Tag Archives: Adoption and Emotional Health

April 27, 2015

The Struggle is *Still* Real

By AdoptiveBlackMom

A year ago, I published a post called The Struggle is Real.

A year later, it still is. I could reblog that post and one of the few changes I’d make is to note that I traded stupid parenting books for stupid parenting podcasts (not Add Water and Stir, of course!).

A year later I would add the following:

Imposter syndrome is real in parenting. I am making it only because I’m faking it. And by “it” I mean parenting. For all of the parenting wins and Jedi mind-tricks that were wildly successful, I am beaten down by the epic failures I feel like I succumb to on the daily. I am beat down and down trodden.

And there is no end in sight.

It is stunningly easy to forget to practice self-care. Every few weeks I manage to remember I should be taking care of myself and within three days I have forgotten again. In those moments of clarity I plan to log on to the sitter site and book the nannies for regular visits, but an hour later I have forgotten, having gotten caught up in more drama than I care to write about.

It’s affected my waistline. It’s affected my relationships. It’s made me feel weary and teary more than I ever feel happy or joyful. And even though I know if I just take the time to create the structures I need to be ok, I simply push them down as I jet to problem-solve the next crisis. I really do worry at times whether I will simply get sucked all the way into the drama that is Hope, and lose myself.

This month’s self-care win was finding a new therapist who takes my insurance. Her initial reaction to the craziness that is my life was validating.

Now to call the sitter agency and schedule some regular respite.

I think I can. I think I can. I think I can…

Scarred kids do dumb, risky things sometimes. Sure I may know how to deal with it in the moment, but I still have enormous trouble understanding the misfires and disconnects that exist in Hope’s mind. I intellectually get it.  I’ve read all the research about PTSD and the PET scans of kids with trauma. But damn, son, this ish is mind-boggling when it’s not a journal article but a real, live human being up in your ish. I know we are building and rebuilding, but holy crap, it just never seems to end. It’s like a bad video game with thousands of villains; you kill one and there are 30 in its place.

Hope starts high school in a few months. I have no fears about her academic performance, but her social interactions are increasingly risky given this need to have more people like/love her. It’s devastating to know that I’m not enough; even though I knew I wouldn’t be. But I can’t get her to just be careful or even to know that her behaviors are often what drive good people away and draw scary people close.

It’s messy and terrifying.

I have no idea what’s next. None.

I’m not even sure when we tripped into this crazy period. I’m sure that I probably could’ve predicted it, but I didn’t. And I can’t even say that it’s really her; maybe it’s really me with all the problems. Maybe she’s really doing better than I think she is. She probably is.

I don’t know. I know that I’m tired. I am sad.

I was not prepared for this level of sustained challenge. I wasn’t prepared to have my heartbroken over and over again. I wasn’t prepared for just how lonely I would be. I wasn’t prepared for how many people around me would ask questions about my daughter, kindly, and how often I would lie and say things are fine or great.

When I first started doing diversity work, I went back to therapy just so I had a safe place to dump all the ugliness that comes with wading through racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia and the like. I didn’t want to dump it on friends or family. I remember a colleague asking me how I did managed to do this kind of work and not flinch, and one of my mentors who was standing nearby saying, “She wears the mask.” It was a reference to a Paul Laurence Dunbar poem that I love because it’s so true, We Wear the Mask.

I think of that moment and that poem whenever someone asks me how Hope is doing, and I say we’re doing great. In many, many, many ways we are. But in many ways we are not. It is still a very real struggle.

We Wear the Mask

Paul Laurence Dunbar

We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!

And I know I’ll keep wearing the mask.

I have no idea what’s to come. I hope that the struggle has changed a bit a year from now. I hope the struggle isn’t quite as real a year from now.

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

February 14, 2015

Fifty’s Narrative

By AdoptiveBlackMom

Ok, so here’s the thing, I never, ever intended to write about Fifty Shades of Grey.  Oh the reasons for not writing about it are endless.

I’m a literature snob.  I do love a good trashy, low rent beach read from time to time, but my reading tastes lean to works that are more, shall we say artful?

Think pieces are not really my thing either.

Also, I’m not a prude; the sex in the book generally doesn’t bother me, and I’m intrigued by the zillions of interpretive dance think pieces on freaky sex, control based sex, sex abuse, sex assault, feminism, patriarchy, religion, etc that have been launched by the book. My commentary on the sex is simple: as a literary vehicle, the sex in the book is gratuitous, even if it is consensual.

The reviews and promotion of the books and the movie have been pervasive; I mean what could I say that hasn’t already been said? Really?

