Category Archives: Finalization Life

Learning to Win Differently

Never say that parenting won’t show you ish about yourself. I swear…these “real life” lessons just don’t stop.

I like to win. I like to win arguments. I like to win with better research. I like to win with good food and wine. I just like to win. It makes me feel better about myself.

Like most people, I worry about how I’m perceived. I fret about being “good.” I fret about being smart. I fret about liking myself. I worry about feeling whole. I aspire to self actualization, despite probably being nowhere near it.

And that’s all ok. I’m guessing in the grand scheme of things, I’m normal, right?

This drive has propelled me to achieve some pretty cool stuff in my life. I’ve done well for myself, but there are certainly still things to achieve.

In comes Hope, my daughter, my sweet girl. Hope is a kid who is a survivor, but has a hollow sense of self, who needs building up in a big way and who has no idea what or who she really aspires to be.

Why, oh why, does my own internal competitive drive and intrinsic need to win, need to win against Hope?

I mean, really? How lame is that? As if this kid doesn’t have enough ish to contend with, she has a mom who just HAS to have the last effing word all the time.

And, why do I feel like I need to win…against Hope? How is it that this is my default setting? How is it that we aren’t always on the same team? And, really, what are we competing for?

Being a mother has totally changed my sense of self. It makes me feel like I have to fight and scrap to be a “good mother.” I’m probably not even really competing against Hope; I’m really competing against my views on motherhood and what I’m supposed to be, rather than what I am—a Black adoptive mom with a teenaged daughter who needs quite a bit of help getting herself together.

My need to win arguments with Hope is really about this underlying belief that Hope is preventing me from being a magazine cover mom.

Ain’t that some messed up ish?

Yeah, it is. I’m horrified that this is really what is below my surface. #shame

I spent some time watching Brené Brown videos (because my dyslexia is making it increasingly hard to read books) and yeah, that shame monster is a beotch. #moreonthatlater

So, I’m working on just letting Hope win—she’s ironically a lot like me. She needs to win to feel good. I hardly ever let her win because my own ego is so bruised and needy. This week, I’m committed to just saying “Ok…” during some of our bicker-fests. It’s ok to just let her win. It’s ok to just stand down. It’s ok to let her feel good, and let her get one over on me.

In fact, it’s essential to heal her own bruised and needy ego. She needs to win.

And if we’re on the same team, then her win, is my win. There are no losers. I just need to learn to win differently.

I’m working on this lesson. It’s important. I’ve had a lifetime of wins, and truth be told, I don’t have anything to prove. I really don’t.

Hope needs some wins to fill her tank. A full tank for her is really a win for both of us.


Wiring My Jaw Shut

So as I wrestle with my emotions in trying to motivate Hope as well as provide her the support she needs to be successful, Absurdly Hot Therapist recently told me to really work on practicing “non-judgmental parenting.”

Point-And-Laugh-Reaction-Gif

So after I finished laughing and thinking about how hot he is in his shawl collared therapist sweaters and cute colorful socks, I was like “Dude….”

Aw-Hell-Naw-Kanye-West-Gif

Oh, don’t miss understand, I get it: Safe environment for Hope, protect Hope’s ego, support Hope, let her know I have reasonable expectations, but am totally cool with her working up to them…Yada, yada, yada.

Ohhh.Emmmm.Geeee.

Listen, I feel like I have the most amazing family in the universe. I also feel like despite our best efforts we can be a judgy bunch.

Like, PhD in judgy sometimes.

And oh, despite my best, dedicated, work hard efforts, I am soooooo a judging everything.

Startrek

Oh yeah, it’s a problem, I know.

So, I’ve been working on it. My version of working on it looks like this:

“Don’t say anything because you might lose it.”

“Keep your pie hole shut.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up.”

“Do NOT respond to that smart a$$ text message.”

“Whooooosaaaaaaa.”

“Nope, not falling for it, not gonna do it.”

*Heaving breathing*

“Get yourself a martini, like right now before you rip her head off.”

#realtalk

This, this is my internal monologue.

We were in to see our primary care physician for double appointments today; I was shocked that my blood pressure was normal. I swore it would be through the roof. I would’ve bet the farm on it.

