Tag Archives: adoption and education

She Did It!

So, Hope is off at college. When I think about it, it’s pretty mind blowing. When I started this journey, of course I wanted my eventual son or daughter to go to college. Once Hope entered my life, I quickly realized that there were certainly way more realistic goals to have. College became a far away, almost abstract concept. I was hopeful, and I did whatever I could to still get her to college.

And I got a lot of feedback along the way.
“Maybe college isn’t for her.”

“It’s not for everyone.”

“She can have a good life without going to college.”

All of the feedback was true, but it didn’t get to the central issues about why I, ABM, was committed to getting her as close to college as I could—even if it was delayed.

Education is very much a central part of my own identity. It is one pathway to more choices, and I believe that choices lead to greater freedom. I want more than anything for Hope to feel free. Education, college, is a pathway to that.

So, fast forward 4 years to the end of Hope’s junior year of high school. We had long talks and agreed that she would start out at the local community college and work towards transferring to a 4 year school at a later date.

Then came the summer program, which also saw Hope do really well academically. That was followed by a year at the boarding school, where she still struggled academically, but had a lot more support.

That school required applications to 3 colleges. Hope ended up applying to 5. By the time it was over, we visited 3, 4 including the community college, aced her placement exam and fell in love with a small liberal arts college in the mountains of VA.

I get a little emotional when I think about the changes she has gone through this year. Last week as we were talking about the big move, I asked her what she thought this next year would bring given how this year took us in a completely different direction that we planned. She shrugged and smiled.

I imagine that next summer, Hope could be on the other side of world, living her dream in an Asian country soaking up the culture, the food and the language.

In the meantime, I’m reveling in the fact that my beautiful brown girl is a campus coed, a new Wildcat and finding her way in the world.

Here are some highlights from our journey this week, just in case you don’t follow my FB page (which you totally should)!

 

Totally turns out that we “weren’t” that family. We ended up being modest, as best. Someone even called Hope’s stuff “streamlined.” Kids bring a helluva lot of stuff to college with them.

One of the most disturbing revelations of the trip. I’m still so horribly embarrassed.

The roommate had a beanbag chair, so Hope needed a beanbag chair.

A rare Hope sighting! BTW, she’s still taking questions for Ask Hope! <<—Click the link to drop us an email!

I’ve already had to send her a package since she managed to forget her wallet in the car and flip flops. I also sent a few of those ultrasonic pest repellent doodads.


What Hope’s Graduation Taught Me

Yesterday was one of the best days of my life. Watching my daughter walk across the stage and graduate surrounded by family and friends was such a wonderful experience that really, it’s almost hard to explain. Family, friends and even colleagues drove a long way to join us for this event, and it was more than I could have dreamed.

During the processional, I gasped and choked up because it was so real. Getting to this day was a long hard slog through not just regular teen years, but through a history of trauma, anxiety, depression, placement, adoption, just so much stuff. Sooooo much. I just started to cry because it was a culmination of so much love and effort and dreams and prayers.

One thing that was especially special about Hope’s graduation day was the presence of her biological family. This day represented the full on merging of Hope’s family. Hope knew that her aunt would be coming, but as she descended the stage with her diploma to return to her seat she caught sight of her aunt and the delight on her face…my heart smiled.

Now I’m not going to lie, there were moments leading up to the graduation that were emotional. There were members of my family who didn’t want to share Hope, who still super side eyed her family, who just had feelings about them attending this event. I’m glad that I made my own declaration early on that this was our, my and Hope’s family, and that there would be space and love for them. On yesterday, the merging was seamless, and the excitement turned to talk about all the parties there will be when Hope graduates from college.

It was so much more than I could ever of hoped for and that’s because we all centered what was best for Hope.

There is so much discussion in adoption about the triad—birth family, adoptees and adoptive parents. We rarely highlight the ripple effect that adoption has throughout whole families. The removal, placement, adoption, whatever terms we use, of a child from their family of birth reverberate across a family like a skipped rock on a body of water. The absence of that child is a hole, and the trauma of it is far more widespread that we care to acknowledge.

Hope’s relationship with her paternal family is complicated and losing her to foster care…well in these 5 years, I’ve learned that everyone in her family has a story and big feelings about that. There is a lot of emotion; there’s a lot of sadness, a lot of pain about how it all went down. I have my views and opinions of the story, but real talk, I wasn’t there, so I have to listen. Hope has her version of what went down too, and I listen.

There is so much hurt.

And the only way to heal it is to pitch that big tent and constantly try to cultivate an environment of inclusion. Graduation was a big tent event, and as a parent in general, you don’t always get to sit back and say, hey, I got it right, but I got yesterday right. Yesterday was a healing day for Hope and this family.

There were so many tears. There were tears of joy, of grief, of loss, of pride, of happiness. My daughter sobbed for a good 10 minutes as she was feted by family and friends. In the moment, noting concern by some guests, I just said my daughter was overwhelmed—and she was— but it was more. As much as my own family was there to support and celebrate, the presence of biological ties was just so powerful in this moment.

Having an open adoptive relationship with my daughter’s biological family is critical. I believed it before, but yesterday, the confirmation of that belief was so strong and so true that it makes whatever criticisms I might’ve endured on this journey possible. They are members of our village; full stop.

