Tag Archives: Finalization Life

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 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 22, 2014

Random Loss

By AdoptiveBlackMom

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

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

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

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

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

Green light: we are cruising through life.

Red light: Screeching, distracting halt.

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

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

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

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

October 16, 2014

The Package

By AdoptiveBlackMom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This journey continues to teach me so much.

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

October 6, 2014

Lessons from the Road

By AdoptiveBlackMom

It seems we’ve turned a corner in Casa d’ABM. I am on my second business trip and a third is right around the corner. I’m tired and probably a bit irritable. My forced absence from my home for work has resulted in Hope really stepping up. She’s doing laundry and really hanging in there. I expect that she might go off the rails before it’s all over, but so far so good. I’m proud of her; I know that it’s all a challenge. It’s a challenge for both of us. We’ve got great help and we’ll make it through. This change in routine has resulted in some new lessons for me. Yeah, always learning; always reflecting.

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This teenage girl thing is a hot, flakey, buttered mess. I’m so glad that Hope talks to me, and I’m trying to keep my mouth shut at key moments so that she will keep talking. I wish that I could make things easier for her, but what with hormones, talk of anorexic lunch mates, school fundraisers and bullies… it’s all a bit much. Some people have said I jumped into the deep end of the pool; some days I feel like I jumped off a cruise ship into the ocean. But for now, she tells me things. I watch her watch me for even the most subtle facial expression as she decides what and how much to tell me. I watch her retreat into her room when things just get too much. Hours go by. She’s ok, but she just needs time. I watch her start to fret about her outfits; she’s evolving from a jeans and tee girl. The rough edges are smoothing ever so slightly. Hope is growing.

All this growth has resurfaced some old behaviors. Old habits die hard. Early on, Hope and I struggled with the lingering impact of her being put in caretaker roles. There were days when this kid thought she was all the way grown. #nomaam #haveseveralseats It was challenging to get her to trust that I was the sole adult in this relationship and that I took care of everything. At some point the pendulum swung all the way to the other end of the continuum with me engaging her with very childlike things. She was very much baby-like for some weeks there.

And now we’re back to trying to be grown. Lawd, this child. There are moments when I really just feel like saying, “Sit your $5 behind down before I make change!” Right now we are really struggling with some of her assessments about the adults in her life, particularly teachers. She fancies herself an educational expert and is quick to conclude that a teacher is not appropriately deploying the curriculum. #eyeroll It is a tedious process of Q&A to help her question her conclusions, focus on the learning, and considering what she might do differently to elicit a different, more positive response from folks. In the end, it’s always about whether she feels like she can trust the adult to take care of whatever it is that needs to be taken care of. We seem to be in a season when she isn’t as trustful. A lot has happened already this school year, and I know it’s resulted in some of this setback. It’s tough.

Adoption conversations occur all the dang time, and they require so much energy. Yesterday it was a question about why we call animal mutts and what that says about their parentage and hers (is she a mutt?). A few days before it was a chat about how to see her biological grandmother and an aunt without the rest of the family knowing she doesn’t want to see them. Days before that it was a desire to see her original birth certificate, then a conversation about her thoughts on ever seeing/talking to her biological mother. Then there was the confab last week about the upcoming holiday season and establishing traditions that are mindful of broken traditions before, of pleasant and horrible holiday memories, of how completely overwhelming it is to start over again.

Then there’s the movies (last week The Amazing Spiderman), the TV show (Grey’s Anatomy) and on and on. Sometimes I feel like I’m just always waiting for a shoe to drop on an adoption topic. Some days they spark lots of conversation; other days there is no noticeable impact, but I know it’s lurking.

I’m not afraid of these conversations. She is committed to establishing herself in this family, but she’s also trying to figure out who she is and how to reconcile it all. It’s a lot for 13, especially when 13 is already so messy.

And speaking of messy, we are going to work to expand the family connections. Hope has concluded that she wants to try to broker a relationship with two family members. Of course, it’s the ones who seem to respect boundaries. This is cool, though it’s all so very emotional. It means I have to work hard to manage my own assessments and learned experiences of the last few months in relating to members of the family. I am struggling to figure out how to protect her from the other family members who don’t respect established boundaries and who she is very adamant about not seeing, hearing from or having any contact with at all. I’m learning a lot more from fellow blogger, Mimi (www.ComplicatedMelodi.com), on how to be empathetic towards Hope’s biological family. It’s tough though when my experiences haven’t been great and when her experiences haven’t been great and her expectations have been dashed before. Oy.