Seriously, I’d like to just get my mouth wired shut for the next year or two, then I wouldn’t have to worry about my mouth popping off when Hope said/did something unbelievable.

I’m honestly not sure how people survive this. I feel like all this new fan-dangled parenting might just kill me. My parents see me interact with Hope and this, this is the face they give me.

simon-cowell-face-o

It’s all with so much love.


200_s

“You gonna just let that slide? You aren’t going to check her?”

You see, I try not to judge Hope and I feel even more judged.

Ain’t that some ish?

Now, I am not justifying my continued judgment of my daughter, but seriously, this feels like a no win situation for me, no way out. It is crushing my spirit right now.

Oh and my tongue has a bunch of chew marks on it from me biting it so hard.

I am staying the course though. I am working on letting Hope just fall into the natural consequences of doing or not doing whatever it is she’s supposed to do. She fed me a bunch of BS today about why she can’t/won’t do something to bring a grade up from a 28 to a 60.

I’ve bent over backwards like a yogi.

Her teacher has bent over backwards on a mat beside me.

back-bend-services

I finally just told the teacher to let that grade ride; seriously, why are we killing ourselves? We care about her, but we understand and know how to work these algebra problems. She’s the one who has an opportunity to raise her grade.

The choice, ultimately, just has to be hers.

Le Sigh.

I wish that letting it ride really gave me peace. It doesn’t. I am still scared for her, but I’m going to take a big step back and try to just breathe, let her breathe and let the chips fall.

I still might need to get my jaw wired shut, though. I’m wayyyyyy too hot tempered to keep repeating all the mantras.


Boss Behavior

We are struggling with Executive Function (Boss Behavior), and when I say we, I mean we—though our struggles with boss behavior are quite different.

From my perception of Hope’s view of things (we’ve talked about this so I think I’m being fair in my interpretation) goes a bit like this:

  • Most homework gets done when I remember it.
  • Hey I manage to do about a third of my chores each week.
  • I know that there’s a test coming up in one of my classes, but I don’t know which class or when the test actually is.
  • I manage to take my meds most days of the week when mom reminds me.
  • On a day home from school, I’ll still be cramming to do my homework at 9pm at night.
  • I just don’t like school, or chores, or the lists that mom makes me or well, anything that requires much organization.

Here’s my take on things:

  • Holy HeyZeus, according to ParentVUE, Hope didn’t do her French homework for a week.
  • Holy Batcrap, Hope didn’t do her math homework for two weeks.
  • I wrote her a list of things to do on her day home, one thing got done today in 8 hours.
  • Good gawd, I have to tell her to do EVERY. SINGLE. THING, will she ever function independently?
  • I’m so glad she’s cooking dinner, but whycome did she need a recipe to make a grilled cheese and her sudden need to follow details has resulted in an ice cold sandwich—I mean really, why does it take 2 hours to make a sandwich with a side of apple sauce????
  • But I told her to tidy her room and now I’m yelling and she’s pouting because this joint is messier than when she started because she is overwhelmed.
  • Impulse control and freak out = $7-$8 school lunches with pizza, a couple of chicken sandwiches, fruit snacks, candy and a stop at the 7-11 for more candy after school.
  • WTH????
  • WTF????
  • WT??????????????????

Yeah, so…all of that.

I flipped out again yesterday because I had provided my lovely daughter a list of things to do, and she accomplished 2 things on the list and could not for the life of her describe how she spent her day. I had forgotten how she struggles with organization, following lists, following directions. I seethed.

I worried.

We are in a dangerous spiral at school, which also has me freaking out. Her teachers are struggling with the right thing to say to me about her behavior in class, that is until I said, “so are you trying to tell me that she’s just checked out?” They all sigh and say, yeah.

We’ve tried tools. We’ve tried different kinds of lists. We’ve tried memorization techniques. We’ve tried all kinds of things: meds, apps, cognitive strategies, etc, etc.

Yesterday I finally popped off emails to the school counselor, the Absurdly Hot Therapist (who is looking mighty fine) and the psychiatrist.

We need help. I have done all I can do and I can’t drag her to the next level of development. I just can’t.

This is tough. I’ve gotten better about asking for help since Hope has come into my life. I see so much return on my work with her. I’ve marshaled all kinds of resources for her.

