Tag Archives: Adoption and Emotions

November 3, 2014

Family Ties

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

October 29, 2014

About Face

By AdoptiveBlackMom

So, a couple of days after sending a polite, but disappointing message to my church withdrawing my request for some kind of dedication ceremony I get an enthusiastic message from the children’s pastor.

Long story short, they finally get it. That’s the good, no, awesome news.

But you know, my feelings are so messy. I’m still mad, and I’m still hurt and Lord knows I hold a grudge like my life depends on it.

Yeah, I know, major personal flaw. Whatever… it’s learned behavior for me; get burned enough and the ease of forgiving wears away over time. #jadedandcynical

Anyhoo, I read the email and just felt…tired. Exhausted. Furious. Why couldn’t this email have come during the last 3+ weeks? Why now, after I said I just didn’t want to pursue it anymore? Why do I feel like I had to fight so hard? Why do you now say you wished you had had this great idea at the beginning of the year?

I’m relieved, and yet I’m still angry. Pissed.

And then I feel guilty for feeling furious because well, I have broken through…We’re going to have some kind of ceremony, a public ritual. It will be open to other families like ours. It will be wonderful for me, for Hope, for our family, for all of the adoptive families who choose to participate.

I think the Holy Homeboy is pleased.

And I am happy, grateful…feeling vindicated, resentful—which doesn’t even feel right when I’m talking about my church. But there you go. I feel all of this stuff, no denying it.

So, I’m guessing the Holy Homeboy is probably not quite as pleased with me. I’m prayerful that this bitterness melts away quickly so that I can really enjoy this event; so that I can really absorb its meaning, so that Hope is able to be excited about all this too. As soon as I tell her.

This will be epic.

10 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption and Emotions, Adoption and Faith, adoption support, Adoption Transitions, African American Adoption, African-American Adoptions, New Adoptive Mom, New Single Adoptive Parents | posted in Finalization Life, Hard Stuff

October 26, 2014

Growth Spurts

By AdoptiveBlackMom

This has been a challenging month for me and Hope; as the month comes to a close I realize that it’s been growing pains. The joints that hold us together have undergone a really rapid period of growth that has stressed us and made us both step up in areas and let go in others. So time for the new lessons.

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Hope is not the kid she was a month ago, and that’s kinda cool. My going away on business travel was tough on us this month, but Hope seems to have dealt with it well. She’s more self-assured and modestly ( and I mean a smidge!) more responsible than a month ago. In a pinch she can really step up. I’m proud that we discovered this, even if she still wants me to baby her quite a bit when we get home.

Grief continues to cloak our home. It’s tough sometimes, but we’re making progress. Having some meaningful items from her family has made her ability to just openly grieve easier. The loss of the Furry One has affected both of us deeply, but she’s now in an environment where it’s ok to show emotion and it’s ok to just work through the grief. Even though there is a sadness here, it’s healthy. We sit with it as we work through it. I miss my dog. She misses her dad. We miss them every single day and missing hasn’t necessarily gotten easier, but our ability to cope has. I would never admit it to her, but I’m about thisclose to running to the shelter and getting us another dog. I miss the nails clicking on the hardwood floors.

This church thing cuts deep. There have been times when I really rejected going to church. Just all out rejected it. I was raised in church, come from a long line of religious leaders. But organized religion drives me up the dang wall. I hate the preening and posturing. I did and do get down with some liberation theology. I reject the prosperity stuff. I just want to do good, be good and show up at the gates and be proud of the life I’ve lived. We can believe in lots of things, and I do. Christianity isn’t an exclusive path for me; it is what I identify as, but I would say my theology is more complex. My current church has been fertile ground for me, though. It’s been a good fit and Hope has taken to it better than I could’ve dreamed. I love that she loves going, that if we miss a couple of weeks she’s asking to go. I love that she wanted to go to the women’s only service that we have once a month. I love that we talk about faith and that I can see the wheels in her head turning about faith and salvation. It’s good stuff.