The second big thing that I learned yesterday was just how much this achievement meant to Hope. I remember early on that Hope thought I was nuts for wanting her to dream about going to college. She quickly got on board with at least humoring me. I know that Hope has humored my pushing and prodding for years now. I also know that my pushing and prodding was not always a healthy thing for her. Upon reflection, I know that there are times when my pushing and prodding were directly contributing to her low self-esteem and depression around not living up to standards I’d set. I know I was less than flexible sometimes. I also know that even here in this space, readers encouraged me to pull back, to remember that college wasn’t for everyone.

I’ve heard you, and I’ve reflected on that a lot this year.

And yet, yesterday, after Hope, Sister M and I had packed up her dorm and we were making one last stop on campus to pick up something from the band room, Hope sat in my car, heaved a big sigh and said, I did it. I graduated from high school!

It was a record scratch moment for me since of course, it never occurred to me that she wouldn’t finish high school. I was always focused on what would happen beyond high school. Never in a million years did I ever think Hope would not finish high school.

But there was a time when Hope didn’t think she’d finish high school. I did not know this before that moment.

It was an assumption for me, but not for Hope.

I pressed her for why she didn’t think she’d graduate from high school. Well, the response was easy for her—look at all she had been through, why would she think she would graduate from high school? Look at the trauma, the loss, the hardship, the rejection, the lack of permanence and instability for years, why would she think she would be able to finish high school?

High school graduation should be a momentous occasion, but when your life was such an unstable mess for so long, you stop dreaming about it.

I realized in this moment that graduation was even more pivotal for Hope. It was more than just a personal achievement, but it also represented that she was on track and that maybe she really could start dreaming. The uncertainty of the college search took a lot out of Hope this year; it marked another transition that made her questioned herself. It marked another thing she had to go through the motions on, but still tried for a while to remain somewhat detached from in order to protect her fragile emotions. Graduation is freeing; she did it! She can do it. If she did it once, she can do it again. That is real for Hope.

The revelation is real for me. She is now so excited about going to college. Graduation is the ultimate confidence booster!

And finally, the last lesson for me, the Holy Homeboy still has jokes for me. I have had lifelong issues with a lack of patience; I thought that it was the ultimate joke that he fated me to jump into parenting a 12-year-old as I stretched into middle age. He pushed and pulled me, stretched me in ways I didn’t know possible, especially challenging my own notions of morality, personal values, parenting, family, education and health. One of my biggest personal values struggles was how Hope didn’t fit into my ideals about academic performance.

Of course, at the time, I didn’t appreciate how she never saw herself making it this far. I do now, which makes my revelation all the more meaningful.

Hope’s academic performance, her struggles, were sadly an ongoing challenge for me. I value education so strongly, I found it personally offensive. I know it wasn’t right. I know that lengths I went to try to “help” Hope improve were not helpful to her mental and emotional health. I know that my dreams for her were a source of stress.

I have never not felt so strongly about education. I do believe it is key to social mobility and financial freedom. It is all I’ve ever known. The ongoing confrontation to that belief system has been difficult.

And then yesterday, I realized a couple of things. Hope spent two years in honors classes where she did reasonably well in before things went downhill. Those grades are weighted, which set a solid base for her overall GPA. She graduated with a reasonable GPA. She lettered in her freshman year thanks to band. I didn’t realize when she entered her senior year that she only needed a couple of credits, really like two required courses, all other requirements had been completed. She went to a college prep school, and yeah, she struggled, but the curriculum was rigorous. Her squadron earned honor status among all the school squadrons for their overall adherence to all the important things in JROTC.

In the end, Hope graduated from a tough college prep school with an advanced diploma because she had way more credits than necessary; she has a special ROTC designation, and is college bound. Things I figured were just beyond us, and yet it is right where we ended up. Better than fine.

And the Holy Homeboy laughs at me (again) for trying to muck up his plans for me and my family.

So, yeah, yesterday was a big, effing deal for me and Hope. It was also full of life lessons for me. Family, all family, is important. Our kids can dream and can achieve. I gotta trust the process and my faith that things will end up just they way they are supposed to.

Yesterday was a good day.


It’s Almost Here

It’s hard to believe that Hope will graduate in less than 48 hours. I remember when I started this adoption thing that I could hardly imagine getting to this major life event. Then when Hope arrived at what is now our home, I knew it would happen, but I really didn’t, no couldn’t, focus on it. There were so many hurdles to get over that I wouldn’t really let myself think about it too much.

And then this year, Hope moved to the new school and we launched into this senior year. The events, the applications, the essays, the FAFSA, the college visits, the waiting, the anxiety, the drama, the joys, the sadness, the decision about what to do next. Each thing seemed to take so much out of us, separately and together.

As a parent, I fretted endlessly. I still worried about her grades and social interactions. I had to try to stay on top of the growing calendar of events. I had to check in about deadlines. I navigated figuring out how Hope dealt with money. I had to find the right balance of being a supportive yet firm parent. I decided a long time ago I wouldn’t exactly be a helicopter parent, but I definitely am not one of these new bulldozer parents. I like to think that I am a coaching parent. I want Hope to find her way, and I’ll clear a few things, but I will coach her through as much as I can.

This year, Hope and I have grown much closer, despite the miles between us. We don’t necessarily talk every day, but we do connect. Over breakfast this weekend, we chuckled at how much more alike we’ve become. Hope said something like we were destined to be, and it made me smile inside.

And here we are, at graduation with plans for college in the fall. It is really amazing how far we’ve come in these 5 years.

