I'm a researcher. I feel a compelling need to know things. I don't like to be surprised. I like to be prepared. Make that over prepared. So when we decided to adopt, I jumped in feet first. Unknowns scare me. And there are so many unknowns in an international adoption that I can't even begin to list them. So I studied them. I read blog after blog of real people's experiences. I prepared for the worst - for those things you can't anticipate. And then we got our referral. And I looked at the list of scary diagnosis's and researched some more. Pictures of what worst case could look like. Medical and psychological descriptions that somehow made a scary sounding list seem more manageable. But there was one thing I could never find. In all my searching and reading and preparation, it seemed that the follow ups disappeared. The families that blogged religiously for the first few months tapered off at the half year and were almost non-existent at the year mark. I'm not sure I read any "here's how it's going" past year 2 of being home.
I get it. Life moves on. You stop being an "adoptive family" and just become a family. That "new puppy" syndrome dries up. You're not that crazy family who everyone thinks is doing this amazing thing anymore. You're actually living life now. And you've got this child who's more than just a picture on a paper or a list of diagnosis made in an orphanage halfway around the world.
It's real now.
And there's less impulse to get behind a keyboard and make it sound like it's roses and rainbows and unicorn poo. But I also think it's still important. It's important to let that mom that is in the trenches right now, know that that trench might go on and that it's ok if it does. She'll get stronger. It's important to let that dad know just how crucial it is that he protect his wife and their relationship. It's important to let their family know that in this life and, easy or not, God's got a purpose. He brought you HERE to this time in this circumstance and He IS making something beautiful and redeeming those really ugly things if we just let Him.
6 years ago this month we walked into the house exhausted. Jetlagged. I had strep. We didn't know yet, but we were about to get hit by strep, influenza and double pink eye...every.single.one.of.us except her. But so incredibly relieved that all that wait and worry and fight to ransom this one child from the life she had completely innocently (and with no power to control) been thrown into was over.
In many ways it's much like an arranged marriage. You don't know each other and suddenly you're a family whether you like it or not - through commitment and duty, not emotional connection. And, like a wedding, too many people forget that
that isn't the end game - a marriage is. Walking into the house, we were done with the adoption. But the work of becoming a family was the real end goal.
We already knew there were some things coming down the pike. She was beyond exhausted from fighting sleep apnea. Her growth, hair and teeth were in sad shape from 2 years of lack of sleep and proper nutrition. She could eat Bryan under the table. Her limbs were tiny and thin and her stomach huge and extended when she ate. She didn't know how to be a kid and the concept of attention from adults was amazing to her. She didn't know what tickling was. She didn't play. She didn't shed tears. She wouldn't cuddle. She wouldn't eat any food that wasn't porridge consistency or room temperature. We kept a playpen with only a few toys to teach her to focus on them (she threw them out) and I wore her in a babywrap when she'd get too out of control. She bit. And destroyed anything she could. She self-harmed and I would lock myself in the bedroom for hours a day holding her in a death grip to keep her from hurting herself or me. In those moments she was less than human. It was like a different force would take her over and she would give in to the rage and the fear and panic of having no control and feeling so unsafe.
The first year is still a little bit of a blur. The moments of good shone incredibly bright against constant stress and the waiting game for the next fit. She was tiny. Off the charts small. In 6-12 month infant clothes at 2.5 years old, with the maturity and ability of an immature one year old. She learned English. She turned 3 and celebrated the first birthday she had ever had in a family. She couldn't be in any situation (ie nursery) that resembled an orphanage setting or she would revert to hiding in the corner and protecting one or two toys - her way of "playing".
She started following Ben around and copying his every move - literally being taught to be a kid. And, I should add, of all her brothers, Ben KNOWS how to be a kid. She mentored with the best.