So much writing over a book that is as close to real literature as a frosted poptart from a box is to a slice of cake from the best cakery you can name? Chile, please.

The truth is that I’m trying to get back into pleasure reading post-dissertation, and my recent trip to St. Kitts [for work!] afforded me a few languid hours of beach time.  I left a new book at home by accident and didn’t find anything in the airport worth reading. So in scrolling through my trove of e-books the Fifty series came up.  Meh, it’s an easy, mind numbing read.  So I reread the first two books previously read while laying on a beach a few islands over a couple of years ago.

And I got to thinking… about Christian and his sexy shenanigans.

Spoiler alert for anyone living under a rock and doesn’t know much about the books: Christian Grey was adopted.

In fact, the whole premise for Christian Grey’s fifty shades of effed up is the neglect and abuse he experienced as a very young child.  And although he was adopted by an affluent, loving family, he went on to be a vulnerable teen who was further sexually abused by a family friend.  He became a successful entrepreneur who experiences wild mood swings, seeks to control every aspect of his environment, experiences night terrors related to childhood trauma and engages in sexual behavior that some may find deviant, but it allows him to control what happens to him and his body.

So, um, yeah.

Any adoptive parents out there see what I see here once you strip away all the sexy time distractions?

#ifyouveseenitandyouknowitclapyourhands

#clapclap

Hey, I don’t know what’s going on in your house, but as I reread the first book I thought, on a much smaller scale, I see some of these behaviors with Hope.  Yeah, I compared Hope to Christian Grey, don’t get your drawers in a bunch! #followmenow

Mood swings? Check.

Fear for safety? Check, but less so now.

Night terrors? Check, still have them occasionally.

Socially vulnerable? Check.

Full of shame? Check.

Control freak? Check.

Presence of some really hard limits? Oh yeah, triple check.

In fact over the last week I’ve been using a hard/soft limit/safe word framework for sorting through what Hope and I work through. We have hard limits–sooo hard they feel like emotional granite.  I’ve told the therapist what they are; I’ve encouraged Hope to discuss them, but nope.  Not going to happen.  She ain’t budging anytime soon.

I know when to push the soft limits now, and I know the safe words to soothe her and to make her relax a bit.

Troubled first families, adoption, childhood trauma and its lingering effects are major explanatory drivers for Christian’s behavior in this series, and I haven’t really seen anyone talk about it.  Really…are we so hopped up about the sex in the book that folks missed these elements?  I mean, It’s not until the later books in the series that Christian’s adoption narrative gets a bit more attention and his early abuse is really cast as the reason for his behavior, but the groundwork for this narrative is firmly laid in the first book.

As I had this epiphany about the storyline, I found myself questioning E.L. James’ use of adoption as this narrative thread through the books.  Why don’t interviewers ask her about it? Why aren’t there think pieces about adoption narratives as literary tools?  I wonder if James thinks that adopting an older child just leads to this kinda thing?  I mean…might this inadvertently reinforce that older adoptees are some how broken?  Or does it make folks think that this isn’t the picture of dealing with the drama of childhood trauma? Did she make Christian a poster kid for vulnerable, traumatized kids only to then paint him as somehow exceptional because this just doesn’t really happen with “truly committed” adoptive families?

So, I saw Fifty Shades through a lens that I didn’t have about 3 years ago.  I see Christian for what he is, someone still fighting the struggle to heal from the fifty effed up things that happened to him. I wonder how adoptees feel about this storyline?  I wonder how other adoptive parents feel about it?  It gives me fifty shades of feelings that are hard to parse out and describe.  It’s uncomfortable because purely focusing on some of Christian’s emotional capacity issues makes the book story plausible.

My daughter came to me emotionally much younger than her chronological years.  Hope struggles with the long term effects of childhood trauma.  She didn’t want to be touched at all when she first came home.  Some soothing behaviors were socially awkward at best, offensive at worst.  She works hard at healing.  We work hard at healing.

It’s hard seeing some of your story in the backstory of a book like Fifty. It’s also hard knowing how hard the child and parents are working to get to some sort of normal, because it doesn’t happen automatically at placement or finalization.  It’s hard seeing a characterization that all of the work might still lead to adult behaviors that give people the willies and make them write think pieces about your sexual proclivities.

I find myself wanting to sit down and have a drink with Christian and his adoptive parents.  Hey what therapies did you try?  What behaviors were the most challenging?  Mom, how did you not know your bestie was getting it in with your son?  How did you manage?  What would you do differently? You had resources for all kinds of stuff, but did you have the emotional support you needed?