Saturday Hope’s family will come together to attend the ceremony. A small group of Hope’s extended biological family will be there too. I know there will be tears. There will be joy and celebration.

And I am beside myself with emotions.

My sweet girl came to me so hurt. Our plans consisted of getting through the day, the week, maybe the month. Now look her. #startedatthebottom #nowwehere

She has worked so hard. I know she doesn’t see herself the way I see her; I wish she could, and maybe one day she will. She is funny, charming, strong, capable and increasingly brave. I know she will set the world ablaze, and I’m so blessed to have had a chance to parent her.

Our journey is not over, stay tuned.


College Bound

I just paid the deposit to the college that Hope has decided to attend this fall.

And now I’m sitting here crying.

It’s amazing how going to a website, clicking few links that carried me to Paypal and a few more key strokes represent such a monumental thing for Hope. I feel so many emotions.

I am joyous. Anxious. Excited. Scared. Worried. Hopeful. Proud. Relief.

Hope made her decision before I left on my vacation to Italy last week. After a visit to the community college, she was clear that she felt like the college would be a better fit for her. I fretted that she might be comparing the schools in an unfair light, so I pointed out a few key things to consider. I offered to sit down with her and make a pro/con list.

She reiterated her decision, clearly, concisely.

As I left on my trip, I asked her to discuss it during last week’s therapy appointment. When I returned I asked her about her decision and whether she had talked about it with AbsurdlyHotTherapist.

Yep, and she was still going to college.

Hmmm, ok. I *still* kicked a little dirt for a few days, and then today, I did my part and ponied up the deposit.

I am relieved that this chapter is over. This college application thing is cray. It’s crazy if you have high achieving kids, regular kids and struggling kids. It’s just cray. I’m glad that Hope had options, and I’m glad that she feels good about her decision. I’m also glad that it wasn’t my decision. It shouldn’t have been and I’m glad it wasn’t.

Our trip to the college, located in the Blue Ridge Mountains in VA (though not that town dear pal who shall remain nameless), was just lovely. The school is very small, less than 1,000 students and really seems committed to giving students like Hope the chance they need. It’s about 3.5 hours away from home, but connects are about 1.5 hours away if necessary. There’s also a direct train to DC, making it very accessible. I felt good about the place; it’s clear she felt good about it as well. Of all the schools we visited—they were all nice and Hope said she could see herself at each of them—this one seemed different. It featured elements of the other schools and also offered some educational offerings they others didn’t.

As I thought about her decision, I also talked to AbsurdlyHotTherapist and my own therapist about how best to support her. Really, ultimately it was about letting her know that this decision isn’t permanent; she can change her mind, transfer or change course if necessary. It was about reminding her that I will be here to support her and what’s best for her. I hope that knowing that contributed to her ability to step out and try.

I’m looking forward to her being home this summer. I miss her. I’m not going to lie though, I’m excited that she will be attending the college in the fall. It was hard to get over the empty-nest thing. I wasn’t looking forward to going through it all over again, even though I know I will in some ways. I’ve gotten back into some of my old habits, lightening up the diet a bit and knowing that whatever I put down somewhere is going to be right where I left it.

All that said, I’m reflecting a lot on when I made my own college decision 28 years ago. The emotions I feel right now are eerily similar—excitement, fear, pride, anxiety, joy, worry! I remember wondering what my parents thought and how this was all going to work out. All these years later, I still wonder how it’s all going to work out.

I’m proud of Hope. I’m so in awe of this kid; she never fails to amaze me.


Oh to be Normal…

This week, I told a good friend and fellow AP, that I just longed to be normal. Merriam-Webster defines normal as “conforming to a type, standard, or regular pattern.”

Hmmm, well, the truth is that Hope and I are a kind of normal. We are also below average and extraordinary. It all depends on the benchmark, right?

The reality is that there are days and sometimes weeks or months that I wish we were my kind of normal, the normal that I grew up with and as.

The normal that means maybe she was my biological child with a partner. The normal that didn’t include any sorts of the kinds of trauma that Hope has endured. The kind of normal that never considered Hope not having always been a part of this family. The kind of normal that included loving school and books and having a deep-seated, natural curiosity. The kind of normal that included different kinds of achievement, certificates, and recognitions. The kind of normal that looks and feels, upon reflection, easy.

Now that’s all true, but glosses over a kind of normal that had me running away more than a few times during my formative years. The kind of normal that made me often question whether I was “normal” at all. The kind of normal that made me shoulder a self-imposed burden of over-achievement. The kind of normal that had me wondering sometimes how I fit into my family. The kind of normal that made me so riddled with self-esteem issues that I wrestled with an eating disorder for years.

Yeah, that kind normal.

So, when I say that I long to be normal with Hope, what I really mean is that I wish this were easier, and doesn’t every parent want that?

This college application thing has given me a lot to ponder over the last few weeks. This process ain’t for punks, and I can see how easy it must be for parents to get so sucked into the possibility of bulldozing all the barriers out of the way. You just wish it was easier.

And then there’s the part that’s public in all this.

Your kid is a senior, so everyone asks what’s next? And *of course* you’re going to college, so where are you going? And certainly, it’s got to be a name brand school, right? ABM, is she going to your alma mater? What about this school or that school? There are so many questions, so many, and you just wish people would stop asking because 1) you don’t have answers and 2) you might not have the *right* answers for your social circle and the side eyes are forthcoming.