But figuring out this Boss Behavior thing has just got us stuck. I only recognized that it was really an issue a few months ago. I have read copiously. I have tried to figure out where the boundaries of her limitations are. I’ve tried to help her manage her stress so that she can better cope with her areas of functional difficulty. But I finally concluded this week, that I can’t do this.

Heck, half the time I shoot first, think about it later, meaning, I nag and needle her about what she didn’t do and later remember the pattern of the behavior that triggers one of those limited boundaries. It’s like when you see where the surveyor uses those little sticks with the flags on them to mark the boundaries, but you don’t really know where the boundaries are?

Yeah, that. That’s what it’s like.

So, I’m tired of wandering across the boundary and then kicking, screaming and cursing because I hit a tripwire. It hurts, and it makes me sad. It makes us sad.

This journey sucks sometimes.

I’m hopeful that I can get Hope the support she needs. I’m hoping I can build her confidence and that as a team we can help her be her best self. I am hopeful that I can inspire hope in her.

I totally want her to grow up to be a Boss Chick.


I Must Look Amazing

It’s hard to believe that me and Hope have been together for 2 years now. Sometimes it feels like forever, and other times it feels like the blink of an eye.

I was so excited when she came to live with me that her hair was natural. I also remember the first time I took her braids out and did her hair. It took me 5 hours. Detangling it was like grooming a Yeti. As the months passed, Hope and I relished the routine and the ritual of doing hair on the weekends. It was a time of the week when I wholly and completely took care of her. It was primal, really. It was an experience that she had rarely enjoyed before I became her mother, so she really relished the time and attention.

Until I suggested wearing her hair out, natural, in a regular old twistout done on wet hair.

Until this week.

Now, keep in mind that I had encouraged her to embrace her curly mane. She has gorgeous, thick curly hair. It’s grown a lot in the last two years under my care and attention.

Last month, I made her *try* to care for it herself, with little to no assistance from me.

Well, she blew it out most weeks, because she likes the stretched look.

Cool. I gave her a few bottles of heat protectant and told her to have at it.

She complained that doing a twist out on wet hair was just too much shrinkage. Too nappy. Too this, too that.

Ok. Rock on.

But leave it to laziness to be the mother of invention and trying.

Running out of time this weekend, she decided to try a twistout on wet hair.

It was glorious, but I only told her it looked nice because I knew if I gushed too much then she would bail on it.

We visited my parents, and Sister K visited with her sons; Hope’s cousins told her that her hair look fantastic.

And well, they are boys, Hope’s prime focus group.

She commented that her cousins liked her hair on the drive back to NoVa, and I knew that this was a vital piece of data.

And contrary to my loquacious nature, I kept my comments to myself and my piehole shut.

After two extra days home (Presidents’ Day and a snow day) Hope returned to school today rocking this ridiculously fly, curly, parted afro. Frederick Douglass would be proud.

She glammed out with jewelry and makeup with her flannel shirt, skinny jeans and sneakers.

When she got home, she casually commented that her classmates inquired about her hair—who did it, the name of the salon, why did she look so fly today, why hadn’t she wore her hair like this before…and on and on.

I raised one eyebrow to show I was intrigued by the line of inquiry, but I kept my mouth shut.

She went on about how the kids loved her hair and that it MUST be the coconut oil she used, because she really didn’t do anything different.

#eyeroll #chileplease

I simply nodded.

We went to her band concert. Again, on the drive home, she regaled me with stories about how her band mates loved her hair.

She concluded, “Huh, I must look amazing today.”

I smiled and nodded, “Yeah, you look good.”

Never mind two years of prodding, coaxing, product purchasing…two years after moving in, my daughter is rocking her mane of hair in all its fabulous, awesome glory.

Inside I am beaming.

I am also grateful for the cosign of the male cousins who validated Hope in a safe way. Kudos.

I can’t wait to see what she does next, and how she will embrace herself next.

I know that I will be sure to remain supportive but patient in getting Hope to love herself, as she is, with no filter.

In the midst of a lot of crazy today, my afro wearing kid totally made my day.


