Category Archives: Dealing with the Past

November 3, 2014

Family Ties

So, if you caught the last Add Water and Stir podcast, you know that I had a big breakthrough regarding Hope’s family recently. I made a conscious choice to drop the “bio” reference; they’re just “family” now. In dropping something, I hope to add something, though to be honest, I’m not sure what that something is yet.

After we received The Package with some really personal items, I couldn’t, in good conscious, continue to make this familial distinction. These folks are Hope’s family. And now as Hope is my daughter, I’m connected to them as well. As I kicked it around, it made the distinction of “bio” or other terms like “first family” or “birth family” or any of those kinds of terms seem intentionally separatist. So, I decided to just try to drop it.

I’m hoping that the rest of me follows along with this bold choice; is it even really all that bold really? I don’t know. Given my level of anxiety regarding Hope’s family, it certainly feels bold.

I’ve been thinking about my own family a lot lately, and how much I missed certain family members, including and especially my own grandparents. I want her to have access to lots of people who will just love on her; she needs the love. Her family can, hopefully, gently, cautiously, help give her the love she needs.

So, all this maturity ish that I’m working on led me to reach out to the family member who actually respected my wishes and laid low until I was ready to talk. She also happened to be one of the two family members Hope said she would like to have contact with in good time.

We talked this weekend, or rather, she did most of the talking this weekend.

It was an overwhelming rush of chatter. There were squeals, apologies for losing her, gratitude for adopting her, lengthy explanations about her view of what happened, promises to continue to lay low, wondering about how Hope will make contact, wondering whether Hope will make contact.

It was a lot. I tried to start sentences and would just get overwhelmed with words tumbling through the phone. I finally just kept quiet until it seemed like all the words fell to a trickle. In retrospect, I imagine she’s been waiting for this call, hoping for this call, had so much to say and potentially so little time to say it. She had to get it all in.

There were moments when my eyes welled as I learned tidbits of information that explained things or at least gave me some context. There were unfiltered moments that piqued my anxiety to hear about family discussions to try to fight me for Hope, discussions questioning why I was protective, why I wouldn’t just fling open the doors of our new life to them. There were moments when I felt so angry because she just kept using the polite euphemism, “well, you know she’s been through so much” to characterize Hope’s trauma. There were still other moments when I wonder whether she knows just how long the most traumatic episodes were or whether she was just in denial.

There were times when I wished I wasn’t Southern, but was glad that I am because I understood some of the traditional phrasings that said, “I know things were really effed up, but you know we don’t talk about that sort of thing.” The cultural touchstone pissed me off because I realize how much it mutes concrete discussions about effed up stuff. And Hope ain’t Southern; I wondered how pissed she would be because of this minimization of her lived experience. I was righteously pissed on her behalf.

And then I felt sad because I can only imagine what it must be to wonder what happened to your cousin/neice/daughter/sister/granddaughter when they were in the foster care system. My heart broke.

And even though I set up the call, I really wasn’t as sure what I wanted to say. I felt unsure and scared. I didn’t want the phone call to create a bunch of expectations of me or of Hope. So, when I finally spoke my normally loud voice was soft; I stammered because of nerves, I stumbled because I wasn’t always sure what words I wanted to us to get my point across.

This does not happen!! I make my living by largely talking. Not having words to articulate things…I don’t have the experience often. I was scared ish-less.

I had a couple of points to make: I wanted to see if Hope could have a healthy relationship with her family; I wanted to be clear about boundaries in any relationship and beyond boundaries, there were some complete and utter non-negotiables that we needed to consider moving forward with more contact.

I got a lot of “yeah, yeah, yeah’s” and “right, right, of course’s.” I want to believe her;I do.

But I’m not sure. I’m terrified that we’ll call and boundaries will get obliterated and lots of damage will be done. I’m scared, but I believe that I’m doing the right thing.

Sigh. Honestly, I’m exhausted by the call even a day later. I’m still trying to unpack it and tease through the complicated feelings so that I can be ok when I tell Hope that that door is now open.

Not sure what will happen next, but we’ll be moving forward. We wrestle with things that happened, but we still press forward. This is just another pit stop on our journey.

Leave a comment | tags: adoption, Adoption and Emotions, Adoption and Trauma, Adoption Transitions, African American Adoption, African American Parenting, Family, Finalization Life | posted in An Expanded Family, Dealing with the Past, Finalization Life

October 22, 2014

Random Loss

By AdoptiveBlackMom

Several times a week I get a startling reminder of Hope’s losses and varied experiences in her early life. It’s always jarring. I marvel at her strength and ability to just talk about things now. I’ve gotten so much better on focusing on that moment and figuring out what she might need. Sometimes she doesn’t seem to need anything but the comfort in knowing that she can interweave these moments into daily life.