High expectations hurt people over and over and over. This journey changes you. It changes the people around you. It brings out the best in people. It brings out the worst in people.

There are always so many expectations, and they are so very high. Your own expectations are the worse. You are your own worst critic; especially when you are wrestling with some rough stuff going on at home. The expectations just never seem to let up whether they are internal or external. And there’s no way to meet all those expectations.

I find myself sometimes feeling furious and exasperated by all the expectations and my subsequent failure when I don’t live up to them. I don’t have too many confidants who aren’t other adoptive parents; sometimes other people just don’t understand. I found myself confronted by outrageous expectations this week. I was furious; I was hurt and I just wanted to lash out. And I did to some degree. I know I can’t do it all or the way other people want me to. I can’t live up to it all. I don’t even want to. But it hurts like hell when all you want to do is what’s best for your kid and folks muddy the waters with unreasonable expectations about ish they know little about.

Hell, it’s bad enough when I muddy my own waters. Everyone, including me, just needs to take a chill pill.

Technology is providing a great assist in this parenting thing. Hope is shady. Of course she’s shady, she’s developed extraordinary survival skills during her 13 years, and well, she’s 13, she is wired to be somewhat shady at this stage. I try to stay at least one step ahead of her and technology helps me do it. I use various apps to manage her online experience. I block pages, I monitor how much time she’s allowed to have online. Some of my faves are Screen Time (only $2.99 a month) and Blocksi (free), which is a browser add on that blocks certain content, including specific pages you enter. Hope whines a lot that I don’t trust her, and occasionally I’ll loosen the reigns to give her some space to show that she can handle some freedom. That usually lasts a week or two, and well, we find that some of the blocks come back online.

Since I’m traveling a bit at the moment, I needed to be able to continue sending her personalized notes first thing in the morning. Usually I hang these in the bathroom for her. Google Cloud Print has changed the game! I now just create my notes in Google Drive and print to the house so that the nanny picks it up and hangs it in the bathroom. Tonight I printed an updated chore list—Hope acted both amazed at my ability to print remotely AND blow up her chore duty spot at the same time. Ha! ABM’s tech game is strong!

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So, anyhoo, we’re doing. The travel separation is tough; I know I will have a different kid at the end of the month. It’s scary and exciting, though. She’s doing some real growth right now. I can’t wait to see what the next blossom entails!

1 Comment | tags: adoption, Adoption Lessons, Adoption Lessons Learned, African American Adoption, African American Parenting, African American Single Adoptive Mom, Finalization Life, Lessons Learned, New Adoptive Mom | posted in Finalization Life, Hard Stuff, Lessons Learned

September 25, 2014

“Amazing Dedication…”

By AdoptiveBlackMom

For the last several months I felt a strong desire, no really a need, to dedicate Hope at our church. I’ve been really thinking about the need to plug in there and root us firmly in the church I’ve been attending for the last 4 years. I sat on it for a while, thinking maybe it’s just a little too extra to want a dedication for Hope. Maybe it’s really just me wanting something else instead. Attention maybe? I dunno.

Each week I really set about to pray on this. I went to the altar to pray for my little family. Every week the person praying with me would go through the “Ohhhs and Ahhhhs!!!” of my faux-sainthood in adopting an older child.

(Oh yeah, apparently Red Bull isn’t the only thing that will get you some angel wings, adopting a teenager is apparently the 2 miracles needed to get you right on the fast track of sainthood.)

Every week someone would glow and pray for me and for Hope. In one prayer that I really believe was a turning point for me, one of my associate pastors, after the “Ooooh/Ahhh” thing, ministered to me during a really rough week about how indeed the Holy Homeboy does give you more than bear just so that you will return to him for help. He’s got you, you aren’t in this alone.

I can’t tell you how much that thing hit my heart. I have shared that with my friends and family as a real testimony. It moved me.

The part about not being alone really, really touched me. It also led me to this place of realizing that I needed the fellowship and support of my church in raising Hope.