And yeah, I know I shouldn’t care, but I’m human.

I know that if Hope was my biological child, we would still be right where we are. That doesn’t give me comfort, because right here is uncomfortable.

The colleges are judging and evaluating Hope, and my contemporaries are judging and evaluating me and my parenting. And because adoptive parents are often put on these absurd pedestals and expected to save and rehab our kids, I fret that people are wondering why Hope isn’t applying to Princeton, which is simply absurd.

Yes, I know it’s absurd on multiple levels.

There is so much that the general public doesn’t get about adoption and trauma. People think that adoption fixes everything, when it’s just another starting over point in the journey. It resolves the issue of permanence and creates a potential environment for healing (hopefully) but that is a long, complicated process that doesn’t necessarily have an endpoint.

So, when some folks ask me where Hope is going to school, the inquiry feels as much about what’s next for her as it is about how successful am I in fixing her. And maybe all of that is just my insecurity—it’s possible. It’s possible I’m just centering myself (but hey the blog is about my journey, so…..). I just know I wish people would stop asking because this process is a trash heap and the May 1st deadline to decide cannot come fast enough.

And my feelings on all of this may change once a decision has been made. #idoubtit

The decision is something I fret about endlessly. I know what is in Hope’s best interest academically. I feel like I know what is best for her emotionally and psychologically. I feel like there are great options on the table that meet her where she is. That said, I feel like Hope is so overwhelmed by the options and just the whole idea of everything that it is somewhat paralyzing. I’m not sure what she wants, whether she knows what she wants, whether there’s even a clear sense to her thought process at all even though I can see her trying on different ideas and options.

Hell, she still thinks it’s possible for her to learn and possibly major in piano this summer. We’re not totally based in reality here.

It is exhausting for both of us. It is hard.

It’s probably both our version of normal and more generally normal in the grand scheme of things.

And I still just wish it was easier.

A decision about what will be next for Hope is coming, (technically she has made it but I’ve told her I want her to consult with AbsurdlyHotTherapist about her decision process), and then we will fret about the implementation of that decision. It feels like a black hole to me. I like to fix things and I can’t fix this.

I wish it was easy and a different version of normal.


My Failure

Before I became Hope’s mom, I had a pretty firm idea of what kind of parent I would be. I thought about all the good things I learned from my parents and how I would build on that. Having always planned to pursue older child adoption, I thought, yeah, sure I would learn about trauma and how that impacted things but on the front end, that naively translated into me doing a few more “there, there” sayings and going to therapy.

Over these last 5 years, I’ve experienced a lot of cognitive dissonance between what I thought parenting would be and what it is. My life has been consumed by figuring out my way through the fun house that is parenting and the haunted house that is parenting through trauma. It’s nothing like what I thought it would be, which is something I’m sure everyone says, but for me, being overwhelmed and sometimes consumed by my daughter’s trauma has been a struggle. It’s been a struggle to parent, and honestly, it’s been a struggle to keep my wits about me to function personally.

I think I’ve been a good parent to Hope; I hope that one day she will reflect on our relationship and see more good than bad. That said, there are definitely times where I reflect and think to myself, “Well, you really effed that up.”

I think in my last post many readers thought I was saying that Hope failed by not being a better student or gaining entrance to her preferred school or that she needed to settle for community college. Alas, no, I was really pondering my own failures around this chapter of our lives together.

Yes, education is important to me, critical even, for reasons I’ve written about and largely have to do with race and class. For me, education is very much a part of my identity. As a parent, education is one of those non-negotiable value things. It’s just that important. Now that doesn’t necessarily mean that it has to be a 4 year school, followed by a masters degree, but well, yeah, I’d love it to.

When Hope first moved here, I considered holding her back a grade to give her time to mature and to find some “ease” in the school work that she would have had previous exposure to. I ended up not making that move so as not to devastate our new mother-daughter relationship. At the time, I fretted that she might never forgive me or attach if I took such a drastic move, even though the educator in me thought it might be the best decision for her academically. In retrospect, I still believe it would have been the right decision for her academically; I know that the extra year for her might have also given us more time to bond. Of course, I’ll never know, and it doesn’t really matter now.

Over the years, I made sure that Hope had access to tutors when necessary. I let her take the SAT really early just so she would have exposure to it early and regularly. I sent her to a learning center for tutoring and coaching for nearly a year. I insisted that she go to summer school last summer to help pull her grades up a little and maybe build some confidence since I know that school is challenging for her on numerous levels. Then the big decisions came; Hope decided she wanted to spend her senior year at this school. I supported it and ponied up.

Throughout these years, I wondered if she would be ready for a 4-year school when the time came, ie immediately following graduation. I wasn’t sure, especially since she is on the younger side of her class, her academic profile wasn’t particularly strong and maybe she needed more time. More than a year ago, Hope and I discussed her future; we agreed that it probably would be best if she planned to go to the local community college and eventually transfer. At the time she was heavy into her independent language study and one of the local campuses offered a course of study that would be a good fit for her interest in linguistics. The decision gave us a clear path and something realistic to focus on.

And then Hope went to the new school. I love the structure that it gives her; it’s a highly regimented military school. She didn’t have to worry about clothes since it’s all uniforms. She didn’t have to worry about bedtimes or food or some things she fretted about at her old school. As we slid into the fall, we found that the prep school had a 3-college application requirement.