The fits came constant at first. We learned to cope. I realized I could go into the fit hold and keep my right hand free to work at the computer while she screamed. The boys learned to walk away and not engage. She and Bryan came to a tentative relationship. She had surgery and could sleep. She started growing and engaging. She learned to eat. Her anxiety functioned on high alert. She would tear at any scab or scratch until it widened and gouged and bled. There were bruises on her forehead from hitting her head on any hard and sharp surface she could find in her playpen. We learned that we could swaddle her like a baby and lay her on pillows while she screamed when our own emotions just couldn't handle anymore. She would crawl under the blankets in our bed and curl up in the fetal position on my stomach. We switched back and forth to baby bottles, holding her like an infant to feed her. Walmart was torture for me and for her and I learned to just avoid it. It would instantly overwhelm her senses and she would do anything she could to manipulate me to anger...petting random peoples arms as they walked by, pinching or biting my hands and fingers as I pushed the cart so no one could see.
And we entered the second year. She turned 4. She begged to go to school like her brothers so we entered part day preschool. And, very, very slowly, we started to climb out of the abyss. She was tested at the local development center and "special" teachers started working with her to focus on the areas that she had missed. Occupational therapy, physical therapy, educational therapy. She began to function more like a "normal" child. She learned how to interact with other kids. The fits became less constant. Her anxiety became more noticeable. We moved her crib 5 feet down the wall and she didn't sleep for a week. She would panic if we added a stop to running errands or took an unusual route home. She noticed babies. And suddenly attachment began to happen to real time before our eyes. She would notice a baby in church and ask to be held like it was. She would try to suckle on my arm or chest if she saw a baby nursing. She began to understand that a mama and a papa take care of a baby. It's what they
do, it's their job. At Christmas she performed in the Christmas pageant with the other kids. And when she went on stage,
she looked for us. Just like the other kids. She
expected that her mom and dad were in the audience and she knew we would be there. It was our first glimpse of her understanding what a family was.
Her fits became different. Almost like an inner fight to not attach. A coping mechanism to drive us away. As if to protect herself from something she didn't believe would last. I know a 4 or 5 year old can't reason that out, but somewhere, deep in her memory was the knowledge that what she knew, was losing everything over and over. And now she was willing to protect herself by lashing out at us before we could choose to leave. Walmart and stores were still too much. As she understood more that I was her mother, her behaviour toward me swung like a pendulum. She wanted me and couldn't leave my side. She hated me and would do anything she could to make me angry. I clung to the studies that speculated that deep inside every child is a core, primal attachment to their birth mother. And when that cord to torn apart, it leaves a void and an anger at her that they can't voice and can't comprehend. The new mom stands in her place, taking the brunt of that anger and the punishment even though she's innocent. The spiritual analogies were deep and raw.
Year 3 settled into a rhythm. She began to grow. She was tested for allergies and her diet changed and stopped her complaints of headaches and stomachaches. Her vocabulary expanded and it became a surprise when she didn't know something ("come to think of it, it's her first time seeing a live elephant..."). She began to understand how conversation worked. Fits could be headed off by giving her a voice - "Do you maybe think you are worried about "x" and it's making you feel scared?"and moments later there would be a tentative nod and then the tears would come and a hug and cuddle later she'd be off. Family relationships became an obsessive focus. She asked constant questions and her mind was a constant wheel of how people related to each other. "Is that your mom?" "Is she your wife?" "Is that your uncle?". There's nothing more awkward than some of those questions in completely the wrong context!
I don't know when the shift happened. First she became a sister. I know that without a shadow of a doubt. Her relationship with her brothers deepened and they became a family in every sense of the word.
I still stand in awe of our boys. I can not imagine a better set of brothers. I can't imagine boys more patient or more understanding and accepting of this little sister we threw at them. They loved her from the word go. And their love won out. At some point she transitioned her own thinking. They were her brothers. And slowly, something clicked with me and with her daddy. She began to realize she HAD a dad. And that dads have a different role than mom. Her relationship with him, and his with her began to change. Sometimes she just needed her dad to sit and snuggle. There was safety and belonging suddenly.
Her questions began to change. She became my daughter sometime in there without me realizing it. We transitioned to not really being able to picture life before she joined us.