I also suddenly felt that this desire to give her back to the Holy Homeboy as a dedication wasn’t just some weird thing I had come up with that didn’t make sense. It was meaningful to me spiritually; it was a part of our bonding and our healing to celebrate our family and for me as the head of this home to dedicate her and to commit to raising her in a manner consistent with my faith. And although she is of an age where she can decide to follow or not, her life journey before now…well we both have felt like her journey on this path of considering what all this means is just beginning. Being dedicated I think is a part of our future journey.

I still didn’t immediately contact my pastors though. I’ve been involved in a church in some way most of my life. I’ve often struggled with the rigidity of dogma and routine. I’m a nonconformist by nature and believing in something like a major religion demands some adherence to some pretty rigid stuff sometimes. Organized churches have long annoyed me with the resistance to change and the inability to understand the unique needs of individuals in the congregation. My church experiences have sometimes included a lot of othering of members or groups. We lost people; we lost souls. And all of this was and is inconsistent with some of my personal beliefs about equality and humanity and the type of work I do every day. So occasionally I’d drop out of the church scene. I just can’t with a bunch of isolating foolishness. I can’t, and I won’t.

A few years ago, after taking my first classes towards my EdD, I concluded there was no way I was going to get though the program without being hooked up in a place where I could get my soul nourished regularly. I found a great inclusive, progressive church, and I have flourished there.

And here I was now with my little family, afraid to make a request to have my family blessed, to formally and publicly commit to raising Hope in a way that supported her spiritual growth. I was afraid that now I would be othered in a place I loved and that I would be told that I we didn’t fit here.

I finally made the request and I waited.

A week passed.

Then more days went by.

Then I got an initial response about my “amazing dedication” to my daughter and that while dedications were really for babies, they would round up the pastoral staff and see what they could come up with for me and Hope.

Hmmm, ok, already feeling othered but praying and trusting that whatever they came up with would be…I dunno, right.

Last night I got the email. I read it. I read it again.

And then I called Sister K and I sobbed until my nose ran.

The email laid out their view of dedication in three parts:

1) Dedicating the child to God

2) Parents dedicating themselves to raise the child to love God &

3) The Church dedicating themselves to the family to support them during the child’s raising.

The email went on to say because Hope was 13, it really wasn’t appropriate to do a dedication for her.

Sigh, ok.

But because they wanted to do something special for us, they would be happy to pray with us privately; oh yeah, we could invite a few people if we liked, but they felt a private prayer ceremony would be more appropriate for our unique situation.

The sender even included a smiley emoticon.

Sigh.

I know I’m writing about my church, but let me take a moment for some ABM realness:

WTH?

I questioned why would the Holy Homeboy lay this on my heart so strongly only to have me and Hope hidden behind an office door after a service. I questioned whether this was all some ish that I convinced myself the Holy Homeboy laid on my heart in the first place. I questioned why I didn’t take Hope’s approach to so many things in life and just give up before I even asked, because I had already decided it wouldn’t work out. I wondered why I bothered to have faith in this thing at all.

And in the midst of all this questioning, I sobbed some more.

I know that writing when I’m angry or upset is probably not a good thing, but I really wanted to get some thoughts on paper and so I drafted a response to my pastoral staff.

I thanked them for their consideration and asked for time to pray on this “private”ceremony offer.

I tried to meaningfully explain two points. First, Hope, though at an age where she can make a decision about her belief in the Holy Homeboy was being raised by me—she wasn’t a grown up and her history left her maturity level well below where it should be—and based on the views that guided dedications, we met the criteria. Second, a private prayer, while lovely, isolated us from our church family; we were hidden and it felt like it was because something was wrong with us. If I had adopted an infant or toddler or had a biological child we would be in a position to publicly celebrate the arrival of this child we were dedicating to the Holy Homeboy. Doing this prayer, not dedication, privately served to just isolate families like mine—older child adoptive families–in ways that just compounded our loneliness in the last place where we were supposed to ever be lonely. I can only imagine how many other invisible non-baby toting, differently made families are invisibly existing at my church now.

I admitted that I am not a theologian, so I’m sure in over my head on this one. Maybe I’m totally and wackadoodle-y off base here. But I was as Hope would say so eloquently, “butt hurt.”