This is where my current failure began.

Me: Required college applications? Huh, that makes sense…prep school and all. Wait, this means we actually should look at 4-year schools????

That was like giving me a hit of something ridiculously addictive and expecting me not to chase that damn high.

I was off and running. The guidance counselor and I kibitzed about size and school type, colleges were recommended, and we visited the first one. I. WAS. ALL. IN.

Hope was not all in, and I remember her initiating a conversation with me about this change in plan.

Me: Yeah, I know but look, you have to apply anyway? It’s a formality! Dream and who knows, maybe the plan is supposed to change!

And Hope, who despite her having found her voice and a bit of agency and autonomy, caved like a wobbly tent in a hurricane. I was the hurricane. Hope applied to three schools. Added a fourth, realized it was the wrong school and instead of withdrawing her application, simply added the correct school.

[Don’t even talk to me about application fees.]

After the applications were submitted, I completed the FAFSA and started to come off of my high. And when you come down, reality starts to smack you around.

Me: Oh ishtay! What if us [me] getting all into this was a really bad move? What if she doesn’t get in anywhere? What if she doesn’t want to do this? What have I done?

Yeah, but we’re in it now, and Hope has gotten invested.

And then things really went left. My conundrum really began.

Hope’s therapist and guidance counselors agree that it probably is best for Hope to come home and go to community college. This of course was what our intention was 8 months ago; then things changed. But now, we are betwix and between her being so invested in the remaining applications and having embraced the idea of going to a 4 year school like her peers at this school and my believing in my heart and with the professionals that she probably should be home for at least a year.

I broached it with her, reminding her that it wasn’t that long ago that community college was our plan.

Her: Yeah, I know but I got into that school. You said the goal is always to have more than one option—there are still two more options out there.

Me: Huh, so you listened to that message…. #shocked #parentingwin

We have to ride this out.

The thing is, there are countless times I have fought to the mat for her and what’s best for her. My failure this time was not fighting for her and for her wellbeing. In my daze to maybe get Hope’s path back into congruence with my idea of what it should be, I forgot about her as a person who needed me to get the school to see her needs and make some adjustments suited for her.

I failed. Not her, me.

No, it’s not a failure that will destroy everything as we know it

And sure *fail* may sound harsh, but given how many parenting fails there are….jeeesch. Failing is ubiquitous to parenting. They go together like PB & J. So, no worries, I’m good, just reflective and wishing I’d taken a different path.#thistooshallpass

So, now it’s about riding it out, studying Hope’s options and figuring out what is in her best interests. And this whole experience isn’t a waste; it just could be…different. I could and probably should have handled it all differently.

I don’t regret Hope having ambition; I want her to want big things for herself. I’m kind of glad that she became invested; what I regret is that I didn’t listen to her early on, that I didn’t ask for some accommodations and that I didn’t look at the big picture that centered her well-being.

Now, I do think that once we get through this and make some decisions that things will be fine. I also think that while I worry about my daughter’s emotional well-being always right now, that this will turn into a good learning experience about trying, stretching, success and choices. I know it will be ok; I just wish I had handled it differently during the thick of things.

It isn’t the end of the world. We will be visiting the school in a few days and visiting the community college next week.

Stay tuned!


My Conundrum

Hope will graduate in 55 days, and it’s still unclear what will happen after that, other than coming home.

In total, my daughter applied to 5 schools. Her school required 3 applications. She initially applied to 3, accidentally applied to one and purposefully added the last school. To date, she has only been accepted to one school—the one she accidentally applied to. We are waiting to hear from two schools, but I’m not optimistic this late in the application season.

This process has been…somewhat grueling. There’s a lot of hurry up and wait in college admissions. There’s also a lot of big emotions. You are asking people to judge you on past performance and potential and to make a determination about whether you can be successful there. There’s a lot of vulnerability there.

It feels even more vulnerable when you aren’t the best student, test taker and have spent the last 5 years in a family of overachievers.

AbsurdlyHotTherapist reached out recently to tell me how things were going with Hope. I knew things were rough; I also knew that this admissions process was weighing on her self-esteem and that the fear of what’s next was also weighing heavily. I asked if we really should just change course and go back to the community college plan; he said yes. So, I reached out to the guidance counselor and suggested that maybe all this college stuff was making things really difficult for Hope. She replied that essentially Hope is not ready for college.

So, we’re back where we started, and that’s ok. Except that now we’ve coached Hope to have hope about going to a 4 year school, made her go through the process and basically watched her fail. So now the original plan feels like plan b because of failure rather than plan a because of appropriateness.

As a mom who had high hopes and expectations for Hope and insisted that she throw herself into this process, I feel like a lot of this is my fault. Hope made a big decision to go to this school (which she sometimes seems to regret now) and that decision triggered my own instincts to aim much higher than what might’ve been appropriate for my daughter academically and emotionally. I feel horrible about contributing to all this. I feel awful that I contributed to Hope’s stress.

And yet, I also feel like some of this pressure was necessary. Hope’s struggles with school are both extrinsic and intrinsic; some aspects of this part of our journey is a major reckoning of natural consequences. She and I’ve discussed this, and she sees her own role in the struggle that is school. But we both see and acknowledge that there are definitely things beyond her control.