The moments sit in her memory bank, and whether I like them or not, they are life points of reference for her. However awful they may be, they often represents how she sees the world.

Sometimes it’s a random reference to some kind of abuse she experienced. Other times it’s a reminder that neglectfulness made her miss out on childhood trimmings. Some days it’s wondering what it would be like to have been adopted by another family in a foreign country. Still other times it’s her fear in asking for something as simple as a snack because she’s used to such inquiries coming with consequences.

In the moments I feel anger first, compassion second, sometimes my own sadness third. I feel blind fury that she has had such a hard time. I am mad because so many of our struggles have easy to understand, obvious triggers rooted in these random moments of loss on a day to day basis. I am reminded of loss I have experienced in my own life. Sometimes I hurt even though I know she loves me and I’m her mom.

It’s like a really long, crazy game of red light, green light.

Green light: we are cruising through life.

Red light: Screeching, distracting halt.

Yellow light: Tread lightly, maybe stop, maybe go.

We are making such progress, but some days…Sigh.

I am glad that she feels safe. I’m glad that she is able to express herself. I’m glad that I have better skills to help her navigate these challenges. But I wonder if we will get to a time when we have less of these moments and more green lights.

3 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption and Emotional Health, Adoption Post Placement Challenges, African American Adoption, Finalization Life, life changes | posted in Dealing with the Past, Finalization Life, Hard Stuff

October 16, 2014

The Package

By AdoptiveBlackMom

Since June, I’ve been wrestling with the emergence of Hope’s biological extended family finding us. The irony of their emergence is that I had initiated my own search of them a mere six weeks before. I was curious about them. Hope had memories, both good and bad about some of the folks in her family. I wanted to know about them; I wanted to know where to find them if Hope wanted to reach out to them. I wanted to have some control over when and how the connection was made. And then the first day of our celebratory vacation, I got the Facebook inbox message.

I remember immediately feeling threatened—What did they want? Even though we were “legal” would they try to take her from me? Would Hope choose them over me? Would she run to them if she got pissed off at me? Was blood going to trump me? How did they find us? I had given Hope a pseudonym on social media and our privacy settings were pretty high. I remember feeling so panicked and so very threatened. I didn’t want to lose the kid that I had just put on lock, so to speak.

It has taken some time to navigate advancements in this relationship. I insisted that they go through me for contact. I asked questions on her behalf. I sent pictures and very modest updates. I got royally frustrated, no pissed really, when it was clear that some family members had higher expectations about my engagement with them. It has also been rough because people who have hurt her seem to have selective memory about their relationship with Hope.

Of course this has been emotional for my sweet girl too. The first few mementos they sent triggered anger, sorrow and so, so much grief. But this time has also represented so many breakthroughs. Hope is busy constructing an identity that includes two last names (She kept her birth surname and just added mine—it’s long, but it works!); she now has some items that are priceless to her; she has begun to make peace with a lot of her grief. We’ve developed a few new rituals to commemorate key dates in her life before me, thanks to the emergence of her family. It hasn’t been easy and Lord knows I’ve griped, but being found has not been a bad thing. It’s been a hell of a challenge, but it is not a bad thing.

Recently, Hope’s paternal grandmother sent her a package. I’ve been on the road so much recently that I just picked it up this week. The package included some cards, poems, some of her granny’s arts and crafts (there’s an apron for the liquid dish detergent bottle <quizzical grin>), and most importantly, Hope’s father’s American flag.

I pre-open things, and even though I knew it was in the box it was a shock to see it, lovingly wrapped in plastic, preserved for when they found Hope. The cards were addressed to my daughter using her full name, her new name, my surname.

Seeing her name and the small simple thank you card they included for me changed everything.

They acknowledged that I was her mother. There is no threat; Hope just has a really big family. I cried more than Hope did.

Hope went through everything in the box; I continue to see her grow and thrive. I’m so proud of her. These developments are so important to her.

We’ll be integrating these arts and crafts into our home; they are special to both of us. (There are bar soap cozies too. I imagine that there’s a plastic slipcover somewhere to be seen in my future; my spidey sense tells me so.)

We will be moving to phone calls soon and a visit eventually; Hope’s family is a reasonable drive away. All in good time.

This journey continues to teach me so much.