The idea of rejecting a prayer from a pastoral staff for which I have great respect seems so disingenuous, but I just can’t do this. Not this way.

I read and reread my draft, felt it was respectful but clear about how it made me feel and cut and pasted it into an email and hit send.

I got an email back pretty quickly about how really this offer was just to get the dialogue going (this is a negotiation?) and that maybe we could do something a “little more known” like with Hope’s student peers and our family.

Then there was a bunch of stuff about never intending to isolate, go God, and how amazing my sainthood candidacy is going. Blah, blah, blah.

Sigh.

And honestly, I’m over it. I really am. I am clicking the “lalalala, I can’t hear you” button for a minute.

I don’t feel like being an adoption advocate right now. I don’t.

And I don’t want to feel like I’m fighting for support and recognition for my family from my church.

I don’t feel like negotiating to be supported.

I don’t want to be hidden.

I don’t feel like explaining how we need other people to see us as a family—it’s not like it’s a secret. I’ve been going there for 4 years; I go for special prayer every week, I email for prayer and one day I showed up with a tween and now she’s with me every week.

I’m exhausted, I don’t feel like begging for support as a parent raising this traumatized child to trust the world again and to trust that the Holy Homeboy still loves her despite all of the schnitty stuff that’s happened to her.

ABM’s down, man. ABM down.

I don’t even want to engage in the “process” of dialoging about negotiating anything at all. I just want to kick my rocks with my kid and click the off button on this whole thing.

26 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption Blogs, Adoption Emotions, African American Adoption, African American Single Adoptive Mom, Finalization Life, Older Child Adoption | posted in Finalization Life, Hard Stuff

September 22, 2014

Fantasies Reconsidered

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I’ve wanted to write a lot lately but couldn’t focus on just one topic, hence my recent series of lists. The lists have given me more extended time to just reflect on lots of emotions, lots of surprises and lots of hopes and dreams for Hope, for me and for us. This time has also lead to some harder reality checks that I think I want to share about adoption and my personal journey.

_________

Hope’s fantasy life does not include ever needing to meet me. Recently, Hope and I got to joking about what our fantasies were about life. She asked me lots of questions and some of my answers made her giggle by their level of outrageousness. I quickly turned the tables and asked her about her fantasy life. I just wasn’t thinking and we fell into a bit of a dark space.

Hope took a moment and told me that she wished her father was around and that they lived happily ever after. I wasn’t in the scenario. Why would I be? If the fantasy were true, even modestly, there was no need for my existence in her life. The moment she mentioned her father I knew I wasn’t a part of the fantasy; I even respected it. But I felt some kind of way about it. It hurt even if I didn’t admit it or show it.

We recovered easily, but it was a reminder to me that she might love me but life should’ve been different for her.

I’m guessing that dealing with the bio-family is the Holy Homeboy’s epic way of teaching me patience and grace. My tank is really almost always on E with some of these folks. I normally do not respond to what feels like their routine invasions. Truth be told it’s primarily one person who has a serious problem with boundaries who irks my nerves to high heaven. But every week folks seem to just turn up. If it’s not this one family member it’s someone else trying to friend me on Facebook. Hope has no idea that I play whackamole with her family on a regular basis, and I hope to keep it that way for a while. She really doesn’t have much for her bio-family in the way of words and her emotions carry waves of anger. So I click ok on the friend requests, put them on my containment list and move on to the next one.

I’m in limbo at my church and it’s causing me some angst. Seriously, there is no shortage of faith-based patience challenges around these parts. I’ve requested the opportunity to dedicate Hope to God as a part of my commitment to raise her in a home of believers—like a baby dedication. But clearly Hope is 13 so a baby dedication isn’t quite right, but this isn’t something that takes the place of a baptism. Hope will make her own decision about being baptized. There are lots of discussions to be had and a decision should come soon.

Who knew, right? Glad I wasn’t called to tie her up and toss her on top of an altar and hope for a ram.

But I’m still waiting for a ram. The desire to dedicate her is a strong unexplained desire that feels right. I guess we’ll see what the Holy Homeboy has in store here.