I’ve worked really hard to set Hope up for success, conventional success and other forms as well. I haven’t been perfect, hardly, but I love my daughter. If I could change everything for her, I would. Heck, the recent college admissions scandal had one family paying $15,000 to facilitate admission; I joked with friends that I could scrape that together on behalf of Hope. My circle of pals always talk about this kind of thing; how unfair it is, and how so few have access to those kinds of resources, access and privilege. We talk about it, but we also largely have access to all three because we are incredibly hardworking and fortunate.

A recent brunch outing with a friend revealed a link to a contact at the first-choice school where Hope was not admitted; my friend offered to inquire on our behalf, maybe her application could be “re-reviewed.”

Gosh, I wanted to say yes. It was on the tip of my tongue. This is the kind of privilege that we all want right? You want to have those well-placed contacts at your fingertips to assist you, to help you garner the access that you want, even if you don’t deserve it. It didn’t shock me that someone in my circle probably had a connect, but throughout the process, I never once considered reaching out.

I paused a moment, wishing I could smooth this path for Hope. I declined the intervention. That school fairly quickly denied Hope. It felt like a swift and painful rebuke. But the reality is that even if I could get her in; then what? She goes and finds that she legit wasn’t ready to go there. She struggles academically, emotionally, socially and then what? Possibly flunk out because she should not have been there, and her application indicated such.

I imagined a fix on my end that just set Hope up for devastation. I could never do that to her.

So, now I’m back to figuring out our current plan. Do we go visit the school where Hope was admitted and figure out whether it might actually be a blessing in disguise? Or do we concede that maybe this 4 year college thing really is a bit premature? Or something else?

I don’t know.

I also am afraid. What if Hope doesn’t launch? What if her room becomes akin to her living in my non-existent basement? How long will it take for her to mature and figure things out? Will she find her calling, and not just some career that *sounds* cool? Can I continue to be patient while she figures this out? And how will this affect us financially?

It feels selfish to say these things, but I would be lying if I didn’t acknowledge these thoughts and more were swirling around in my head.

I adore Hope. I believe in her; I do. I know she is afraid and worried about the future.

And so am I.


Empty Nesting

I just got home from the office and I’m posted up on the couch with Yappy. It’s just the two of us.

IMG_20180917_181159

Me, Yappy & his impressive side eye.

I’m trying to decide what I’m going to have for dinner, especially since it’s just me.

I’m a little anxious because it feels like I *should* be doing something.

Oh right, Hope is away at school, so…

There’s no one else to say hi to when I get home.

There’s no one to cook dinner for in the evenings.

There’s no homework for me to check in on.

There’s no monitoring of internet usage while studying to do.

There’s no planning for the football game and band parenting to do.

It’s just me and Yappy, and I have feelings that I’m still sorting through.

The first week Hope was away was similar to when she went away to school this summer. I was exhausted. I know parents are exhausted; the constant vigilance that parenting requires is kind of draining. This summer I could barely get off of the couch the first week she was away. This time I was recovering from our vacation and had a bit of jetlag so I was exhausted, but it wasn’t quite as bad as the first time she went away to school.

Last week, week two, I spent the extra time working. I worked late and brought a bit of work home to do in the evenings since I could and I needed to catch up on some things that languished while I was in Europe.

This week, I’m getting my bearings a bit. I am thinking about rallying and going to the gym this evening. I’ve got a happy hour night and a date night planned this week. I’m thinking about my plans for the weekend as well. And if those plans fall through, I will pivot in my freedom and do something spontaneous or nothing at all.

I like the freedom. It’s kind of nice.

But I really do miss Hope.

We’re getting into a rhythm where I text her in the morning, maybe sending a picture of Yappy or a goofy selfie. She responds when she gets out of class with an update about her day. We trade a few messages before she heads off to an activity. I’ll get an itemized receipt for something she bought at the bookstore. I’ll get a little annoyed about how she spent $4 on a pack of gum at the overpriced bookstore and I’ll go on Amazon to ship her a multipak for the same price.

I might spend some time on YouTube looking at funny videos to send her. I might find some hairdo on Pinterest that we might try on her when she comes home. I’ll make a list of the appointments that need to be crammed into her next visit home–therapist, dentist, hairdresser.

She came home this past weekend, and I ended up being pretty quiet for a good chunk of the weekend. Hope had so much to share. I didn’t want to interrupt her because I relished hearing her voice. I also found myself in awe of her.

She rattled off the homework that needed to get done over the weekend. I told her it sounded like a lot; she replied it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. She showed me her graphic arts assignments, and I quietly marveled at how creative she was. She told me about how one of her teachers was encouraged to achieve a certain rank in the next few weeks and what that meant for her. I smiled. She shared how she and her roommate were getting on, and how a momentary issue that might’ve resulted in her switching roommates was easily resolved because she and her roommate wanted to stay together. They were eager to continue practicing English and Chinese together. I chuckled to myself about her early fears that her roommate might ignore her because of the language barrier and culture concerns. She smiled and shook her head when I showed up on campus to sign her out for the weekend with my “Not Today Colonizer” t-shirt on, because I’m nothing if not an agitator. I happily watched all the “woke” videos about social justice that she watched and saved on FB  just to share with me when she had a chance. We talked about politics and the latest with the Kavanaugh SCOTUS nomination; she has thoughts, y’all.