What’s not good stuff? Listening to the announcements about baby dedication next week this morning (and jokes about whether dinosaurs dedicated their babies—I wanted to scream “or adoptive parents of older kids?” In fact it made me cry, right there, in the middle of service. I couldn’t go to altar call today; I normally go to pray for me and Hope, but after nearly a year of going faithfully nearly every service since I started this process, I couldn’t make myself go up to pray for us. I felt so invisible, so unwelcome to do it publicly.

I am convinced that there is still a greater message in this for me. I’m wrestling with trying to learn it. There is a divine reason for enduring the rejection in a space that my kid is thriving and where I am now miserable. I have no idea what that reason is or how long it will take me to uncover it, but I believe there is a reason.

Hope’s faith gives me hope. So we met friends for lunch after church today and when we get in the car we channel surfed to find some appropriate post-church music. Well after a few rumpshaker channels, I ended up plugging in my phone and bumping my favorite mix of gospel. Hope loves this mix and she sings along. Today she mentioned that when she changed foster homes the last couple of years she sang one song in particular: Fred Hammond’s We’re Blessed. Oh, getchu some here!

Yesssss! #ilive

For reals, how can you NOT have some hope after that? #anointed

Now I have to admit that this is one of my favorite faith hype songs. But really, how profound is it for a foster kid to sing this when whenever she moves to a new home? Even if she wasn’t really sure why she was singing what she was singing…wow, what a testimony about how the Holy Homeboy steps in? She continues to stun me with depth.

Of course some of the depth is countered by the swirly teendom, but still.

I love my little conundrum of a kid.

We are blessed indeed. At the end of the day, the church thing doesn’t matter.

Late in the midnight hour, the Holy Homeboy is going to turn it around.

Maybe I’m doing ok in this parenting thing. I posted an article on my ABM FB page today (have you liked it?) about regrets parents have. Oh gosh, I have so many regrets over stupid things I do on the daily. But I think I might be doing ok. I was listening to Hope describe me and some of my behaviors to a friend today. I cracked up because she has me so pegged. Now sometimes it might seem like I’m riding a broom around this house, but I love my kid with a fierceness I didn’t know was possible. I try to make her happy and safe. I give her lots of structure and she’s thriving. Whatever dumb ish she does, she does because she’s 13 and 13 year olds do incredibly dumb ish.

I think I might survive this, and I think she might too.

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Keeping track of this stuff helps me to just not get so bogged down all the time. The reflection is helpful; there’s so much I want for us and for Hope, specifically. I’m sure I could be doing better, but I think we’re going to be ok.

We’re blessed.

2 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption and Emotions, Adoption Blogs, Adoption Emotions, Adoption Lessons, Adoption Lessons Learned, African American Adoption, Finalization Life, Lessons Learned | posted in Finalization Life, Lessons Learned

October 16, 2014

The Package

By AdoptiveBlackMom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This journey continues to teach me so much.

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

October 13, 2014

Struggle Sundays

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I struggle with Sundays. To some degree I have always struggled with them because I get anxious about starting the new week. A good chunk of the day is usually spent in church; another chunk on grocery shopping. In recent years I would be stressing about finishing a paper for school. Earlier this year it was one of the two days a week I felt like I was winning the battle through Hope’s transition.

What Sundays Feel Like for ABM.

I’m not exactly sure why I struggle with Sunday’s now. I am short tempered; easily triggered. I almost feel twitchy; like I’ve had too much caffeine, though I tend to lay off the stuff a bit on the weekends. I can be short with Hope. I really just want to be left alone. Over the months, Hope has kind of learned to migrate to her room to veg on TV, puzzles and other games on Sundays, leaving me in quiet solitude.

Yeah, it doesn’t help. Then I feel guilty because I should be spending time with her.

I wonder if I have too much time to think. During the week I just move from task to task, event to event. Saturdays are our bonding/adventure days. Sundays are slow. I do much more reflecting on Sundays. I dissect the good, the bad and the ugly.

On Sundays I think I have time to miss my pre-Hope life. I have time to fret about how my parenting is perceived. I have time to reflect on criticisms and perceived slights. I have time to ponder what it means to parent a child who has experienced deep trauma. I have time pick at emotional wounds. I have time to extrapolate them into things much bigger than they probably should be. I have time to allow anger to bloom. I have time to miss spending time with Elihu.