I’m wondering if anyone else feels weirdly calm in the midst of an anxiety swirl? I resume my fall travel schedule this week. Hope is kind of anxious and so am I. But we’re also really, really calm and low key about it. It’s weird. We talk about what’s scary about it. We’ve got great help with the nannies and family support. The schedule is on lock and we know what it supposed to happen. And so there’s a strong faith that we will be just fine. And that calm sits in the midst of a lot of other emotions about my need to travel. We are in a really different place than we were months ago. We’ve got a plan. We’ve done it before, and there were no epic disasters. So, we’ll be fine right? Yeah. We’ll be fine.

_________

So it’s time for another week of great adventures! In other news, if you want to follow my exploits or just engage me in semi-real time, I’ve finally set up a Facebook page: Adoptive Black Mom. I’ll hang out there, post some things and think about new lenses to apply to this journey with Hope.

3 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption Lessons, Adoption Lessons Learned, Adoptive Single Moms, African American Adoption, African American Parenting, African American Single Adoptive Mom, Finalization Life, Lessons Learned | posted in Finalization Life, Lessons Learned

July 8, 2014

Today in Images

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I simply can’t recount the drama of the day in detail. It’s just meh…sometimes you just can’t. So, every now and again I try something different. Here’s today in pictures.

Two hours of sleep after the On the Run concert. I’m too old for this mess.

Then I get this phone call…

When I get to the spot…simmering. I didn’t actually say this, but I thought it. I did give the look though.

And the administrator thinks I’m about to cut up and act a fool because of the events of the morning. Didn’t know me from a can of paint.

No boo, that’s Dr. ABM to you. #respect

After the “Dr” thing, all sorts of privilege turned up and solutions magically appeared.

But I was still about to come undone about what happened. It was serious.

It was going to be on like popcorn.

And our ice maiden alter egos made an appearance.

And after the thaw-ie several hours–we had the heart to heart that didn’t involve me wringing her neck.

I used my communication skills and everything. I also kept my hands firmly at my sides.

And we hugged it out.

But there are some serious consequences in place.

And now red wine…and bad TV.

Don’t forget to check out the second episode of Add Water and Stir–this Thursday night, 10pm EDT/9pm CDT! 🙂

5 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption Stories, African American Adoption, African American Parenting, African American Single Adoptive Mom, Finalization Life, Tween Parenting | posted in Finalization Life, Tween Parenting

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: adoption, Adoption and Bio Families, Adoption and Emotional Health, Adoption and Emotions, African American Adoption, African American Single Adoptive Mom, Finalization Life | posted in Dealing with the Past, Finalization Life

June 26, 2014

Milestones and Lessons

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I think I might be milestoned out. I’m tired of all the celebrations and am ready to get on with life. But alas, it’s summer and there are lots of fun times planned. And all of the activities are like milestones for Hope because the summer is full of new experiences.

I should’ve given more thought to this; I might be overstimulated. Not that I’m not enjoying watching Hope’s face light up and all the cake (ABM LOVES cake), it’s just that we’ve crammed a lot of lifetime highlights into the last couple of months. I suppose this is another lesson learned, speaking of which here’s my latest revelations.

______________________

Hope is growing. I mean, like, Hope is on her way to being a total glamazon. She’s been through two dramatic growth spurts since January. She’s nearly grown out of the most recently purchased clothes. Now she’s healthy and her diet is pretty good—she’ll eat fruits and veggies but she wants junk food like any kid her age. She gets fast food twice a week—once midweek and once on the weekend.

I recently read up on how once really stabilized former foster kids can go through rapid growth; the previous emotional trauma often results in some stunted growth and development. I knew this was true emotionally, but I didn’t count on it physically with Hope. At 12 she was already 5’5’! Who would’ve thought there was stunted physical growth somewhere in a kid that tall at that age?

Called up the family physician who said, yeah, basically, he’s seen it many times during his 30+ years of practice; all kinds of wackery with the endocrine system.

Ok, so I’m not crazy for needing to take Hope shopping so frequently. I used to love shopping, but shopping with a tween is not all that amusing. But it’s a necessary evil; she’s literally growing up out of her clothes.

Sadness still chases joy. I wrote a bit about this earlier this week; Hope often remembers sad things when good things happen. It makes for a weird juxtaposition, and I suspect that it may also be why I’m over all the milestones. They just aren’t exclusively celebrations; they always have a drama chaser.

Birthday concert tickets trigger memories of broken promises.
Finalization feels like both the end of life and beginning of life.
Going on a plane ride to a fun destination is marred with the anxiety of that ONE time she had an ear infection and
Being proud of her adoption means exposing herself to ridicule about her biological parents.
During the “Best Night Ever” (aka the Katy Perry concert), there’s a short crying spell about feeling guilty about being adopted and why couldn’t her bio family take care of her like this.

I get the ying and yang of life, but dang, I wish the “balance” of emotions would just give Hope a break and just let her be happy and just be happy for a nice long stretch.

Same race adoption has certain privileges, but those privileges can cut too. It’s really awesome to never have to answer questions like, “Is she adopted?” by perfect strangers. There is a nice privilege associated with same race adoption; though I still don’t think we look anything alike despite the protests of many friends.

The sticky wicket is that the innocuous nosey questions asked while folks are making small talk trigger anxiety. A lovely couple in seats next to ours at the concert chatted us up. They were lovely really, but when they asked if Hope had any siblings and were they jealous that I took her to something so special, I could see the panic in her eyes. She didn’t want to lie, but it was just so complicated knowing there are other bio siblings out there somewhere. I saw a whole sordid history in her eyes and the delightful ease with which we were recognized as mom and daughter got tripped up by the lack of biology. I quickly replied, “It’s just the two of us!” I saw her visibly relax, after pulling out the silly putty she uses to cope with anxiety.

As we sat quietly during an intermission, I realized that it isn’t the big adoption questions that cause is a bit of angst; it’s the ones that don’t question our biology at all that test us. We both have our lives before one another; I choose to follow her lead in disclosing, though my acquaintances and colleagues obviously realize that I didn’t have a tween/teen a year ago and now I do. Hope loved her dad and struggles with how to weave these two chunks of her life together. It’s the little questions that she wrestles with.

I realized that these little questions trip me up as well. I struggle with my own identity. I love being “mom,” but honestly I have my own feelings about the invisibility of our adoption because of race and what that means for my identity as a single Black mom. I find that I easily slip off those feelings in order to reduce her discomfort, and that’s how the sacrifice should be. But I do feel some kind of way about it.

In those moments I realize that Hope and I talk with our eyes; we know our secret and we navigate this life together.

I’m a little overwhelmed by the next bunch of paperwork. I’ve got the final decree and birth certificate in hand. Now, to change Hope’s name all over North America. I’m overwhelmed by the visits to Social Security, the phone calls and the forms. I’m tired of forms. Just when you think you’re done, you get a piece of mail that reminds you that you’re not. I pledge to finish all the name change stuff post vacation.

The goal of increasing my patience levels is a work in progress. There are really days when I wonder how the devil did I end up here. I am terribly impatient. I like things now and on my terms. I don’t like to be questioned, and I loathe being reliant on other people’s schedule. I do. I really do. So, when Hope says she can be ready in 20 minutes and I know it takes her no less than 90 minutes to get ready to go anywhere, I’m annoyed. When Hope asks a litany of questions about why the sky is blue like a 5 year old, I hate admitting it, but I’m annoyed.

I’ve gotten better at being patient when it counts—when she’s upset, when she’s sad, when she just needs things diffused. I’m still working on being patient when she freaks out over the bug phobia or when she is complaining about her latest attention grabbing ailment or when she wants to sit with me on the couch and actually sits on me on the couch. I just don’t do that well with those things.

______________________

So, there you go. Next up, the Disney vacation. Yay. Have I mentioned that I hate Orlando? No? Oh, yeah, I kinda hate Orlando, but it’s all good. I am looking forward to seeing Hope’s delight in going to Disneyworld. I am not looking forward to the first time she sees palmetto bugs…#jesusbeavatofdeet

Oh, Hope lasted about 18 hours on the hugs and kisses strike. Ha!

Leave a comment | tags: adoption, Adoption Blogs, Adoption Lessons, Adoption Lessons Learned, Adoption Stories, African American Adoption, African American Single Adoptive Mom, Finalization Life | posted in Finalization Life, Lessons Learned

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