I have so many questions about Christian’s life and healing.  99 questions and not one about sex.

8 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in Hard Stuff, Lessons Learned

December 22, 2014

Merry Meltdown-a-mas

By AdoptiveBlackMom

We are in the thick of the holiday season, and other than desiring to ability to see some family, sleep late and nap with Yappy, I really wish I could hit the fast forward button. Christmas shopping went out of control since I had to buy a new HVAC unit, and Hope wanted everyone in her new family to have some kind of present. I’m dangerously close to just writing checks and putting them in boring security mailing envelopes or finding myself as one of those sad people still shopping at the 24-hour Walgreen’s on Christmas Day.

Clearly the holidays bring about unique stressors like spending cash, spending a LOT of time with other people, year-end reflection and just stuff. Add to the mix a new daughter who misses some of her first family and is reflecting on the massive changes she’s endured during the last year, and it’s just one wave of a meltdown after another. This season seems to be tough for both of us.

Adding to our drama was the recent resurfacing of a legal case against someone who was really ishtty to Hope several years ago. Oh, yeah, that was fun and no doubt shaved a few more years off of my life. #sarcasm Nothing like waking up one afternoon and realizing that you might’ve seen your life on a previous episode of Law & Order.

We’ve been so stressed out that Hope, and I were about ready to claw each other’s eyes out ahead of family therapy last week. Fortunately, Absurdly Hot Therapist is really, really good at what he does. We were both able to acknowledge just how overwhelmed we are; how we aren’t as far along as we each thought and some stuff that we both need to do differently.

(As one of the few bright side giggles lately: Hope has recently become fixated on commenting on how big Absurdly Hot Therapist’s feet are. Every time, I can barely stifle my gleeful giggles, because you know, I’m totally inappropriate. He has big hands too….just sayin. #dontjudgeme)

Today marks the first day of winter break, which means two crazy glorious weeks together. Yay or nah?

Don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with Hope. Love it!

I’m getting really good at listing to “These are the Days of Our Lives: Middle School Edition.” My patience is growing, though it still has a lot more to go. My ability to try to parse out adoption stuff from annoying teen stuff seems weaker than usual or maybe it’s just that they are overlapping and related. Technology and access to it continues to be a problem—trying to find balance in giving her sufficient access so that she learns how to use it appropriately, particularly is social settings still feels like a slow painful death to me. And feeling Hope’s resentment because Yappy loves me more (he does; it’s a fact) makes me sad, even if Yappy unwavering preference for me makes me love him even more.  Yep, it’s all good, even when it’s bad, I guess.

Hope has come so far this year. I mean we both reflect back on the drama of 11 months ago, and it’s shocking how much things have improved. Shocking. And yet we still struggle.

Life: It’s complicated.

So I’m hoping we can pull it together and keep it together enough to not have too many more meltdowns during the next couple of weeks. I am looking forward to Christmas festivities, new traditions and time with family and friends.

Merry Christmas folks!

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

November 30, 2014

Grinchy Times

By AdoptiveBlackMom

This time of the year I struggle.  I always have struggled during what is supposed to be a “joyous season.”

Oh I’m genuinely grateful, and I go through all the motions and rituals of the season attempting to be cheery.

the-grinch-grin

But, I’m not. I am very moody. I brood. I pick fights. I bicker.  I don’t want to listen. I am passive aggressive and trigger finger irritable. And I am often depressed, very depressed. Attempts to cheer me up are received with grins that help me fake my way through what is invariably just being pissy.

It’s very cyclical, predictable and more than just some seasonal affective disorder stuff.  I just spend several months of the year pissy, all out pissy.  Bah humbug.

I wish this year was different.  It’s not, and I’m on the warpath again. It is actually worse this year; it almost feels like the despair I felt shortly after Hope’s placement is heaped on top of my already foul mood.

This isn’t good for what’s supposed to be a healing home, and it’s probably not so good for a hormonal teenager whose mouth I wouldn’t mind gluing shut about 67.89% of the time either.

So, add a couple of doses of guilt and self-loathing to the mix for good measure.

I can’t even withdraw this year; there’s no where to hide.  And there’s only one a person or two to vent to, I mean totally no holds barred venting, because this is supposed to be a joyous time of the year and didn’t I want to be a mom?  And aren’t we getting on so well?

I don’t want to admit that I’m going through a rough time.  I hate how hard of a time I’m having getting myself together and keeping myself functional.

I’m feeling loss acutely at the moment. I’m struggling.  I’m really struggling.

Oh look, another month of 2014 still left.  Oh joy.