And suddenly we passed the 5 year mark. The changes have been radical to say the least. Her physical appearance is another child's completely. As we approached her 8th birthday, she was actually on the growth chart. Her hair is shiny and healthy and long. Her adult teeth are growing in with no trace of the dental disorder she exhibited due to malnutrition. Her physical abilities have caught up to her peers in most ways. Her development still lags - but has made incredible strides. She is learning to read and do basic math and her drawing and music abilities are catching up to her classmates. Her IEP now includes speech, OT and reading and I run her daily from one school to the other and back.
Just before Christmas last year I asked for more testing - call it a mom's hunch that something more is going on. I wanted to identify what is causing her to not learn as easily as she should and provide some tools to help her so her increasing frustration with self-awareness doesn't reverse her desire to accomplish and learn. Her anxiety still lurks around every corner. Every day after school she asks what we are doing that night. She needs to know. She obsesses about anything out of the ordinary schedule...someone coming to visit, holidays, birthdays. Her fingernails are stubs. In her most anxious moments she goes for scissors and chops at her hair. We often wait to tell her events are happening until right before. Changing the plan at the last second will sent her into tears and instantly peeling at her fingernails. Our standard response to every question about schedules and events is a repetitive "It doesn't matter...you'll be with your family."
Her abstract understanding has deepened and grows. She talks about how people don't know her story and how everyone has a different story of their life. Mine is different than her's. Her's is different than yours. She is proud of where she came from and we celebrate and encourage her native country. She prays and is beginning to understand the Bible and God. She's begun to navigate the complicated relationship that are girls as friends. She will come and tell me she is my special buddy and stick to me like glue or vocalize that she is worried about something.
At the 6 year mark there is no doubt we see attachment and that we function as a unit. Without realizing it I stepped out of view in a store today. She almost immediately realized she didn't know where I was and came looking. I know in "everyday land" that seems perfectly normal for a child to notice and be upset if they don't know where their parent is. And that's exactly the point. She knows she belongs to us, and we belong to her.
That's not to say there aren't still challenges. As is very common in kids with trauma in their early years, you don't find learning difficulties til you hit those early elementary years and all the sudden you find where that trauma has impacted the ability to learn. The testing I asked for revealed to everyone what I already knew - that she functions on high alert, always ready for flight, fight or freeze. She's highly keyed into the people around her. And a classroom situation and the moving from school to school was never allowing her to relax enough for learning to happen. The tests verified what I knew to be true as well - IF she can learn something her ability is the same as any kid to apply it and use it. It's a matter of helping her brain relax enough to do that. We made the choice to do virtual school, so she's home most of the time with me. Her abilities educationally seem to be moving at a much faster rate than before and she told me the other day that she "thinks her brain likes homeschool...". Her anxiety has lessened and we focus on giving voice to it and not "hiding" it. She hasn't come home crying and saying she's stupid or worried about not being like the kids around her. She knows she's making progress and she's proud of herself.
In short, we are a family. We have adapted. Us to her. She to us. Most days we function in our new normal. We take care of each other. And we deal. We deal with her anxiety. And mine. We deal with the teenagers fits. And hers. It is what it is. And it's our life. It's a mess most days. I'm a mess most days. Nothing is perfect and our family is proof of that. But God has done really amazing things.
If you've read this far, chances are either you're intimately connected with our family and you want to know how it's "really" going or you're somewhere in the trenches yourself. If you're in those trenches. If you're in those early days and you're wondering how it's going to turn out, hang in there. I can't promise it will be easy or even get easier or that you'll get your best case scenario. But for so many of these kids, you're the first one to ever fight for them. You took over a losing battle and now you have to fight - not just defend - for every hold. It's exhausting. Seriously exhausting. And it never ends. As life changes and emotions and bodies and family dynamics change, we'll change and so they will be required to as well. We have to have an element of knowing what to focus our attention on - on knowing what's vital and what we can let go. It's going to be hard. It hasn't been easy so far. Hang in there. Find someone who gets it and hang on with them. It's not as glamorous as those first days of deciding to adopt appear to outsiders. But it's life and you're making an impact. What you are doing is important. Life is important. And you're changing it for someone else.
