He threw a rage at the hospital tonight. A big one. He kicked and screamed and threw a chair at the receptionist. His super-human fury-driven strength required five men to contain, an empty “time-out” room, a bed with restraints, a “burrito wrap,” and some emergency medications. And somehow, he still managed to spit on people, hit, and slap the doctor across the face.
Of course, we’ve seen this sort of thing before. Many times. At home. We aren’t surprised by his actions, just surprised that he finally lost control enough to show this very real side of himself to other people…the same people he’s been trying to convince that he’s perfectly compliant and well-mannered. He wants them to believe that this is our problem and not his.
We stand by the truth. We are not, have never been, and never will be perfect parents, but the responsibility for the behavior our son chooses does not belong to us. It belongs to him and him alone. The responsibility for the trauma that caused his brain to work the way it does also does not belong to us. It belongs to another set of parents that failed him many years ago.
And yet, I concede to my son’s way of thinking on at least one point. Although not in the area of responsibility, this problem does belong to us as well as to him.
Because we love him.
Tonight, as I was putting our other kids to bed, Miss M, who is our troubled son’s biological sister and who is currently winning a long battle with an attachment disorder, got really serious.
“Mom, why did you adopt us if it was going to be so hard?”
“Girlie, we’ve talked about this before. Everything that’s worth doing- everything really important – is hard.”
“Do you wish you could change it?”
“Sweetie, I would never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever go back and not adopt you, because then you wouldn’t be my daughter.”
I walked over to her bunk bed, reached up, cupped her head in my hands, and planted a few kisses right in the middle of her forehead. Those big brown eyes as dark as chocolate were sparkling with genuine joy as my voice filled with tears and I said to her,
“You are mine. Forever and ever, you are mine. No matter how hard things get, you are my girl. Forever.”
“I love you, Mom.”
“Love you, too. Now go to sleep!”
There was a time, less than two years ago, when I no longer had any idea what I was fighting for. When I felt like giving up. There was a time when that same little girl that hungers so much for her Mama’s love and approval couldn’t get through the day without throwing a tantrum about something, without hitting or biting or screaming, couldn’t let her guard down long enough to show us the real Miss M that she kept hidden inside.
There was a time when all things felt hopeless, when every thought of our daughter brought on panic and despair, when constant talk of her dominated our marriage, and when we couldn’t see God working through all the pain and anger and frustration.
There was a time when I couldn’t see the scared, broken little girl underneath all that spewing hatred; the little girl that I now love with all my heart.
I am convinced that there is a terrified, broken little child inside every traumatized, angry, unattached child.
Inside my son.
It’s that thought that allows me to feel sorrow for him tonight, in an out-of-control rage against people that he doesn’t know and have done nothing to him. How scared and panicked and all alone that little child inside must feel! And as silly as it sounds, he’s never been without my husband and me when he’s been in one of his rages. Does he care? Does he feel abandoned? Does he even notice?
I know God is working in this situation. I don’t know how yet, but I do know that when all seemed lost with Miss M, He showed up in amazing ways…in His own time. He’s healing my daughter. He’s changing who I am. He’s strengthening my marriage and my faith and my family, and best of all, He’s reminded me what – who – I am fighting for.
That scared, broken little boy or girl inside every traumatized child is His precious child. Not ours, but His…created beautifully and wonderfully in His image and for His glory.
And they are people worth fighting for.
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I’m married to a man that makes me laugh so hard that I usually end up in tears. He was saved four years into our marriage, and then we turned our union over to God and His plans. God took our offer and blessed it with four children in two years (two through the foster care system and two through good old-fashioned baby-making), and then (surprise!) gave us another little biological squirt three years later. If you did the math, that’s five children in five years. Did I mention I’m insane? No seriously, God is good. He’s gently leading me down the paths of mothering, partnering with my incredible, Godly husband, dealing personally with impulsive ADHD, homeschooling, and helping our adopted kids overcome Attachment Disorders. I’ve got a long way to go, and most days I wonder how God could possibly love me with the absolute abandon that He does. I’m so thankful. I’m so blessed. I write about my life and my journey to overcome the worst of myself. Feel free to visit, but don’t expect perfection…the only good in me comes from Him.