Sundays are the days when I get to feel the full weight of being a parent, a single parent, a single adoptive parent, a single adoptive parent of a child who has experienced what Hope has experienced. Sundays are the days when I allow myself to feel the full weight of just being overwhelmed.

Ugh!

I also feel pretty alone on Sundays.

I don’t know why I don’t spend more time considering the wins of week or the growth I see in my daughter on Sundays. I’m really good at that Monday through Saturday. I can’t seem to do it on Sunday. I don’t know if my mind and my body just needs to feel it all on Sundays or what.

I don’t really know why I’m so crabby on Sundays, but trust that my struggle is super real on Sundays.

I hope a time will come when Sundays just don’t suck so much.

9 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption and Emotions, Adoption and Trauma, Adoption Emotions, Adoptive Single Moms, African American Single Adoptive Mom, New Single Adoptive Parents, Single Adoptive Parents, Single Moms | posted in Hard Stuff

September 28, 2014

Being Gracious

By AdoptiveBlackMom

This has been an absurdly painful week for me. I hate that. I don’t hate it just because I’m miserable or because I failed to avoid the discomfort. I hate it because my occasional sixth spidey sense warned me that I would be disappointed, and then I was still crushed even when I anticipated it.

On top of it I’m traveling and away from my Hope kid. I miss her. I can tell she misses me too. We google hangout everyday. It helps, but it’s not the same. I miss her.

This thing with my church is just icky. And I’m forcing myself to stay with the icky because there is a deeper something apparently meant by all of this emotional upheaval. So I’m fighting the urge to just drop out of the scene for a while; I have to think about Hope’s stability and how she has come to like it there. She’s finally starting to express an interest in going to some of the targeted programming; she’s beginning to feel safe there. I don’t want to have to find all of this somewhere else, so I have to grind this out even if I wear my teeth down.

This week, Emily H tweeted me a link to an NPR article about an adoption related ceremony at a local church. It was a short article, but gave just enough to say—look these families want and need support and acknowledgment within their church family. Ironically, I used to attend the church featured in the article years ago. I got up the gumption this Sunday morning to send the link to the pastor tasked with communicating with me. I also suggested that Adoption Awareness Month was coming up, as was Adoption Day, and mayhaps this was a time when they might consider doing something for adoptive families in the church who want some kind of ceremony. We’ve got thousands of people at our church, I’m guessing we’re not the only adoptive family.

We’ll see. I wish I could be more optimistic. I don’t like feeling like this. Hopefully it will pass soon, and we’ll be on to the next thing. In the meantime I’ll try to just focus on being gracious and brushing it off.

5 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption and Emotions, Adoption and Faith, Adoption Difficulties, Adoption Lessons, Adoption Transitions, African American Adoption, New Adoptive Parents, Older Child Adoption | posted in Hard Stuff

August 31, 2014

Filling Holes

By AdoptiveBlackMom

Today I went up for prayer at the altar during church. Nearly every week I do, and someone prays a prayer that gives me hope. Today I asked for prayer as a single mom struggling to figure out the coming weeks’ schedules in the absence of support I thought I would have when I started this journey. This weekend I found myself stressing about a major scheduling snafu that’s coming up in the next few weeks. I know I can get it covered but will that coverage be what’s best for Hope? Also, this is just the first business trip of the fall. I’m overwhelmed, and recent appeals for help were declined. I’m sad and, well, a bit scared about how things will come together.

I didn’t share the whole drama with the person at the altar, but my prayer partner prayed that our holes be filled and that our needs be met. Somehow it will be ok. This feels like another huge test of faith and frankly, I’m angry that the tests just don’t ever seem to let up. Still I was hopeful after this prayer.

Sundays are so difficult around here though that by sundown Hope and I are experiencing the routine meltdown that stresses me out and makes me wonder how I managed to have much hope that day in the first place. This Sunday was no different.