1 Comment | tags: adoption, Adoption and Emotions, Adoption Lessons, Adoption Lessons Learned, Adoption Stories, Adoption Transitions, African American Adoption, Finalization Life, Lessons Learned, Single Adoptive Moms | posted in An Expanded Family, Dealing with the Past, Finalization Life, Hard Stuff, Lessons Learned

September 17, 2014

I Hope – Part 3

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I hope:

That the universe takes care of the kids who exploit Hope’s (and kids like Hope) vulnerabilities.
That we can continue filling the holes in her life.
That I can find more empathy in engaging Hope’s extended bio-family.
That I can get through some more parenting books, taking what I need, discarding what I think is dumb ish.
That relationships in my life which have been strained during this process are restored.
That my circle of adoption champions continues to grow.
That I concretely learn the difference between what Hope can really handle and what she’s just lazy about, ie what’s really trauma related vs. what’s just typical teen related crap.
That somehow we can reconcile the past, present and future.
That we continue to reflect on this journey.
That I can get my eyebrows done more often so that my brow lady doesn’t shame me and chastise me about my brow and pedicure related neglectfulness (Really, who gets shamed at the nail salon? Totally kinda bummed #TreatYoSelf night, smh Yeah, I’m bitter.).
That I do better at turning to exercise rather than food for stress management.
That I free myself from crazy parenting expectations.
That I feel freed from the perceived critical eyes that see me and Hope strangely because of all that’s going on beneath the surface of our lives.
That Hope excels in the percussion classes because I secretly (I guess not so secretly) have dreams of riding in the back of her tour bus during my retirement.
That one day I’ll go visit Cordoba, Spain to see this mosque that I saw in a picture during an art history class 20 years ago.
That I hug Hope more, touching heals.
That we are ready for me to resume my job’s travel requirements—we’ve got the reinforcements and next week kicks it off.
That God grants me more oodles of patience in navigating the black and white world view of the teenager.
That I continue to be able to meaningfully answer Hope’s questions about Ray and Janay Rice and Adrian Peterson, while holding it together as she reminisces about her life.
That Hope continues to learn that there’s a whole world out there for her to live, breathe and experience.

Leave a comment | tags: adoption, Adoption Blogs, Adoption Lessons, Adoption Lessons Learned, Adoption Surprises, African American Adoption, African American Parenting, African American Single Adoptive Mom | posted in Dealing with the Past, Finalization Life, Lessons Learned

September 16, 2014

I Hope – Part 2

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I hope:

That Hope is able to reconcile all of her different “Black folk” experiences that cut across race and culture into one cohesive racial identity with which she is comfortable.
That her distrust of institutional systems lessens.
That she continues to feel comfortable telling me things.
That I get the hang of this teenage parenting thing.
That Hope is able to really develop a mission and vision for her life.
That I’m able to live up to my mission and execute my vision for my life.
That she stops going through a bottle of shower gel every week.
That she remains excited about her natural hair and becomes excited about her cocoa brown skin.
That she knows that I don’t care who she comes to love as long as they treat her right—you know like 57 years from now.
That Amazon begins selling legitimate chastity belts (I kinda kid, but really don’t Google this…seriously, don’t do it…smh).
That I can continue to have frank honest conversations with her about sex, domestic and child abuse and other topics that I thought would make my head explode but didn’t.
That I can get the donated bike spiffed up so Hope can go for the bike ride she’s been begging me about for months.
That more brown faces end up on the posters on the walls—just a bit of diversity please and thank you.
That our church embraces my desire to dedicate her at 13—charting new territory here.
That Hope’s ongoing theological questions and interest in church activities seals her accompanying interest in baptism.
That we manage to keep Jay and Bey Crabber (yeah, the crabs are named after the Carters…) alive for a significant amount of time—so far so good.
That Hope continues to reach milestones missed during some chaotic years.

2 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption Blogs, Adoption Lessons, Adoption Lessons Learned, Adoption Surprises, African American Adoption, African American Parenting, African American Single Adoptive Mom | posted in Dealing with the Past, Finalization Life, Lessons Learned

September 14, 2014

I Hope – Part 1

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I hope:

That the trauma monsters stop chasing us.
That Hope is freed from her fears of the past.
That we are freed from depression.
That our hot tempers cool with time.
That our patience grows.
That Hope grows up to be confident, self-assured and well adjusted.
That the next round of music lessons aren’t audibly painful.
That Hope grows to like some kind of physical activity.
That one day I won’t be shocked by all the movies that have adoption sub-themes.
That I will feel caught up with work, life and parenting one day.
That bio-aunt stops sending me chain emails…boundaries, people, boundaries. #icant #noreally #icant
I’ll get back to hitting happy hour with some some frequency in the next 5 years.
That I’ll be ready for another fur baby next year sometime.
That I can pull off a trip abroad next spring for us.
That one day I won’t have to ask if the bed has been made or the room has been tidied.
That one day she won’t be afraid of so many things.
That one day I’ll have a husband.
That I am able to model healthy relationships for Hope.
That her math skills will improve.
That we continue to have therapeutic breakthroughs.
That I won’t have to hide my favorite food forever.
That I find a spirit of sharing.
That my faith continues to grow.
That I can meet my first weight loss goal by year’s end.

7 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption Blogs, Adoption Lessons, Adoption Lessons Learned, Adoption Surprises, African American Adoption, African American Parenting, African American Single Adoptive Mom | posted in Dealing with the Past, Finalization Life, Lessons Learned

September 14, 2014

I Marvel – Part 4

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I marvel:

That Hope talks all through the movies, asking me questions as though I know what is going to happen next.
At how many movies have adoption sub-themes.
At how easily she will talk about all that she’s lost.
At how hard it is for Hope to have a positive view of the world.
At how she has segregated people by race and behavior in ways that upset me.
At how she has parlayed what she’s seen in terms of relationships into some really effed up views on gender roles and behaviors.
At how deep grief goes.
That she eventually comes clean with all her shenanigans.
That we have deep moments where we really talk.
That I can tell when she’s got a new crush (so friggin obvious).
That we have the most amazing and hilarious girl talk moments.
That I’m getting better at problem solving.
That I finally did volume production of frozen crockpot meals (this development was overdue).
That now that a spate of anger has passed the more affordable eye glass frames at Costco look appealing to her.
That we’re *still* talking about the teen foolishness that went down last month (it’s really a crucible for us).
That she’s into a groove with the nannies.
At how joy and pain can still reside so closely.
At how much I miss The Furry One.
At how I’ve kept the new hermit crabs- Beyonce and Jay-Z Crabbers alive for almost 3 weeks.
At how I dropped a couple of pounds this week.
At how this squat challenge I’m doing isn’t so bad now that I’m halfway through it.
At the stuff I still need to get Hope to prep for the winter weather.
At how excited I am to prep for fall break and spring break next year.
At how excited I am to start planning our trip to Bougieville (Martha’s Vineyard) next summer.
At how a tiny bit of weekend rest can cure some of what ails you.

1 Comment | tags: adoption, Adoption Blogs, Adoption Lessons, Adoption Lessons Learned, Adoption Surprises, African American Adoption, African American Parenting, African American Single Adoptive Mom | posted in Dealing with the Past, Finalization Life, Lessons Learned

September 12, 2014

I Marvel – Part 3

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I marvel:

That I still sometimes take her anger personally.
That I haven’t duct taped the door to her room shut when it’s dirty.
When we cycle through dark periods; they always surprise me.
That Hope has embraced a sense of middle class kid entitlement so quickly <side eye>.
At how kind and generous she can be even as she pushes me away.
At how many triggers to rages and shut downs there are.
At how exhausted such episodes make me.
At how my reactions to the rages and shut downs have changed.
At how many times in one day I can say “I don’t know.”
That my reasons for saying “I don’t know “ range from not really knowing to praying the exhausting conversation ends soon.
At how hard single parenting can be.
That I appreciate the lack of need to consult on parental decision making.
That I can’t seem to get to bed before 11pm because I need to wind down a bit after Hope goes to bed.
At how all of a sudden Hope isn’t mad that I signed her up for drama activities during her free periods.
At how she has come to enjoy our church.
At how she is finally interested in going to the church youth group.
At how she wants to volunteer.
At how many food wrappers I recently found under her bed.
At how I still hide my special foods.
At how rough the transition from being a singleton to a single mom is.
At how different this experience is than I imagined.

September 11, 2014

I Marvel – Part 2

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I marvel:

That 13 years ago, today on 9/11, I know exactly where I was and what I was doing for an entire 24 hour period, but what was going on in Hope’s life at 3 months old is a complete mystery.
At how Hope has evolved from exclusively wearing jeans and tees to leggings, tunics and *gasp* the occasional dress.
That we both have heard The Furry One’s barks, nails clicking on the floor and have seen his shadow since he passed away. We only both admitted it and had a good cry this week. (Yep, we are believers!)
At how routines make drama lessen and even disappear.
At how not reacting to drama somestimes helps to lessen it.
That Hope loves Absurdly Hot Therapist now.
That my Hope is such a boss at surviving.
That Hope is more resilient than me.
At how fortunate we are to have locked in two great part time nannies. Both have day jobs as child therapists and one is pursuing a PhD in child psych with emphasis in PTSD. Can we say #jackpot?
That I don’t hear stories that start with, “When I was 8…” as much anymore; Hope is moving past her trauma.
That my new Fitbit says I am getting 100% sleep efficiency. Clearly the thing is a piece of crap…#notreally
At how my faith has grown this year.
At the dumb ish 13 year olds are want to do.
That I fell in love this year.

August 27, 2014

Negative Energy

By AdoptiveBlackMom

Can I just say that I cannot wait until school starts? I might do cartwheels to the bus stop. This month has emotionally exhausted me. We need routine, and we need it bad.

The last month has been filled with a lot of bickering. Admittedly my patience in the midst of loss has been absurdly short. I was already tender and ouchie. Add to that Hope’s anxiety about returning to a school she says she hated and all sorts of adolescent drama and you’ve got a powder keg house. We can go from 0 to 60 faster than a sports car. It’s not been pretty. We really should be calling the fire house regularly because we can burn this joint down.

I hate admitting it because it makes me feel like a bad parent and certainly not a therapeutic parent. I’m kinda filled with shame at how just downright furious I feel 80% of the time.

During this period, I’ve noticed Hope absorbing and reflecting lots of negative energy.

Her self-esteem is already low, so whenever there are moments of angst, conflict, correction or whatever she sucks all that up and spits it out either with venom at me or with self-loathing. There is never a moment of bright, airy light. It’s always so negative. And whether it’s venom directed at me or her own self-loathing it sucks for both of us. It’s. Just. Awful.

I do a lot of affirmations with her. I work hard to shine some light and positivity on her—“Hope you’re smart, you’re funny, you’re lovely, you can do this….” It’s almost always deflected.

There are moments when she swings to the other end of the continuum. It’s during these moments that she can’t take correction because she is absolutely, unequivocally correct in all things. The need to be the “right” one is so strong that her very identity is wrapped in that rightness. When presented with evidence to the contrary there’s just rage. She rages a lot. The world isn’t really as she knows it; it’s dynamic and what was right yesterday may not be right tomorrow. That upsets her greatly.

I don’t deal with that well. Oh, I get the underlying need to be right; I have issues with wanting/needing to be right. But my identity isn’t defined by it. I see how this negatively impacts her ability to learn; she’s right and you are wrong so you couldn’t possibly teach her anything.

I am really worried about how she will do school this year. During the last couple of weeks I’ve been giving her worksheets for her weaker subjects so that she can get some practice. I’m heartbroken to find how far behind she is on foundational concepts she should’ve learned in 3^rd or 4^th grade. She missed so much school over the years, moved around so much that she was never even exposed to the material, much less learned it. And yet those few academic compliments she’s received from caring teachers on her journey are clung to with vice grips.

Trying to help her wrestle with academic shortcomings is hard. At the end of the day, Dr. ABM is just another dumb parent who has no effing idea what she’s talking about, according to Hope. The ego check isn’t the thing for me; the fact that she shuts herself off for growth and learning is the thing. Being smart is her shining beacon in an otherwise dark, dank self-worth. Anything that she might interpret as questioning her all-knowingness is to be crushed.

I worry about school this year. And I’m not sure what to do.

And everything else is out of whack too. It’s hard being 13, man! It’s hard being the mom of a 13 year old, man! It’s just hard around these parts.

This week we’ve navigated revealing more abuse that wasn’t in any of the disclosure documents, dumb adolescent ish, shopping for a birthday card for her bio-grandmother when all the granny cards are all lovely dovey and well, it ain’t that kinda party around here. Schedule changes, foot dragging, temper tantrums (mine and hers) and just dark, icky messiness that has made the house feel so negative that once a day I have to step out on the balcony just to step into the light.

I feel like I’m shadow boxing some kind of fighter that is straight kicking my ass. I’m almost on the defensive as soon as I get up in the morning. I try not to raise my voice. I try to just be quiet sometimes to just avoid escalating things. How we practice civility during the day would be very upsetting to the Nobel Committee because there are no peace prizes in the making around these parts.

I feel like I’m suffocating from the negative energy. It’s just negative energy in negative space.

I’m ready for school to start next week.

This post has been added to the Adoption Social’s #WASO link up.

14 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption and Parenting, Adoption Stories, African American Adoption, African American Parenting, Anxiety, Back to School, Grief, Parenting, Parenting Teens, Sadness | posted in Dealing with the Past, Finalization Life, Tween Parenting

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