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

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

July 20, 2014

Sunday Fun Day

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I hope a time comes when Sundays really become fun days for me and Hope. She’s fine, but I think I get a preemptive start on the angst of getting back into the routine of the week day. I’m finding the routine, exhausting and rigid as it maybe, gives me something to look forward to and to gripe about for that matter. Saturdays I usually have activities for us to do which get us out of the house to do something engaging and fun. Sundays we have church and stuff that has to get done to make sure the week goes smoothly, aka Mom chores. I find myself getting cranky and sometimes oddly resentful that she continues to lounge about with no inkling of initiative to help. I’m guessing that has more to do with being 13 and less to do with being adopted.

Today I hit the Red Box, picked up a movie for her and am taking my weekly time out in my room, catching up on professional work and reflecting on the week. So, here’s what’s on my mind this week.

___________

Hope’s family…well, really I don’t know what to say. Hope’s family sent me a few things this week. They sent a few pictures of her and her dad when she was young, several pictures of her dad and grandmother and his funeral program. Once I had them in hand, I decided not to wait to tell Hope all that has happened in the background these last few weeks. She was shocked as I imagined. Her feelings about her family are complicated. We talked a bit about it then, but decided to really focus our therapy session on all the family stuff.

Turns out she was only about 10% happy they found us and about 90% pissed about why now, after everything she’s been through in the last five years. Oh my sweet girl was angry, but instead of lashing out she just broke down and cried and cried. She talked a lot, and she even talked about how much stronger she is now to use her words to articulate what she was feeling. She’s been holding so much in about her birth parents and it all came spilling out, so much anger and so much hurt. She is so happy to have the mementos of her dad; they are key to her healing. We both know that now. But whether she will really reach back to her father’s family? Well, she doesn’t seem to be terribly interested in doing that. I imagine this might change at some point, but for now seems like the immediate family crisis is over.

I was oh too happy to graciously let them know that it would likely be awhile before they heard from us. I’ll send them a virtual Christmas card if nothing has changed by then.

Hearing about foster care from a former foster kid is hard. Through blogging, I’ve been blessed to meet such wonderful folks who foster children. I’ve also kept in touch and bonded with Hope’s final foster family. But Hope’s experiences with foster care sound like an incredibly choppy sea. The foster family she was placed with after she came into custody left an indelible mark with her. Given her trauma, I have no idea whether she would have ever found them acceptable, but her view of how she was treated, how insensitive they were to her overwhelming grief, how she was treated compared to other foster children in the home…she’s still angry and still bitter. She calls the members of the family by name and remembers every perceived slight.

It doesn’t matter whether her memories are true or not, they are true for her. I try to be empathetic. She remembers this family and others like it more than she remembers the folks who were very kind towards her. She talks about those folks too, but her focus on the negative always brings her back to people who were, in her mind, less than kind and compassionate.

It’s hard. So much of her grief is also wrapped up in her foster care experiences, too. All of it is so entwined. I am trying to help her focus on the positive people who have been there throughout the process, but it really seems hard for her to turn things around to focus on those folks.

Therapy works. It really does, of course it feels like 1 good session for every 4-6 or even 8 crappy sessions. When you do get to that one session though, you realize that perhaps the other sessions were productive in subtle ways. I’m glad that I encouraged Hope to put a pin in all the family stuff until we could talk about it with Absurdly Hot Therapist. She was ready and clearly had thought about things in a way that made her really ready to talk.

Things poured out of her. We ended up going long because things were still just gushing out of her. Lots of emotional stuff. She was deliberate about word choice—for the first time she referred to her birth mother as her “birth mother.” She made a point of pointing to me and saying *this* is my mom. At one point me, Hope and AHT were all crying.

On the way to the car afterwards, she said, I’ve been waiting to let out that stuff for years.

Amen to that, Hope.

We then went and bought a small chocolate cake, because well, when you finally get some ish off your chest, you should celebrate and that means cake (with a side of fried chicken).

Prioritizing self-care is essential. I tried on suiting slacks this week and had an awful reality check. Ick.

Must. Prioritize. Self-care.

So, I joined a new 24 hour gym this week and am making a commitment to workout 30 hours during the next 30 days. That’s an hour a day. I’ve booked a long term relationship with the magic sitter for alternating Fridays and Saturdays until mid-October. My sitter service is working on finding someone for a weeknight as well so I can work late, take in a happy hour or just sit in my car for a couple of hours.

___________

This week I leave for my first lengthy business trip since Hope arrived. I’ve had a couple of overnights, but never 5 days away. I’m really nervous and excited. I’m hoping it all works out well.

 

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

July 6, 2014

Mommy Time Out

By AdoptiveBlackMom

So, I came unhinged today. Totally hit the wall and had to give myself a time out.

Vacationing with kids, I’m realizing, is a bit stressful. Vacationing with Hope has added layers of anxiety and messiness. I admit to being keyed up most of the time, waiting for, anticipating something to flip our lids. After my threats to leave the mouse trap, honestly she was great, and we had an enjoyable time away. The bugs, while they frightened her, did not trigger a full on meltdown. Hurricane Arthur delayed us by about 6+ hours in getting home, but in the end, we took it all in stride. We headed down to fetch The Furry One and ended up coming home last night.

That’s it. Vacation over. Time to jump back into reality.

But at some point today, I realized that I’m just not okay. I slept late, and the circles under my eyes are lighter than they’ve been in a while. I had great plans to go to church, hit the Costco, maybe take Hope to the library and veg out on the couch for a while. Yeah, but none of that happened. Instead, I became irritable right after breakfast. I was cranky, blue, frustrated and just really should’ve went back to bed and pulled the covers back over my head.

The last few days one of Hope’s family members has just bombarded me with messages about all manner of things. I just haven’t responded. I couldn’t. It was just too much, too soon. One family member sends messages in the middle of the night, midday, whenever. There are pleas with phone numbers and email addresses. Shout outs that she’s praying for us. Did I know she had whatever medical condition? Didn’t I want to know why she couldn’t step in with Hope? The whole family is waiting for information. They are heartbroken, elated, impatient, waiting, oh respectful, but why the devil didn’t you hit me back yet on Facebook? Last night’s midnight message begged me to call the grandmother and there was a lengthy story to go with it. Her message also gave me a head’s up that there was family bickering going on about me and Hope. #jesusbeabrickwallofprivacysettings

I have dug deep into my empathy well and tried to imagine what it must be like to find your family member who was lost to you and now found. I don’t downplay what that must feel like. I know my own grandmothers’ hearts would have burst from joy had I been lost and somehow was found. I get the Amazing Grace and Prodigal Son analogies. There must be a joyfulness and a bit of frustration in understanding why I just won’t call and put Hope on the phone.

But their emergence from the depths has just really rocked my world. I have a pit in my stomach, and I get somewhat nauseous with every new development. I hate not telling Hope yet; I feel like I’m lying by omission, but I need time to get the support team up to speed; it’s a holiday weekend.  I am trying to figure out how to tell Hope, which I know will just be straight up, because that’s how we do. The family is supposed to send some of her father’s belongings; I kind of want to wait so that I have those things. I’m just trying to figure it all out. I’m beyond overwhelmed.

I’m also trying not to be afraid of the box of crazy that it feels like has just opened in the middle of a slightly more settled life with Hope. No really, I’m terrified. Seriously one week of Facebook messaging and I see folks not respecting boundaries and spilling the beans on family bickering…about us, no less. And it’s just so much, so much. I can’t even get a good cry. Ugh.

So, as we were off to church, Hope went into one of her attention seeking spells—the infamous “I have an ear infection and cannot swallow and am now dying” routine. These spells still burn my house to the ground; I used to be able to predict them, but now they just seem so random. I usually ignore them until she pivots to a more appropriate way of getting my attention. But today, already peeved and riled up by the Facebook drama, I pulled over and, just as dramatically as her spell came on, dramatically announced that we were going to Patient First to see about her ear, nose and throat.

“Oh, I’m not that sick,”Nah, girl, we’re still going because I’m fed up with the ruse. #overit

Two hours and thirty minutes later, I’m out of a co-pay, burned my cell battery down playing bubble poke while waiting for the doctor to tell us in about 7 minutes what I knew all along: not a dang thing is wrong with Hope, who then pivoted to a spasm story—her backup ruse—which was also quickly dismissed by the doctor.

I sat there all that time getting increasingly annoyed by everything. I was annoyed by all the messaging. I was annoyed by Hope’s collection of feigned illnesses that drive m up the effing wall. I was annoyed that the budget is tight this month and a co-pay wasn’t really planned for. I was annoyed that my diagnosis of “Kid with no physical maladies” was confirmed. I was annoyed by how long we had to wait. I was annoyed that we missed church and I really needed to throw myself in prayer on the altar. I was pissed about not going to Costco and the library. I was just pissed about everything in the world.

Oh I’d worked myself into quite the quiet lather.

And then, while sitting in the treatment room waiting for the doctor to discharge us, one of the aunts sent me a Facebook game invitation and all common sense and any shred of adulthood I might have once had went flying right out the window.

Really, lady? A Facebook game invite. Get off my damn Facebook page right now, dammit, lady. #getoffmylawn I had already put the whole lot of folks in a limited access group after friending me. For some reason it was that dang invite that just tipped me right over into emotional chaos. I block every game request I get from anyone. I hate those damn things.

And sadly, poor Hope was the one that just got iced out. She thought I was mad at her, especially after her faux illnesses were called out; I was annoyed but not mad at her and I told her so. I broke down into unexplainable tears on the drive home. She comforted me, and I told her she could watch a movie while I just retreated into my personal space to gather myself after sufficient guilt-tripping, self-loathing. #mommytimeout

I think I’ll get us to make brownies or cookies or something tonight. We need a bit of healing bonding. Sigh. I think I need the resumption of our routine tomorrow as much as she does. Here’s hoping tomorrow—with the Bey & Jay concert for me—will push us to better days.

6 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Dealing with the Past, Finalization Life

May 29, 2014

The Other Side of Happy

By AdoptiveBlackMom

So, yes, I’m happy. I am. I’m screaming happiness. Just screaming it! So happy. So stinking happy.

super-happy-dance-smiley-emoticon

And I plaster that poop-eating, heel-clicking grin on anytime someone asks, because really, let’s not kid ourselves, no one really wants to hear about the other side of happy when so many great things are happening in your life.  #tripsondenialriverforeveryone

So, I’m so overwhelmed that there’s a part of me that is just miserable and empty in spite of all of the happy, and I really am happy.  I wasn’t lying about that.

I marvel at how all these feelings can just coexist.  The duality of emotions on this journey will forever stun me.  #getsmeeverytime

So much has happened in my life in the last four years, the last two years, the last 18 months, the last 4 months, the last month. In fact the last month represents the time when so many things have come to fruition. So many hopes and dreams and things I’ve worked hard for and prayed over have  come to pass. And it doesn’t stop there.

Next week, I’ll finalize Hope’s adoption.  Yep, we have a court date.

When I got the date from my attorney by email yesterday I actually started sobbing.

OMG, this is happening.

woohoo-smiley-emoticon

I was happy but I was also scared schnittless. If I hadn’t been illegally reading my email while sitting at a traffic light, I probably would’ve passed out. Instead I cried. But in the moment, they weren’t tears of joy. They were tears of fear, of the smack of reality, of wondering what was next, of hope that things will get easier, of wondering will I ever feel confident enough, of wondering if and when all of my own supposed support systems will ever feel stable, supportive and safe enough.  Will I fail her?  Am I really, really that selfless?

I am exhausted and despite my happiness, I am back to a week of not being able to stop crying. Maybe I need a med adjustment, because this is just ridiculous.

A few weeks or months ago I wrote about feeling down and some folks pointed out that I was possibly suffering from Post Adoption Depression. I didn’t even know that was a thing. I just knew I couldn’t stop crying, and I was driving a broke-down fire truck from one fire to the next and then role playing ALL of the firefighter jobs that must exist with a small water gun. I barely felt like I was functional.

About two weeks ago, I just started sinking again. The crying and crankiness returned. I just wanted to sleep or at least pull the covers over my head and be left undisturbed. I just mourn the ability to come home to peace and quiet and snuggle with The Furry One and decide, because I could, to just have a martini and cheese toast for dinner. I mourned the days when I didn’t need a sitter. I mourned the ability to pick up and go to the Caribbean for a long weekend if I found a good deal. I mourned the days when I didn’t have to do teacher conferences about questionable grades and behavior or anticipating the mayhem of being a chaperone at the upcoming band trip. I missed the days of less village drama. Life literally changed overnight, and I haven’t adjusted.

And yet, I can’t imagine life without Hope, and Hope comes with all of that and then some.  She’s a game changer.

Then, last evening I got a response email from a colleague who finished her PhD about six months before me. I’d shared in an earlier email that I was feeling like I should be doing “something” (school related) and was feeling guilty about not doing whatever it was I was supposed to be doing. Heck, one time I wrote a final class paper from a hospital—sure I’m supposed to be doing something? Surely I can’t be experiencing some post-EdD completion let down.

Uh, yeah, she wrote back—that post-doctoral listlessness is normal. Yeah, there’s a let-down period with a risk of depression after the euphoria of being done passes.

eyeroll

Really, now this is a thing too? GTFOH!!!

Awesome, my doc and shrink are going to love this. Could be worse, I could be a new Dr looking for a job. So there’s that.

A lot has happened, and a lot is happening. All happy things, but things that require or recently required huge amounts of cognitive and emotional energy over sustained periods of time.  And my brain is just tired. I’m emotionally tired.  And the number of folks with whom I can share this, completely unedited, unfiltered, uncensored at all, is a pretty small number. I’m grateful for them, I am <thank you if you’re reading, you know who you are and each of you are godsends>. But I find myself mourning about the censoring I am doing; the censoring I’m required to do in some core areas of my life.  It’s really just like folding into yourself over and over again, like a bad piece of origami and you’re just waiting for the someone to toss you because the folds didn’t come out right.

Never in a million years would I think that when my dreams come true, mostly in the span of a few weeks, that I would not be wholly ecstatic and bouncing like Tigger.

Happiness isn’t without a price, and it can exist with sadness.

Here’s hoping I can swing back and stay on the topside of happiness and soon.

For now, I’ve got a Gotcha Day party to go plan.

14 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in Post Placement, The Transition

May 21, 2014

Thoughts on Resiliency

By AdoptiveBlackMom

Oh, y’all thought I was going to talk about Hope’s resiliency? No this post is about my own elasticity.

Honestly, nothing is wrong at home, really. Hope and I are doing fine, being normal (whatever that is), but there’s just messiness all around that has me feeling stretched and tired and cranky and just ugh.

Overflowing toilet, faux belly aches, missed buses, rejected dinners, continued village fallout, a nosebleed that lasted more than an hour, a demand to do laundry for one item, a sick dog, an epic grief attack, a meeting with the school counselor, the attorney, the adoption support rep and the fact that my hair looked remarkably like Fredrick Douglass’ hair yesterday.  Seriously, Frederick Douglass…I know that sounds vain, but don’t you find that you can handle things better when you’re having a good hair day?

Frederick_Douglass_c1860s

Frederick is serving some serious side eye. Yeah, I was channeling this yesterday. I’ve even got the mean silver streak. Sigh…

Last night I poured a big glass of wine, fixed myself a cookie butter sandwich and washed my hair. Then I set about to google “Adoptive Parent Resilience.”

Ugh. Oh that was fun. #notreally

It always amazes me that while there is tons of research on child resiliency, there seem to be little about parental resiliency, much less about adoptive parents. Certainly there are resources, and it would seem that having access to resources seems critical to nurturing parental resiliency, whether you’re an adoptive parent or not. That said, I find myself wondering how parents just deal.

I mean, I just do deal and I know the adage that parenting is the toughest job…blah, blah, blah. But when it seems like Rome is burning and you’re the empress and you have a personal fan instead of at least a fire extinguisher, you might feel inadequate on a good day; absurdly stupid on the next.

So my next search string was “Self-care for adoptive parents.” This search was much better; apparently I stumbled on the right lingo.

I did find this article: Self-Care: Barriers and Basics for Foster/Adoptive Parents. I found this particular barrier resonated with me:

“Fourth, too many parents simply do not know what would help them. They know something is missing, but can’t put their finger on just what might make them feel better. Parents are often told, “Call if there is anything you need,” but it is hard to call and ask for help, especially when you cannot even articulate what you need. This leaves many parents vulnerable and exhausted.”

And also this because I just posted how someone is always doing worse:

“Compounding matters, recent disasters—9/11, Hurricanes Katrina and Rita, the earthquake in Pakistan, and the prolonged conflict in Iraq—remind us all that there are always other people who are worse off. We are taught as children to be happy with what we have since other people have it much harder. It is little wonder we sometimes feel guilty because our ongoing trauma pales in comparison to these catastrophic tragedies.”

Yeah. That.

So, the recommendations in this document are cool. Yeah, I need to find a few more things to personally look forward to and I need to just be ok with being different. I thought I was, but I’m not. And yes, connecting with other parents helps—there’s a delightful notion of finding commonalities in the countless struggles. It is validating, and reinforces that this stuff is “normal’ for this population, but does it make me feel better? Not really. And giving yourself permission to ask for help feels useless when you really can’t put your finger on what really would be helpful other than a good cry that can happen somewhere other than in your master bath with the bedroom and bathroom doors closed, sitting on the toilet because that’s the most private place in the house. #maybeIshouldtrythewalkincloset

On other sites I stumbled over, respite is the be all, end all solution to my resiliency problems. But as a single parent, I don’t have a partner who can pick up some slack and I’m sensitive about how I use the geographically accessible village and I love my sitter service and it’s worth the money, but “respite” makes for a pricey night out before I even leave the house.

So, now what?

Oh, I pray a lot. A lot; a lot.

