what I was kind of looking for and how I was also a little anxious about how Hope fared in the RE class. I shared that we were an adoptive family.

The gentleman smiled and shared that he was adopted many, many years ago.

I smiled. We smiled. And I got the sense that he got me and that he appreciated that I was looking for something for me and Hope that I still struggle with articulating after the drama of our last church.

I breathed, and I smiled again.

And then Hope breezed by, casually saying, “Hi mom” as she headed to the snack table.

I was nearly slack jawed, staring at my usually withdrawn kiddo as she amiably chatted with other teens, giggled and perused the snacks.

missjay

Hope didn’t run to me. She didn’t cling or give me dirty looks about making her do this thing she didn’t want to do 90 minutes ago.

I just watched her. She strolled over to me confidently, bringing me a piece of cake that I didn’t ask for but secretly desired, just because she knows I like cake…a lot. It was even a corner piece because she knows I love frosting.

Who is this kid??? She brought me a piece of chocolate cake for gawd’s sake??? I thought to myself, well, this is the shock of 2015. Stunning really.

I introduced her to the folks I spent some time chatting with earlier.

And then, she asked, “Hey the kids are going to IHOP after church, can I go?”
So, clearly this Unitarian church is the church of the body snatchers because I have no idea who this kid masked in Hope’s clothing is right now. I’ve fantasized about moments like this. moments when Hope asked to ditch me in favor of hanging with peers.

The other kids breezed over and all these teen eyeballs looked at me expectantly.

And I said hells yeah sure. I told her to call me when it was time to be picked up and practically threw $20 at her. I said good bye to new people I met and I left. I totally ran bounced to the car.

I left my kid with folks I don’t even know, kids she met at church, kids she actually asked to go hang out with. In retrospect it sounds a bit irresponsible to just let her go get in someone else’s car and drive off, yet I lost, like, no seconds of sleep over the decision to do so.

OMG. Seriously, Hope asking to hang out with other kids was a fantasy come true.

And about 2 hours later she texted me to come fetch her. She went on about how the kids went to IHOP and then to Starbucks. One kid is a rising 10th grader at the school she will attend in the fall and also in the band! The young man who is the youth mentor/group leader is also an adoptee. Hope gushed about how much fun she had, how accepted she felt and how she looked forward to going to another event.

She begged to go to the game night the church is hosting for the teens in a few weeks as I picked her up. I had Yappy with me so all of the kids came out to the car talking about game night and how it would be fun.

More expectant teen eyeballs looking at me for an immediate answer.

Um, yeah, sure!

So, looks like we’ll be hanging out with the UU folks for a minute. I hope this continues to be a place of growth for Hope. I am excited for her.

I’m also excited that I might have some time to myself without paying the nanny.

Yeah! #fistpump

11 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in Finalization Life, Other Stuff, Teen parenting

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