She told me about her upcoming SAT and ACT tests that she was not eager to take a few short months ago. She told me how she learned how to do stage lighting as she works backstage on the school play and announces that she might audition for a part in the next one; I hold my breath because I seriously don’t know who this kid is. I still didn’t have a picture of Hope in her duty uniform, and I didn’t want to bother her with it for fear that she’d huff and puff and blow my house down. I just asked her to take a selfie in her uniform when she had a chance. I nearly cried when she insisted that I wait while she changed into her uniform so I could take all the pictures I wanted when I took her back to school; she was proud to show me what she looked like in uniform. I saw how neat her room was (thank you daily room inspection) and smiled that someone managed to bring order to her life.

Hope is happy. Nearly every moment of her day is dictated for her, and she’s just thriving. I’m so happy for her.

And then I turn a bit sad because I could not do this for her at home. I could not create or provide enough structure to help her be this kind of successful. I had to find a place to do that because I couldn’t. There’s a bit of all of this that feels like a failure. I know it’s not, but a tiny bit of it pinches my heart because I couldn’t do this at home.

I know that she would have revolted if I tried to do this at home. This military school has given her purpose. I know that my role was to get her to a place where she could go there and thrive. I know that it’s not failure; this is a raging success. All that I poured into this kid got her to this place, and I was fortunate enough to be able to give her a chance at conventional success at this school. That is a salve to my soul.

But it still stings a bit. There’s something that feels kind of wrong after 4 years to send her away for her final year of high school. I mean, I didn’t send her away, Hope made this choice and it really was her choice. Hope and I thought that she would be a late bloomer, maybe staying home for a few years. She may still home, but I also see and know that she will be fine going away to school next year, so…we’re starting to look at small schools that can give her what she needs. The landscape has totally changed.

I know I can take credit for this…that *we* can take credit for this, but I still miss her. I kinda miss the exhaustion of worrying about whether she’s studying or staying up sneaking the laptop while eating candy all night. I don’t miss the dysfunctional trust issues we still work through, but I miss the some of the absurd routine behaviors that accompanied them.

Sometimes I feel silly and will email the dorm counselor to check in and see if Hope is really thriving as she appears to be. I check on her grades, bracing myself for the disaster I had become used to seeing when I checked grades. Dorm counselor emails back with glorious things to say and pictures of Hope’s room at last inspection. Grades come back with A’s and not the kinds of grades I used to see that made both of us feel like shyt. Hope calmly texted me that about my reaching out to the counselor last week. I read it as though she were mad and lashed out. #truthtelling She just explained the situation as she saw it and provided some additional information and context that the dorm counselor didn’t share. #contextiseverything I felt silly, having spun out into some of the dysfunction we endure at home. I apologized, and I resolved to talk to my own therapist about avoiding that in the future.

It really is a new day at Casa d’ABM. I have no idea what’s next for me and Hope. I’m excited and emotional and…proud. I feel like we made it, or at least I have survived. I can’ speak for her.

I try to be very sensitive about listening to adoptee voices. I’m not sure how Hope would characterize our life together. I hope she shows me a little grace as she reflects on it. I don’t expect her to be a “happy” adoptee; I know there is so much that shapes this experience. I know and have walked the path of depression and anxiety with her these last few years. I know she isn’t fully healed. I know that she will have some kind of hurt and pain probably forever. I’m a realist. I just hope she knows that I adore her. That I accept her as she is, imperfectly at times but I do, and I will support her lifelong journey to healing. I hope she knows I believe in her, purely and wholly.

I’m an empty nester looking at the next chapter for me and Hope, and it’s so dang emotional.


The Bitter

With the decision now made now there’s all kinds of stuff to deal with. I need to get her enrolled in the new school, unenrolled from the new school, I need to reach in my purse and figure out the financial part of this investment and I need to help Hope figure out what she’s going to do with her hair while she’s away. More on that later because it’s a doozy.

As Hope was going through the motions of her decision last weekend, one of the conversations that we had centered around how there’s no perfect decision. Most decisions have an element of bitter that goes with the sweet. In this case, going to the new school meant that she would be leaving her marching band, not going to the band competitions with her bandmates, leaving the one or two friends she had behind. The trade off was being in a better academic environment with a band that does appearances in big parades that are sometimes on TV.

I thought that we would have a bit of time before the bitterness of her decision made itself known, but seeing as we adults can sometimes just be trash, the bitter taste was nearly immediate.

I decided that I would not take Hope out of her home school until the contract had been signed for the new school, because, you know I have some sense. Also, with Hope still enrolled in her home school she would be able to go to marching band camp this month. She would miss the last week of camp because we are going on vacation, but I looked at the vacation as a transitional time for her. In going to band camp, she would have a bit of time with her bandmates, she would be able to coach and mentor the new freshmen who were joining the band, and she would have some time with her favorite teacher (also her only black male teacher she’s had in 5 grades with me). I encouraged her to be mindful of her role in planning the marching since she would be a missing bass drum in a few weeks and the band needed to accommodate that.

Meanwhile, I was in communication with the guidance counselor and had made an appointment for the upcoming week to get the enrollment stuff taken care of.

Hope told her friends that she would be moving on to a new school and seemed to relish the attention around having made such a big decision. As she was finalizing her decision, she talked about it with her band teacher who flatly responded, “And?”

I know that Hope had really already made her decision by the time this conversation occurred, but I know that the response was hurtful and was probably that last little nudge for her to choose to move on.