So here’s my current approach to trying to practice self-care:

Lower expectations. Seriously, I’m lowering them all the way to the floor. Having so many unmet expectations can’t be healthy, so that’s where I’m going to sit down and take a rest for a while.

I’m tired of having expectations that the school counselor is going to respond to my email about bullying on the same day or that I’m actually going to get to play Boggle with Hope when she gets home from school or that some folks in my life will ever meet me where I am on this journey or that the Absurdly Hot Therapist’s scheduler will actually give me a consistent set of appointment dates or that Hope won’t lose her shiz every time she sees a bug as tiny as an ant or that I won’t cry inside when Hope and I go out and I get the crazy eyeballs from people while she’s in the middle of a meltdown because I can’t stop it and I feel like it’s a commentary on what kind of parent I’m perceived to be. I’m tired of a bunch of stuff, even though many things are going well.

I’m just tired of having expectations that are just not going to be met.

I never knew my skin was so thin. Maybe this process just strips so much from you; maybe you need that thick skin coming in just so you have a little reserve when it’s all sloughed off as you progress through the process. I don’t know. I do know that in terms of resiliency, I could use a lot more bounce to the ounce. #rogertroutmanfan

So there’s my current two nickels of thoughts on parental resiliency. Lower expectations to reduce heart and head pain risk. That’s my goal for the next month or so as we move toward finalization.

So, fellow bloggers, readers, parents, how do you keep it together? How do you recharge, how do you make it work?

8 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in Lessons Learned, Other Stuff, Post Placement, Support Group, The Adoption Process

April 10, 2014

Promises, Promises

By AdoptiveBlackMom

So I was hoping for an upswing this week, but it’s really just been more of the same just with extra amplification.   Hope is on an “I’m not worthy of anything good” spiral with the added twist of a dumping by the west coast love interest that represented the last connection to home. Me? I’m on a “Dear God, are you there? It’s me, ABM” Judy Bloom-style depressive episode. The energy in our house sucks arse. The Furry One has resorted to just sleeping to avoid us both.

I need to do some positive talk and make some public promises to myself.

__________________

I’m going to stop keeping score. Or at least the scores that do harm. This thing with my mom; I’ve been keeping score on how many times I’ve been hurt. I go over it obsessively in my mind all day, every day. There was something new this week that hit my gut so hard that it felt like the wind got knocked out of me. It was one of those pieces of information that you get at the end of a season of a TV show—total gut-dropping cliffhanger—and I don’t know what to do with it. It seems that the only thing I can really do is let it go, stop quantifying the grief and discomfort. I need to focus my energies on keeping score on my and Hope’s improvements and accomplishments, which include:

  • Hope made the honor roll during her first few months here.
  • We survived and rebounded from a horrible episode that needed more intervention than I imagined I would ever need to deal with.
  • Hope never stopped calling me mom.
  • Hope is starting to make friends.
  • Hope loves her hair.
  • I can see her stabilizing even when things feel really crappy.
  • She finally earned her own phone and her house keys.
  • She laughs and acts goofy more than she is sad.
  • Her emotional outbursts have stepped down in intensity since January.
  • And much more.

The ability to stop keeping score about the bad stuff is going to be hard. But I will have to try. It’s worth it.

I will tell myself that I’m a good mom and that I’m doing better than I probably think I am. It’s easy to get trapped into a cycle of self-doubt and like you effed up first thing in the morning when you swung your legs out of bed and put your feet on the floor. But the truth is, that you didn’t eff up. I didn’t eff up. Yeah, 75% of the time I don’t think I have any clue what the hell I’m doing but then I realize that my instincts aren’t so bad. I know I’m trying hard. I see us improving, and I can take some credit for that, right? I’m going to look inside and find my inner bravado filled rapper and rap to myself about how I’m doing a good job. #MCABM

I’m going to exercise more, and try to stop biting my cheek out of anxiety. I’m two weeks clean from baking stress cakes. I hopped on the scale at the end of last week, and I was completely horrified. I beat myself up terribly. Then I got up the next morning and went for a 3 mile walk. And I did it again and again. One morning I got up at 4:40, strapped on a headlamp and walked. I’ve always been an exerciser; I need to still be that. I’m hopeful that new meds will help reduce my anxiety and depression and help me find my way back to myself.

I only started biting my cheeks about 6 weeks ago. It hurts. And even though it hurts, it takes a bit of mindful awareness for me to realize that I’m doing it. I decided to peek at my cheeks yesterday. Oy. I bite my cheeks so much these days that they are bruised on the insides. Sigh…So I need to stop.

___________

So these are my promises to myself. I will treat myself better for both my sake and Hope’s.

 

8 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Post Placement

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