Downhill

For the last couple of months I’ve really been focusing on attachment parenting. I managed to get through the “get off me, get off me, get off me” phase and get to the genuinely enjoying time with Hope phase. Things have been far more emotionally stable in the house, and that’s definitely a good thing.

But I’ve still been fighting my own demons.

During the recent snow storm that left Hope out of school for a week, I worked hard to get 30 minutes of exercise a day. I meditated. I relaxed. I spent quality time with my kid.

It was all great, really. I felt good.

And then we tried to get back to our regularly scheduled programming.

A week of disregulation was tougher on me than on Hope. Work, lately, has been like drinking from a firehose and I’m exhausted and there’s never enough time. The sidewalks are still covered with snow (it’s quickly melting this week thank to a mini “heatwave”) so Yappy and I haven’t been able to take our long walks. It’s been dreary. I got the new car and lost the Chili Pepper, which, really, seriously, has affected me so deeply that I have no attachment to the new car (Ironic, no?).

With each day I was quietly coming a little undone.

And then last night Hope’s bug phobia reemerged after a stink bug in search of a dry place to hang out got into the house.

Despite my best efforts, I have not been able to muster the appropriate response to this particular issue of Hope’s.

She awoke me from a deep sleep to ask me to kill a bug in the kitchen. I honestly didn’t have the capacity or coordination to do it. I got her water for her and went back to bed. Fear of the bug persisted through the morning routine and, let’s just say, that I didn’t react well. Add to my list of poor reactions I flipped out because, as usual, Hope dragged arse getting ready for school. In her defense, this morning was probably more about avoiding the bug situation than her usual obliviousness about time.

I messed up. It is what it is.

After she went to school, I killed the bug and I realized that her morning arse dragging annoys me because I want to have breakfast with her without rushing. I want the kind of morning routine I had with my family growing up; I want to check in, to pray, to watch the news, to just share time and space.

That stuff is also important to Hope, but I know that she doesn’t get it that it’s tied to the morning routine for me. I wasn’t even able to articulate that myself before today. I guess that makes part of my meltdown worth it.

I wrote Hope a note trying to explain.

I’m trying to deal with the bug phobia, I am, but it’s a trigger for me too.

I know I’m on a tipping point that could send me careening, so tonight is about self care: fuzzy socks and PJs, cuddles with Yappy and curling up with a good book.

Tomorrow is another day, and I will try again to do a bit better.


Positive Pinteresting

For years I avoided Pinterest like the plague. Seriously, did I need another social media account that somehow melded recipes, decorating and Christmas shopping?  Really?

I convinced myself I didn’t.

Nope, I don’t need no Pinterest.

And then I became a mom…and the next thing you know at 11:45pm on a Wednesday I’m pinning like 25 things to various boards.

Of course there’s the occasional recipe for mini cinnabons made in a muffin tin.

Seriously, I can go down the rabbit hole and waste spend a lot of time on Pinterest searching all kinds of stuff.

To look at my boards these days is to watch me search for ways to help turn Hope’s ship around.

There’s my private board on parenting traumatized adoptees and the board devoted to promoting executive function. There’s a board devoted to teen tips for time management—especially teens with ADHD.

There’s a board devoted to different philosophies on behavioral therapies, and one focusing on sheet music for sax and piano for Hope.

I collect pins related to self care and shopping too.

But of all of the random ish I pin, the thing that has consumed me as a part of the Year of the Try is my boards on healthy thinking and inspiration. It is within these boards that I’m building an arsenal of positive sayings, quotes, uplifting Ted talks, apps that promote mindfulness and sayings that go beyond positive and promote all out badassery.

I want Hope to be a positive badass.

Every few days, I print out a few sayings and I tape them to her bedroom door.

She gets surly sometimes about me doing this, but my goal is, in fact, to wallpaper her door with oodles of positivity and badassery. So even when I’m doing my damndest not to lecture her about being negative, she has to look at those quotes every single time she enters and leaves that room.

YES!

I’m hopeful that one day, she will embrace the messages and begin to believe in herself.


Frustrating Attachments

I’m a a bit grumpy this week.  I’m trying not to be. I’m tired and feeling…fluffy (one of my polite words for chubby). Work has been uber busy, and Hope…well, Hope is being 14.

I’d like to say I understood this behavior because I indulged in some of it during my teen years, but the reality is that momma and daddy ABM did not tolerate some of this foolery. I wouldn’t dream of being so snarky or thinking that to-do lists created by my parents were optional.

But alas, I’m still reprogramming Hope, so a lot of this mess rolls strong at Casa d’ABM.

I’ve really focused on attachment parenting over the last 6 weeks which means that Hope and have spent A LOT of time together focusing on building our relationship through fun activities. It’s largely been good, and I’ll even admit that there have been more moments than not where I felt like I was seeing the type of mother/daughter relationship I’d dreamt of when I started the adoption process.

But it hasn’t been easy.

I’m tired.

Even as an extrovert, a major extrovert, I’m desperate for alone time.  I want to be left alone.

Being pleasant is exhausting.

I’m annoyed by how much I’ve had to yield.

I’m constantly working to make sure my tone is soothing, even when offering correction or criticism.

I’m using “I feel” statements when communicating.

I’m doing most of the chores.

And I’m resentful that I feel like I’m doing all the work.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I know it’s my job to do the work, but I wish that things were different. I wish Hope had more capacity than she does, but, well, she doesn’t.

Fostering a healthy attachment is wearing me out.

My frustration is just below the surface and I’m constantly trying to deal with it or push it out of the way.

How is it that I’m jealous of my daughter? I feel like her life is so much easier, but it is supposed to be in some ways. I also acknowledge that she doesn’t have it easier—she’s still unpacking 12 years of drama and dealing with the drama of being 14. It’s not easy.

It’s not easy for either of us; it’s just different.

As of today we’ve got a four day weekend ahead of us, thanks to snowstorm Jonas. I’m hoping that I can stay lighter than a feather during this time, and that Hope and I will continue to grow closer and that we’ll get more glimpses of what our relationship can become as a result of our continued hard work.


Pushing & Pulling

One of the toughest parts of adopting an adolescent kiddo is figuring out how to balance the need and desire to establish attachment by pulling the child close and the need to facilitate and foster the independence associated with being a teen and drop kicking kiddo out(ish). It’s a tough balance.

I’ve been spending a lot of time and effort really trying to do the attachment parenting thing, and I can say that it’s made life at Casa d’ABM better. Lots of time together, lots of patience, lots of deliberate effort to meet Hope right where she is. I’m really trying to pull her close, ensure her safety, and strengthen our relationship. I can see the fruits of this labor; less grumpiness, more willingness to be agreeable, less general upheaval in the house.

As I do this pulling, Hope’s friends are getting dropped off at the movies, at the mall, at the ice skating rink and anywhere else teens get dropped these days. Hope doesn’t get invited—like ever, but I try to make it happen with the few friends she has. It is normal for her to try to kick me to the curb sometimes. But she doesn’t; in fact she begs me to stay. Then I am on the spot to be present but invisible, but somehow cool all at the same time. I worry about when she will develop some independence and be on par developmentally with her peers. And when will I be able to just drop her off and come home and enjoy a glass of something until time to fetch her. (*Not so secretly hoping to regain control of my couch and remote on Friday nights…..)

I know it’s not a competition, but it’s hard not to compare Hope to other kids so that I can have a sense of what she might be doing if we had always been together, if she had been my biological daughter. I find it makes me sad that her life has been such that she’s stunted. I mean, what I’m dealing with here is a bit more than just “late bloomer” stuff. I find myself wishing her classmates would genuinely befriend her, that they would just invite her to hang out, that they would give her a chance to learn how to be a good friend. Watching Hope wrestle with this developmental hurdle has been hard; I know she’s lonely. I also know that she can occasionally wallow.

I also feel like there is a lot of feelings between both of us with me being both mom and proxy for a bestie. I mean, there have been seasons of my life when, without question, my mom was my bestie, but this is different. I always knew my mom and the privilege of having grown up with her allowed me the freedom to reclassify her as my friend as well as my mom. I know that Hope and I will hopefully get there one day, but for now, I am not sure how I feel about being both mom and best friend. I just want to be a space holder for a bestie, until she can develop the capacity to really nurture a friendship along such that evolves into a bestie situation.

Welcome to Crazy Town: I'm not your friend , I am your MOTHER!!!!