By Friday morning I received an email from the band teacher asking if it was true that Hope would be attending a different school in September. After I told him yes, but I hadn’t started the enrollment process and no changes had been made, he responded by dismissing Hope from the marching band. He went so far as to ask me to stop what I was doing to come pick her up immediately because she couldn’t be on campus.

Capture

I was stunned.

This teacher is Hope’s favorite teacher. He and his colleague teacher at the middle school have been the only stabilizing academic forces she’s had since she arrived here more than 4 years ago. He’s been one of few people of color and the only man of color teacher she’s had. He’s been kind to her, advocated for her and been genuine in his interest in helping her be successful.

Until this week.

This week he hurt her feelings and kicked her out of the one thing that has really motivated her during her high school years.

I refused to pick her up and told him that the humane and right thing to do would be to talk to her and give her a chance to say goodbye to her band friends. He reluctantly agreed.

By the time I picked her up she was In a bit of shock. As the hours passed and the grief set in, I saw her deny that he dismissed her, get angry because she felt like she was being punished, want to email to negotiate swinging by next week to help out with the freshmen without actually being “in band camp,” being really sad about how she was treated both when she mentioned it to him early in the week and after he knew she was leaving, reaching out to some newbies on snapchat to give advice for the drumline, and finally concluding that she made the right decision to go to a new school since it was clear that her teacher really didn’t give an ish about her anyway.

I’m grateful that she had therapy right after band practice, and I was shocked to see her go through the stages in mere hours. I was also proud that she never questioned her decision to go to the new school. I was so hurt to see her question the whole of her connection with her teacher due to this rejection. This weekend she’s wallowing. She might’ve moved through the grief stages, but she’s still grieving.

This is the bitter, and it kinda sucks.

I’m planning to have a “nice” (not really) chat with the band teacher, the counselor and the principal this week to talk about how this was handled. The reality is that it just didn’t have to be this way. I’ve looked up the regs and he was wrong since my daughter is still a student in the county, our intentions to withdraw, notwithstanding. Oh and in epic mixed messaging he told her she could attend camp for two more days—no doubt there’s some benefit to the band to having her there. I no longer trust that the invitation is for her benefit. The whole thing is just a mess with a lot of hurt feelings.

In the meantime, we’ve got a bunch of other lesser bitter stuff to wrestle with as we prepare for a rapid transition over the next couple of weeks.

Stay tuned.


The School Decision

Wow, thank you to so many of you for weighing in on Hope’s big decision about where to attend high school this fall. This last week has just been amazing. In giving her complete autonomy over this major life decision, I witnessed my daughter’s transformation. I’m awestruck by her process.

Honestly, when she broached the subject of revisiting her decision a week ago, I’m also shocked at how easily I was able to just step back and give her the space to think about her options. I genuinely no longer was deeply vested in one school or the other. I was just committed to supporting Hope make a decision she would be confident in moving forward. As I begin to reflect on this last week, I will always, always be focused on the decision process rather than the decision. It’s the process that gave me such an amazing glimpse of who Hope has become and her big picture potential.

So, it’s like when Lebron was on ESPN announcing that he was moving to Miami, right?

Capture

Image via YouTube

It certainly feels like it.

So, without further ado, I’m delighted to announce that Hope will be enrolling in boarding school in just a few short weeks.

By Sunday evening, it was starting to become clear that she was leaning in this direction, but by Monday she had fully committed. With the decision now made she is reveling in all the imminent changes. There’s minimal anxiety, more excitement than fear and so much pride in sharing her news with her friends and teachers.

I’ve got to make a lot of magic happen in a very short period of time since we will be going on an extended vacation in less than two weeks, and she will almost immediately report to school when we return stateside. I’m just basking in her excitement at the moment, but thoughts about what does the extended empty nest really mean for me are tinging the edges of my consciousness. Not in a bad way, but my gut tells me that this move is really a game changer. My gut tells me that when Hope returns after graduation she will have really found her sea legs and will be launching a little sooner rather than later. So random thoughts about what this next phase of parenting will look like and how will I document it float gingerly through my mind. There are other happy developments happening in my life that will no doubt fill some of the time Hope’s departure will create, but it won’t be parenting her, cooking for her, harassing her about laundry or cleaning her bathroom. The daily rigors of parenting have become such a part of my life and I haven’t really had much time to think about what it would look like if her departure was extended. I think I might be in a bit of shock.

I’m so excited for this next chapter, even not having any friggin idea what shape it will take.

So, yeah, Hope is morphing from an Eagle (home school) to a Yellow Jacket (new school, with an insect that she’s terrified of) in just a couple of short weeks, and we are ecstatic!!!!!


K E Garland

Inspirational kwotes, stories and images

This Dad Life

Delirium and other truths about fatherhood

Riddle from the Middle

real life with a side of snark

Dmy Inspires

Changing The World, With My Story...

Learning to Mama

Never perfect, always learning.

Dadoptive

An adoptive father's story

The Boeskool

Jesus, Politics, and Bathroom Humor...

Erica Roman Blog

I write so that my healing may bring healing to others.

My Mind on Paper

The Inspired Writing of Kevin D. Hofmann

My Wonderfully Unexpected Journey

When Life Grabbed Me By The Ears

Herding Chickens and Other Adventures in Foster and Adoptive Care

These are the adventures of one family in foster care and adoption.

imashleymi.wordpress.com/

things are glam in mommyhood

wearefamily

an adoption support community

Fighting for Answers

Tales From an Adoption Journey

%d bloggers like this: