Category Archives: The Transition

Adapting to Change

The last few days have been a bit of a whirlwind.  After being told to “take your time” putting together my photo book, I get a message at the end of last week asking it where it was and that my phone calls with Hope won’t start until after she has the book.   I ask many questions each week about the sequence of events, expectations, deliverables, etc.  No one pointed this out and I dropped everything and got the book done and ordered.  I hope it will be delivered later today, and I can make arrangements to have it sent out tomorrow so we can keep things moving.

I’ve also been anxious about scheduling visitation with Hope.  I’m desperate to see her and talk to her and spend time with her.  I gave some dates in the second half of October since I’m traveling for work soon and those dates had been locked in for a while.  Ha?! I get a late night email asking if I can come in about 15 days.  Yep, in about 2 weeks!

I got this email right before bed and had a complete and utter meltdown all night long.  I finally had to get up and take something for my anxiety around 1am.  It barely dulled the edge but it least it allowed me to go to sleep.

I’m dropping everything to go see Hope.  It’s what I want to do.  What I’m supposed to do.  What I’m entitled to do.  She is the most important thing in my life. I can’t wait to see my girl!

My late night anxiety stems from a couple of things:

First, there’s the awful realization that I really have been too entangled with my job; I’ve allowed it to define too much of me.  I naturally have a ‘fixer’ personality.  I like problems; I fix problems.  Work has a lot of problems and my job allows me to do a lot of research-based problem solving.  I love my job.  I am very accomplished in my work and within my sector, I am nationally recognized for my work.  I like that.   Admittedly, I like that lot.  What I do for a living has had a huge role in shaping my identity for the last decade.

I knew that my new identity as a mom would change some of that.  I’ll still do the things I do, but my focus and passions are split now.  My job doesn’t have full ownership of my identity.  Having to rearrange my schedule is technically easy; I didn’t anticipate having some kind of emotional response to it other than, “Dueces, folks—Mommyhood beckons!!”  This is the first time literally and symbolically that I see this identity crossroads I often hear about.  Yikes.  Achieving balance—a real tangible, livable version of it, not the stuff of magazines—is going to make me stretch again.  I anticipated the stretch, but I didn’t anticipate feeling it so strongly so quickly.

Second, I have probably fretted for more than an hour last night about how my boss will react to the news.  I finally announced the adoption to my staff yesterday.  I work in a small office,e and it was a hard secret to keep for so long.  Everyone was incredibly supportive, including my boss.  But that was before I planned to cancel a trip that we just confirmed I was making less than 24 hours ago.

My boss is incredibly supportive of my work and was very supportive of this new development in my life.  But here I am wondering what will be his real reaction to my canceling a trip because of Hope? All the questions about work, motherhood and having “it all” that I’ve managed to side step for 20 years all pervaded my thoughts in the middle of the night—which is an awful time for me to try to mull things over.   I am tired!

Finally, there’s the heavy anxiety associated with finally meeting my daughter in the flesh.  Now that dates have been proposed, it feels even more real than it did the day before.  Our mediated communications are very positive, and I’m finally chatting with her foster mom about day to day things.  What will our week in September really be like?  I know what it will be like:  It will likely mimic Chris Rock’s skit about dating someone’s representative.   We will both be on our best behavior, navigating one another’s newness, trying to build something.  It’s awesome and overwhelming too.  I can’t wait.  But it’s also contrived and hard to pull back layers of anything in a week.  But I can’t wait to make the trip and see my girl.

It’s probably all normal, but I don’t see much about these huge emotional lifts in the books, and with me deep in my dissertation research and writing, I haven’t much time to read too many other blogs these days.  But, I’ll adapt.  Plenty of women make it work.  I’ll figure it out.  In a few weeks to months, I’ll reflect on last night and kick around my mind around why I fretted so much about setting the visitation schedule and then being so anxious about it.

For now, I need to go put on a pot of coffee.


Foot in Mouth Syndrome

Hope was excited to get my letter and apparently liked my picture.  Things were going just fine until she got to a line in my letter in which I expressed excitement about tucking my kid in at night.

Whoops!  I stumbled on my first tween-angst-filled rock on the path.  Sigh.

Now I know that tweens are probably more like, “Get off me, get off me, get off me!” at bedtime rather than, “Hey will you read me a story?”  What I meant to convey was that I enjoy the ritual of just saying good night to family members at the end of the day.  When I’m visiting my parents I make a point of kissing them good night before we all retire for the evening.  It’s not all smoochy, smoochy, tuck you in kinda stuff, but it’s just a family acknowledgement of affection.  But with Hope it was clear that my excitement of kissing my 12 year old kid was not cool.  I sent the wrong message.

Well, in tween fashion, Hope let us all know that she wasn’t down with the “tucking in” stuff in a literal way.  She wondered if I really wanted a younger daughter instead of her.  Good grief, <crack> minor heartbreak, followed by lots of reassuring that no, I want Hope, in all her tween-esque, “please don’t reject me” glory.  I’m reading the update also in my own “please don’t reject me” glory.

We’ll have to create our family rituals. It’s all good.  It did feel like I made my first big stumble though.  I don’t want to upset Hope, and I certainly don’t want to scare her.  I have a feeling that my new adoptive mom angst combined with her tween, adoptive kid angst is going to lead to a few episodes of Foot in Mouth Syndrome (FMS) for us both.  It is ok, it’s natural, right? It doesn’t feel all that great for this natural overachiever, but it’s ok.  I can take it.

The good news is that it isn’t all stumbling over rocks, she does like me.

Hope likes me.

Apparently she talks about me all the time (see we have something in common—I talk about Hope obsessively).  She wasn’t as anxious this week, and she’s eager to learn more about me, about my life and potentially, our life.

Two steps forward, one stumble, but no ground loss…I think, we’ll see.

And so, now we’re back to just waiting until the next update.  Waiting blows.


Sparkly Enough?

“You know, we’re all looking at her pics thinking, “my child”, “my grandbaby”, “my niece”, but she gets to look at your pic and for the first time in a long time, she has the possibility of “my mom”. A lil scary for everyone, but I can’t imagine not having my mom, and to then have to have that window of possibility open because of a loving stranger across the country. Especially when she has needed and waited for that a long, longer than us. God really is amazing. #sundaymorningthoughts”

I’ve been traveling this weekend and have been chatting with one of my sister’s, Sister K (no, we’re not Catholic, and she’s not a nun, it’s just her blog pseudonym).  I received pictures of Hope last week and delightedly shared them with my immediate family.  We just can’t stop looking at this gorgeous kid.  She’s my phone screen saver and I can’t wait to have one of these pics put on canvas to hang on one of my walls.  I smile goofy grins when looking at her picture and when reading her little letter, which at current count, I’ve read only about 2500 times since receiving it last Tuesday.

But Sister K sent me the text message above and called my attention back to reality when she reminded me that Hope will get my response to her precious letter and my picture tomorrow.  And it will be the first time she sees me.  Holy moly!  Humans are incredibly visual beings.  What must be going through her mind?  Will she see my picture and think this could be “my mom?”  Will she think, “I guess I could live with her, she’s a’ight.”  Will she think, “Uhm, no.  Not going to work.”  What if she doesn’t see rainbows and sparkly unicorns when she sees my picture?  What if I’m her First No?  I’m hoping the fact that she already sent me a sweet, curious letter highlighting similar interest means that at least my original bio was some indication of my sparkliness.   What, if anything, will she feel?

I figure she might also be experiencing some of the anxiety I felt a week ago when I was waiting to hear back about her reaction to hearing about me.  Ugh, that was a really icky feeling last week.  I’m sure I gained a few more gray hairs.

My sister also triggered some thoughts about wanting a mom and wanting me for a mom.  This is the kid who has said she wanted two moms because in not having one, she figured she should double down on this whole mom thing (adorable kid reasoning, right?).  I’m wondering will I at least be passable enough to meet her lowest mom criteria (what might those criteria be?)?  And then will she think I—AdoptiveBlackMom—am good enough to be her mom?

Here’s the thing, this is an older child adoption.  She has somewhat of a say in whether this thing happens and whether it works.  I can’t imagine being in her shoes, experiencing the life she has to date and having so little a say in what has happened up to this point.  She has a little bit of power here, but I don’t know if she knows she has it, much less how to use it judiciously.

I’m not as anxious as I was before.  I just wonder a lot.  I want her to like me.  It all feels more a weird mix of trying to make new girlfriends in grade school and going out on a blind date.  The anxiety is manageable and laced with eagerness.  I want her to not just like me, I hope she will be find this to be a match and that she will be open to being mothered.  I’m not into the “Oh she will like you because you’re great.”  There are lots of great people out there, I’m ok.  I don’t need reassurances, well at least not from anyone but Hope.  Her reaction is really the only one that matters today.

I hope I’m sparkly enough!


An Unexpected Gift!

So two amazing things happened today.

  1. My dissertation quantitative study response rate tipped past 50%!  This high response rate wasn’t really necessary, but it is a really awesome development for my study.
  2. Way, way, way more important:  Hope sent me a letter.

Did you catch that???

 HOPE SENT ME A LETTER!!!

 So, I up until this point, I thought the rainbow, unicorned sparklies of seeing her profile could not be topped.  They were easily surpassed by Match Day.  Then today, out of the blue I get an email from my agency that included her letter, dictated to her therapist yesterday.

So, of course that makes today the new Best. Day. Ever!

My bio was given to Hope yesterday as a way of introducing to the idea of me adopting.  She was told that it was a letter, so she was insistent on responding back.   How awesome is that???

She likes me!  She really likes me!

She asked about The Furry One and what it was like in Virginia.  She told me about her hair and asked me if I would help her with it.  She asked about the schools , if she would have to buy a uniform and if we could go bike riding.  She mentioned that she’s a chocoholic too.  She said she looked forward to our first phone call.   It was, without question, the best letter ever written.  Ever!

I was in a staff meeting doodling on my tablet when this email came in, and I began to tear up as I read this sweet, precious letter from my new daughter.  What a thoughtful thing for this child to do, expressing curiosity and responsiveness.  I’d like to think that this might be a great beginning for our future communications even long after she moves here.  I’d like to think that maybe we will leave each other sweet notes in lunch bags and on the mirror and that we’ll talk about important things on park benches with some ice cream a year from now.

I also know that I’ll have a laminated copy of this letter for those nights I’ll clutch it while I cry myself to sleep when I’m wondering what the hell kind of parent I am and if I just totally bombed that moment of discipline, bonding, or conversation.  I’ll look at this letter and remember when she was curious about me, eager to know me and how I almost had to hold myself back for fear of giving too much too soon.

I know that some moms have told me that me that loving a child nearly breaks your heart because it is like your heart can’t even hold all the love for this kid in one place.  That love just grows and grows.  I know that the affection I feel for Hope will change and grow, but I already feel my heart stretching in ways I didn’t know were even possible.  I’m starting to get it, but I’m not sure I have the words to describe this kind of consuming desire to protect and love Hope.  It’s actually startling; two months ago, I didn’t even know she was out there.

I’m so excited that I’ve cried most of the day.  Seriously, I’m going to have to get better waterproof mascara if this keeps up.   On days with breaking adoption news, I’m crying my make up off by noon.   These days its happy tears.  I  hope I get to cry happy tears tomorrow!


K E Garland

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