As I sit, sip a rosé and eat left over chocolate frosting from the freezer, I wonder how much of our Sunday meltdown routine do I trigger? I know I get cranky. Is it because she utterly refuses to do anything asked that frustrates me so or is it just me picking at insignificant things? Is it because she’s freaking out about the start of a new week? I imagine it’s all of it. I try to just let some things go; I even practice letting go in my head. I’m getting better at it, but in the moment it’s just…every button that can be pushed does get pushed.

Hope and I tried to have a game night tonight; we were both really trying to have fun, and we were both utterly miserable. We eventually just gave up; we don’t know who won the Game of Life tonight. I suppose there is much hope in us just trying to play right?

I don’t know how many of our emotional, spiritual and/or support holes got filled today; it feels like whatever was poured in, spilled right out. Anyway, here’s a couple of lessons from the week before I totally get chocolate wasted and switch from wine to rum because tomorrow is a holiday.

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Teenagers have messy rooms. I know, I know, this should not be a real lesson. Listen, I’m not a neat freak. I’m not. On the last Add Water and Stir podcast I talked about the state of my house during my home study, weeks before I defended my dissertation proposal—it was a semi-messy pile of papers that I took care to square up the corners and put in 18,000 pretty cardboard boxes from Ikea. Our home looks lived in.

Well, everything but her room looks lived in. Her room looks like a cyclone hit it, and this is causing me so much dissonance about the state of my house. It’s stressing me out. I thought I was a packrat, but I hold no candle to my little hoarder. I understand why she does it, but I also recognize that part of this is just run of the mill teen-esque laziness. That ish is driving me crazy. At least I don’t let her eat any wet or moist foods in her room—dry goods only so maybe there’s a chance for that sty after all.

Parents have meltdowns too. Also not news, but I’m trying to figure out how to be more gentle with myself and my own expectations of me, of Hope, of our relationship. My sense is that some of my emotional upheaval is rooted in an expectation misalignment. Did I harbor some deep seated notions that post-finalization, post-13^th birthday that Hope would somehow get her ish together? I don’t know. Maybe. If I did/do, then no wonder I’m pissed all the time and why she continues to speak so poorly about herself when I’m pissy.

Goodness we need a schedule and we need it stat.

I really worry about money. We are in good shape, but I feel like I’m hemorrhaging cash these days. Home repairs, back to school shopping, hypnotist visits and co-pays…it just doesn’t end. Tuesday I’ve got a handy man coming to fix stuff in the house. We will have lots of things fixed but is it all worth the few hundred dollars for someone else to fix this stuff? Yeah, it is, but I still fret. I don’t understand how folks in this area finance more than one kid—I just don’t. I would lose my mind.

I bought myself a pair of shoes recently. I really need some new things for work, but I sense that I will wait until things are nearly threadbare before I do any substantive shopping.

I’m currently over saying everything is mine. I know this is temporary. I can feel the Selfish ABM lurking underneath the surface; even though she has regular respite. Life is just getting on my nerves right now, and I find myself fanaticizing about an alternative version of my life. Oh well. I’m still here. But my compelling need to hide cereal and be crazy seems to have passed. This is a good thing I guess. Bring on the start of school. T-minus 2 days.

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So, I’m out. Stay tuned for an announcement about a special episode of Add Water this week. We’re going to dig into important stuff around race and adoption this week.

3 Comments | tags: Adopotion, Adoption and Emotions, Adoption Stories, Adoption Stress, Adoption Transitions, Adoptive Single Moms, African America Adoption, African American Parenting, Parenting Tweens, Single Moms, Support needed | posted in Add Water & Stir Podcast, Finalization Life

August 10, 2014

The House of Melancholy

By AdoptiveBlackMom

There is a sadness over Casa d’ABM this weekend. The Furry One is essentially near the end of life. His recent decline has been rapid and heartbreaking. I have had my beloved fur ball since he was 8 weeks old. He’s been my constant companion and unconditional love for a very long time. It is one of life’s tragedies that our animals do not share our lifespans. These are The Furry One’s last days, and I am a mess. Hope has been incredibly kind to me; I’ve wept many times the last few days.