I never thought about how much effort goes into being a friend until I watched Hope navigate these waters. It is another thing that I’ve spent a lifetime taking for granted—I am very social and I make friends easily. Over the years, my job has had me on the road a lot, I went back to school and I became a mom. All of these things made me assess friendships and either work hard to maintain them or realize that the friend season was over with certain folks. But it was a luxury to just make those calls. I see my daughter so thirsty for genuine relationships. I try to teach Hope good skills so that she can be a good friend, but we are really behind the 8 ball—Hope’s emotional age is simply not the same as her peers and the capacity for the level of friend sophistication of high schoolers is pretty far above her head. It’s like watching a 4th grader hang out with some high schoolers. Cute for the first couple of minutes, painful for the remaining 58 minutes of an hour.

So for now, all I can do is pull her closer and try to help her feel safe enough and loved enough to let herself learn how to be appropriately social with her peers. I’m hopeful that we will work at this and succeed such that I don’t have to go to her senior prom with her.

Been there, done that…got the flamingo colored (I called it ‘coral’ back then) dress and dyed pumps to prove it. (You *know* you want to see that lovely one-shouldered confection with the drop waist…because 90s!)


The Ghosts in the Darkness

There was a Val Kilmer movie in the mid-90s called The Ghost and the Darkness about some man-eating lions in Kenya in the 19th century. I loved that movie, probably because I thought it was cool that the movie’s stars—the lions—are in the Chicago Field Museum. I look forward to seeing these dumb stuffed lions every time I go to the museum; even as a kid, long before the movie, a trip to Chicago meant going to see these creatures.

Well, my current home is plagued with ghosts when all of the lights are shut off for the night. And it is seriously, uncool. There are no lions, but there might as well be a whole pride of them living here. Hope has started having bad dreams, she’s refusing to go to sleep until just a couple of hours before she gets up. She’s freaked out about all kinds of things around the house. Yesterday we went to Walmart to buy night lights and a clear shower curtain to help her feel safe. Meanwhile I was on EBay stocking up on sleep masks because I have issues with light sensitivity at night. #Ihatenightlights

Suddenly, she is consumed by fear, and it just bubbled up unannounced. She’s dreaming about people who hurt her. She’s dreaming about people she doesn’t know possibly hurting her. She freaks out if I walk Yappy after 10pm for a quick No. 1. When the sun goes down, the fraidy cat comes out.

I know that we are beginning to really wrestle with some of the hardest memories. We’ve managed the bug phobia, but new fears are emerging all the time. Sleep disturbances abound. It’s tough to experience as a kid and as a mom to this kid.

I’m glad she told me—incidentally, my new mood decoder ring-thingamajig is one of these:

Moods

Very helpful and I can usually get to the bottom of things a lot sooner.

I’m sure all of this stuff has always been there and that this probably some way of us making painful progress, but oy, this sucks. I feel like there’s not much I can do to make her feel safe.

I bought all the things she asked for to help her so far. I make a point of letting her know when I’m retiring for the night so she can turn on or off lights in the main areas to make her comfortable. I make a big to do about locking the front door and making sure that the balcony door is locked; even though it’s 30 degrees out and I don’t think anyone is going to break in via balcony 8 floors up. I let her know that I’ll check on her in the middle of the night. I wake her up in the morning and make sure she is ok.

I’m hoping that time will bring Hope some peace and push off the ghosts that plague her in the darkness. I’m hoping that I can just walk alongside her into the light, step by step over the next few months.


Forget about Tomorrow

I used to love The Winans. When I was a kid they had this gospel song called Tomorrow; pretty famous song actually.  I have always loved that song. Last night after a meaningful conversation with Hope, I thought about that song a lot, like a lot a lot.

On the drive back to NoVa from Christmas celebrations down south, Hope and I got to talking about what a beeotch on wheels I’ve been for the last month or so. I tried to explain that this time of year is stressful and sad for me. There’s so much to do, and I also get to remembering all the people I miss so much.  I tend to be reflective this time of year and it takes me a long while to get to the good stuff in reflecting; it doesn’t usually happen until that very last week of the year when I consciously beginning looking forward as I put together my vision board for the next year.