Dear Lisa,
Thank you for openly sharing. My husband and I have two beautiful biological children. Then I couldn’t have any more. So we were lead to adoption and brought our little K. home from Russia. She was 7. Honestly, we should not have brought her home. I know that sounds so cruel, but hopefully you can get a little glimpse
into the reality that hit us when our precious and prayed-for daughter came to us as an enraged caged animal.
Everything you said about your son, about who owns it, who is responsible, etc. rings so true. For 4 years we surrounded K with love, faith, family, the most wonderful teachers and community. We spent every last dime on counselling, health issues, etc.
4 years into our hell, yes it was, our therapist (PhD focusing on the brain and behavior of traumatized children) and our psychiatrist, gently but firmly told us it was time to remove K from our home. Because she was raped by her father from at LEAST age 4 and lived in a Russian orphanage (Lord of the Flies), her sexualized behavior (had hacked into locked computers and was on many porn sites by age 8, “molested” friends, etc.. etc.) was a characteristic that was in addition to all the other behaviors you mention. Most everyone in our community thought she was a wonderful child with perfect manners (which, of course, we had taught her just as we modeled to our other children).
The therapists were fairly certain that, based on their MANY sessions and past experience, K’s next behavior would be to falsely accuse our son (8 months older) of sexual abuse. Our son is the most gentle, sensitive soul who had tried his very hardest to be a good brother to a child who did and said the most inappropriate things (not printable) to his friends and so much more. This thought made me physically sick.
God’s hand was certainly there. We never know the plan, but in retrospect, God saved us. Our hell climaxed on Good Friday. Our daughter was taken from our home in handcuffs by the police at age 11. On Easter Sunday she was place in the most incredible residential treatment facility/school I could imagine. And I promised our other children we would never let her in our house again. THAT’s how bad it was. The last thing she said to my older daughter was, “Tonight when you are sleeping, I am going to kill you with a knife.”
The day after she was taken from our home, we told our other children they could take a day off of school. We took them to their favorite pancake place. There I met our children again for the first time in 4 years. I was amazed. They smiled. They felt comfortable joking and laughing. Their faces looked completely different yet so familiar.
We will never see K again. She has been evaluated for years and even taken into the home of the head teacher who is obviously a professional in this area. The teacher had K in her home for over a year. At the end of that time, and with the input from a large team, the conclusion was made that K was not adoptable even by a trained family. Though they are not allowed to diagnose a child before the age of 18, she was “showing signs” of Borderline Personality and more.
Like you, I know her horrible problems were caused by others but now are her HEAVY burden. I pray that God will help her, but at this point she has no empathy, is so overly sexualized, etc. that I fear (and have been told) that she will likely be in some system or another often. I pray she doesn’t become a victim again and I pray she doesn’t victimize others.
My family (especially me) suffers from PTSD, anxiety disorder, etc. since the years with K. But through God’s grace, the one feeling I don’t have is guilt. We did absolutely everything we could to help K bond, trust, love, be genuine, etc. I hold onto the words our therapist used in his evaluation to DHS. “These people are heroic.” Not heroic in outcome for sure, but we left nothing on the table. We were drained dry.
I know there are so many many children who need homes. Though we had prepared, studied, etc., nothing could have prepared us for K. And the evaluations from her country, doctors, caregivers were lies.
As I sit here and write, I am grateful to you for allowing me to share. My heart is racing, my anxiety is high, my heart breaks for ALL of us involved. Yes, I am writing to overcome the worst of my continued fear, anxiety, the worst of my life. Being a mother is such a gift. It’s what I do best. That was tested to the very maximum. And I did not fail. I just did my best, and like the book says, Sometimes Love is Not Enough.
Blessings to you and your growing family. May God touch the hearts of each of your children deeply. It is clear He has already touched you as a couple.
Many thanks,
Lisa