The impending loss of our four-legged family member has brought about a sad shadow of past losses over this home. Hope has withdrawn into herself. When she engages, she does so with heaviness. After some prodding last night, she openly mourned how much she’s lost in the last few years: Her puppy, her dad, things from her old home with her dad, things from previous foster families. She didn’t cry, but she’s just so sad. She even confided that she asked that her room be painted pink in order to give me the impression that she was a girlie girl; she really wished she had been honest and asked for the room to be painted blue or purple. She’s not really a girlie girl at all.

I think I’ll see about having her room painted by year’s end. I won’t cater to every one of Hope’s whims, but there’s no sense in keeping a room that Hope’s pre-adoptive representative-self asked for when the real her is here now.

I feel like I’ve made a number of parenting mistakes in the midst of my grief this week. I do apologize to Hope when I can’t seem to get myself together. She worked very hard on her chores yesterday, even going for the bonus sweeping/vacuuming/mopping chore of the common areas in the house yesterday (It’s worth an extra $5). She did it on her own, and all I could do was snap about why she didn’t vacuum before she mopped. She was so sad; I didn’t praise her first. As a kid, I remembered being asked why I didn’t dust before vacuuming; I remember that I just didn’t know. It didn’t occur to me that I should do it in a particular order. It didn’t occur to Hope either. And like my mom years ago, I found myself trying to calmly explain the rationale about the order and praising her on her initiative and how great the mopped floor looked.

I wish I could do some lessons learned this week, but I really can’t see past the sadness. This will be our first major loss together. It hurts.

Today we will go have Sunday dinner with some friends; we will enjoy the sunlight and we will love one another and cuddle The Furry One.

4 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption and Depression, Adoption and Emotions, Adoption and Loss, Adoption and Parenting, African American Adoption, African American Single Adoptive Mom, Parenting, Pet Loss, Pets | posted in Dealing with the Past, Finalization Life

July 27, 2014

Away, Away We Go

By AdoptiveBlackMom

OMG, my first week away from Hope! Lots of mixed emotions about being away. I’m really excited about jumping into work and having evenings free. I’m getting a fancy award and Elihu is coming to join me for a couple of kid free days. I’m taking a couple of days to just lounge and rest when I get back. I’m excited. #treatyoself

And I already miss Hope like mad. She’s texted me a dozen times about all manner of things. She’s anxious and excited, but mostly anxious. I know the challenges that exist when she’s anxious, and that makes me anxious.

But somehow it will be ok. It will. In the grand scheme of things it will be good for both of us for lots of reasons. I need this time to try to really get my work mojo back. She needs this time to be with extended family, have some fun and learn to stretch a little bit.

We’ll have some hiccups, but we will survive.

I’ve been thinking about how far we’ve come since I hit the airport yesterday. She’s such a different kid than she was 6 months ago. Despite her anxiety, she’s more confident about her place in this world now. She has a mom and a family. Permanence has created so many opportunities for growth during the last two months.

Each day I see Hope grow a little more; even on the days that are challenging. She asks questions; we have conversations. I see her happy, I see her sad. I see Hope, and somewhere along the way, her realization that I actually see her made a difference. She’s not a number or a statistic or just some sad story anymore. She’s my kid.

Meltdowns don’t look anything like they used to; I mean nothing like they used to. In fact I’m more likely to have a mini meltdown than Hope is. She is increasingly poised. When Hope melts down, she seizes any opportunity to right herself and show what she’s really capable of to everyone around her. This week her camp teacher pulled me aside and just gushed about her and how well-mannered she is, how delightful she is and just complimented me on what an amazing kid she is. I fought to hold back tears because my heart nearly burst; hell, I’m crying right now thinking about it.

And she’s my number one fan. Last week, we ran into Monty Durham from Say Yes to the Dress at the local Starbucks. She didn’t know who he was but she was amused by my little star stricken moment. When we got home I googled him so she could see who he was. She got the idea to google me, and well, my job is at a national organization and so I popped up on google. By Hope’s definition this means her mom is famous. She has told her friends, her camp classmates, camp directors, people at church the therapist, the checkout lady and the bagger at the grocery store and anyone else who will listen that her mom is the bomb.com. It’s nice to know my cool factor has gone up, but beyond that, Hope sees me too. She sees me like I see her.