I also really have a hard time with the minimal amount of available sunlight, and, well, I’m just grumpy.  

This year I’ve been thinking about how much life has changed for me, with an emphasis on the hard stuff and I’ve been feeling a little resentful about how hard it is.  It’s just been a really tough fall for me emotionally.

It’s always a tough time for Hope; she’s becoming more open with me about how that’s the case, all the time now. It makes me sad..or rather sad-der.

As she was telling me about her feelings  last night, I asked her what, besides me being less beeotchy, could I do to help her.

LOL, she said, basically be less beeotchy. I chuckled.

She pointed out that I seemed to understand that Yappy does dumb stuff and I don’t punish him harshly, that I understand that as a puppy dog that he’s going to do dumb stuff.  She said, but dogs just want to make their people happy. Why can’t you be more like that with me?

Just understand that she’s going to do dumb stuff that annoys the hell out of me and not flip out and think it’s going to ruin her future.

Well, damn.

Yeah, ok.

I explained to her, as best I could, that I just want so much for her, more than she is capable of wanting for herself right now. I’ve known for sometime that this was a dangerous path for me because It set me up to be critical of everything she does. And while I don’t comment or tell her that I judge everything, I’m sure I’m constantly giving off that energy and that’s not healthy for either of us.

I explained how those desires are rooted in my love for her, but I acknowledged that it meant I probably was rarely meeting her where she was.  I was so focused on “tomorrow” that I was just neglecting her immediate needs for just accepting her awkward-still-trying-to-figure-out-her-adoptive-teen-life.

So, I got to thinking that I’ve really been overthinking some things. Hope needs me to worry about her “today” not her “tomorrow.” She needs me to just zero in on helping her get through each day without worrying if she’s on the path to say, college.  She’s just trying to get through today and get to tomorrow.

As strong as I know she must be to have endured all that she has, she is incredibly fragile. She just can’t process thinking about more than today or maybe to the next weekend.

This is so radical to me because I have always plotted everything; I’m always looking at the macro-view of my life to plot my next steps. Hope is a micro-thinker who needs me to drill down with her to just help her stay on task day to day.

I get it. I admit, that this isn’t new; I heard it before, but I think I really get it this time. I’m really fortunate that Hope can break this down for me sometimes; I can’t imagine having to figure this out with the really little ones! [Bless y’all for home fostering and adopting the littles is a calling…I’m so not built for that!] #Idigress

So, I’ve got to do some rewiring of my own brain to figure out how to better meet her where she is.

[I wonder how many adoptive parents parenting kids with histories of trauma have had before and after PET scans to see whether/how our brains must change to adapt to therapeutic parenting…must hit Google Scholar later…] #Idigressagain

Anyway, Hope announced she was sleepy and drifted off mid-sentence, leaving me to my own thoughts.

Although I see so much talent and promise in my beautiful girl, she is still in survival mode. While I do an ok job at this mom thing, Hope still isn’t feeling safe enough to make the conversion to thinking longer term. We’re still white knuckling it. I mean, I knew I was struggling and I knew she was struggling, but I didn’t realize how my hopes for her wanting more was undermining her ability to just focus on getting through each day.  #boo #parentingfail

All of this got me to thinking about the Winans’ song Tomorrow.  It talks about how we shouldn’t put off salvation until tomorrow because, well, tomorrow isn’t promised to us. In fact, the Holy Homeboy is practically doing jumping jacks to get us to move today rather than waiting for the unpromised tomorrow. The last line of the song urges us to forget about tomorrow because tomorrow might be too late to get on the party train to the pearly gated club up yonder. 

I’m guessing the Holy Homeboy was stepping in to hip me to the fact that Hope needs me to just forget about tomorrow right now and help Hope just get through today.  These early teen years are such a mess for any kid, but I can only imagine what it must be like when you’re dragging an extra bucket of messiness around in your head. I gotta not sweat what things will be like 3 years from now; it will be what it will be. Hope needs me to stay present with her, right here, right now. 

It’s hard for me to put a lot of that desires on ice, but if I want any of that life to be within her grasp, I gotta adapt and help her just maneuver through today.

So, for now, tomorrow is going up on the top shelf in a pretty box with a note saying “Open when you get to tomorrow.”


K E Garland

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