I realize how much trust capital I’ve earned over the last 6 months, but especially in the last month. I’ve tried to be consistent. I’ve tried to be judicious in creating opportunities for new stuff—recognizing that to some degree it’s all been new. I’ve wiped her tears, watched squeaky band concerts and bad magic tricks; I’ve sat through creaky voice lessons. I’ve done a balloon release in honor of her dad because she needed to have her own ceremony celebrating his life and their relationship, even if it was really, really complicated. I’ve dragged her to church, figured out ways of answering tough theological questions and discussed her desire to be baptized because I’m no longer dragging her to church; she looks forward to going.

When she recently referred to me as “mom,” distinctive from her “birth mom” it all came into focus that we are really doing this family thing. We are really a “we.” It’s a stunning thing in many ways. On Tuesday it will be one year since I first got an email about Hope from my agency as a possible match. It’s hard to believe that she’s mine and I’m hers a year later.

I just talked to Hope and virtually tucked her in. Earlier today I got a few anxious texts, by this evening she was giving me confident updates on The Furry One, who’s dealing with some serious health issues (sad face). The realization that I might have anything to do with this transformation in her is humbling, beyond humbling. She is hands down the most amazing person in my universe. I’m so proud of her. I’m so excited to see what we do next.

I think this trip away marks the beginning of a new chapter for me and Hope. That’s a pretty exciting.

Gosh, this funny smelling Denver air has got me all extra introspective. No really, the contact that I accidentally got walking down the block…so serious!

2 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption and Emotions, African American Adoption, African American Single Adoptive Mom, Post-Placement Life | posted in Finalization Life

July 13, 2014

See, What Had Happened Was…

By AdoptiveBlackMom

Um, so, I, um, kinda got into a *thing* at the Bruno Mars concert. Yeah, I did. Some inebriated woman started pushing and shoving folks when she was confronted about being in the wrong seat in our row. It happened so fast and the next thing I know, this 50-something, stumbling drunk woman pushed Hope hard as she was swinging on someone else. Hope, on one of the happiest days of her young life, started to cry because it was going down in the seats next to her while Bruno was getting his Michael Jackson-Prince-James Brown-Elvis on a few rows away.

Awww hells no!

I quickly donned my angry wolf mama face, deftly switched seats with Hope and assessed the situation. I had to hold the lady back from swinging on the dude who was explaining she was in the wrong seat. I leaned over and spoke in her ear, “Hey, settle down, you are a little out of control, get your ish together, take a break.” I let her go, and she spun around and swung on me, and pushed to try to get past me, stopping in front of Hope.

Say what now? Awww double hells naw.

Hope was now in hysterics (God only knows what kind of trauma memories this all triggered); 3 rows of people were trying to get this lady to settle down or exit.

And I pushed her away from my kid. Yeah, I did. And I’d do it again.

Not proud of putting hands on her but she was out of control, and all I could think was that if she swung on me and a full grown man, what would this drunk lady do to my kid?

She, um, flew, kinda, out of the row (I had about 100lbs on her). After a couple more Bruno songs and several complaints filed by people all around us, crazy lady was tossed out of the venue.

Hope was scared and for a while inconsolable. Seatmates all around were so kind, and for a while, when it looked like security was going to let the lady stay, I thought there might be a full on melee (at a dang Bruno Mars concert??? All the crazy concerts I’ve attended and a melee was going to break out at a Bruno Mars concert?)

And then Bruno started singing Hope’s favorite song—Grenade—and she grabbed my hand and we started to sing.

I’d gladly take a grenade for this kid.

It’s been a crazy week, and I haven’t done a lessons learned bit for a while. So, let’s dig in!

_____________________

I now know what heaven looks like. Bruno Mars is Hope’s all time, favorite celebrity. Oh she loves him. She was anxious about the concert, freaking out about what to wear, asking questions galore. I spent an absurd amount of cash on those tickets, but the moment that the curtain went up, the pure ecstasy on her face…really, there aren’t words to describe it all. I can tell you nothing else mattered in that moment. It was better than her arrival, it was actually on some short term level better than finalization. It was better than Disney. It was a snapshot in time that I will take with me to my grave. All I could think was being able to give Hope this very moment, this very experience has just crystalized my concepts of the joy of motherhood. There were moments of just watching her that just seemed like bliss. Heaven must be like that. Sign me up.

In my quest for normalcy, I forget that Hope has developmental problems. My wanton forgetfulness about her social anxieties, random phobias and developmental delays, is no good for us. I can see so much growth in her over the last six months, but I also am aware that it’s hard to see the invisible things that still make her different. Many of her little issues are little and over time may, with love and support, may self-correct. But right now it’s hard to deal with meeting new kids and sometimes acting age appropriately. The OCD behaviors pop and things go off the rails quickly. And you know what? It can be embarrassing for both of us. Even more so now; I feel like others feel like we should be “normal;” I mean we’re finalized, we’re legal, there’s permanency, right? It’s hard sometimes being reminded that we aren’t normal, especially in the presence of others.

Someone once called me territorial when it came to Hope. It wasn’t meant to be a hurtful comment, but I’ve struggled with this characterization for a while now. I tried not to be offended. I understand how it must all look from the outside; maybe it’s true. It’s hard creating a therapeutic home where Hope can be safe trying to heal from years of abuse of various kinds and years in the foster care system. It’s hard creating a space where she can wrestle with the invisible problems privately, where I can wrestle with it all privately too. It’s hard realizing that the addition of a new family member isn’t what folks thought it would be. So yeah, I’m territorial and protective even against some of folks closest to me. It’s hard getting side eyes from people who don’t understand why we stay in or why things go nutty when we go out with other people. Six months in and I jarring reminders about how far we still have to go, while celebrating how far we’ve come, which in reality is so very far. Sometimes it feels like we just can’t win. So I escape to the land of denial.

I’m not sure what’s less fair, ascribing feelings of pressure to be normal to others or wishing so hard that we were actually normal, or putting Hope in positions where her behaviors seem characterized as failure when she’s really doing the best she can. It all kinda sucks.

Single parenting is hard. This isn’t new, but when I’m trying to figure out who a backup will be for pickups or trying to plan for fall business trips, it’s a reminder about how I have to try to line things up far, far in advance because I’m alone. I’m working on getting my team of sitters in place so that I can resume some business travel this fall. I don’t know what role family can/will play in helping out over the long haul. I worry a lot. I worry about money a lot, even though I seem to be financially ok. Sure things are tighter than they used to be, but we’re fine.

I appreciate not having to consult folks on many decisions, but I wish I had someone to consult with on others. I selfishly like not sharing Hope, but see such an awesome kid who would also benefit long term from a positive male role model that I wish I had one for her.

The early need to be “territorial” made it difficult to create close sustainable, safe relationships for me and Hope; the expectations about how things were supposed to be were just too much to live up to. We were both burned and got burned, and we’re still recovering and trying to build trust. Consequently, I don’t reach out to folks I thought I would reach out to. I hope that will change. It’s easy to forget that it’s only been six months, so much has happened.

I’m still depressed. Oh, it’s not as dramatic as it was shortly after placement and during our major crisis in Feb/March, but it’s still there. I manage it. I have gotten better as self-care, mostly in getting time away to just be. I still have lots of room for improvements in taking care of me, though. But often, if I’m honest, the blues are just below the surface. The blues oddly coexist with joy in seeing her earn an award at camp, enjoy a concert and get on with a new friend when social anxiety makes things so hard. I’m delighted by those things, and even though my controlled cries are much less than they used to be, they still happen every few days. I wonder when they will vanish.

_____________________

I am doing well. I’m managing and learning how to ask for help. Of course I have no idea how this coming week is going to go down—why did I agree to a camp that starts at 9:30 and ends at 3:30? Don’t they know people work???

5 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption and Emotions, Adoption Post Placement Challenges, African American Adoption, Lessons Learned, Post-Placement Life | posted in Finalization Life, Lessons Learned

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