I was browsing blogs Sunday night and came across a post from a mom who is waiting to bring home her child. She talked about a recent training and how there had been so much “scare” info – things that they might well expect for their adopted child…..
struggles with attachment
struggles with school
struggles with siblings
struggles with self-image
struggles with health issues
and on and on.
I went right on down the list and was able to check off every single one.
Before we adopted – even while we were in process and I was reading everything I could find – I still had the notion that the only really “scary” issue that might come out of our adoption would be a RAD diagnosis. I read stories of families struggling with RAD and believed that it would be the rarity and that I didn’t need to educate myself too much because chances are we wouldn’t need it. It would only be those really traumatized kids who would be at risk – abused, witnessing war, living alone on the streets, etc. Our kids – coming from African orphanages (where I let myself believe that kids were cuddled and doted on and hugged and rocked and carried) would be at low risk.
Wrong. First, they aren’t low risk – trauma is trauma, and my kids have experienced plenty. Second, RAD isn’t all there is. There is definitely the rest of the list to consider. And, RAD isn’t just RAD – it’s on an attachment continuum. No adopted child comes home “attached” to his new parents, and there is no way to anticipate how far or how fast they might move forward on that continuum.
And this is what it looks like…
My daughter – who probably had one of the easiest “adjustments” of the children I know still melts down about once every six weeks – this weekend, dissolving into a rage that lasted an hour. This is the kind of rage that she really can’t even seem to see or hear through. She seems to lose all of her faculties and can only rage until she’s spent.
My son still can’t hug me without being reminded to “put your arms around me and squeeze” except on the rare occasion when he is copying a sibling or performing. I do get genuine hugs here and there – about one every six weeks. Last night, I did the “put your arms around me and squeeze” routine while he held himself stiff as a board and then he trotted over and gave dad a real hug.
My daughter will always struggle with learning. It will never come easy to her, and she’ll arrive at each stage three to four years later than a typical child. She is about to turn nine and is just starting to read four-letter-words. She has just started to count by 5’s (which we have been working on for about 18 months now).
My son has impulse control issues that spike with any change in environment, with any anticipaton of change in environment, with any extra environmental stimuli. He loses the ability to thoughtfully maintain control of his mouth and body. And, it is work to get that control back.
My daughter still sneaks food on occasion (but not any longer in the middle of the night, as far as we can tell).
My son considers himself on equal footing with me and resents being parented.
My daughter has had three years of speech therapy and still cannot form full sentences or articulate clearly.
My son couldn’t name one child that he’d spent over two years living in an orphanage with. No special friend. No sweet baby. Not one name. It still takes him a couple of months before he can name kids in his class.
And on and on.
And, it’s all completely explainable and understandable. And, it still gets under my skin all the time. And, I still have to self-talk every day. And, I still fail all of the time. And, I still fall into the trap of thinking that these are behaviors that they are “choosing.”
I sometimes forget in the moment (or long stretches of moments) that their neurological development was hindered and interrupted and that the ramifications of that are life-long. We can parent therapeutically; we can do our best with nutritional helps; we can read; we can educate others; we can anticipate bumps and prepare ourselves; and, we can see improvement. We can even forget for a few days here and there that there are any struggles. But, the underlying issues are there.
When we reached Avi’s one-year Happy Home Day, I cried. A month later, I had my first prescription for anti-depressants. I had thought we just needed to give ourselves a year for things to “settle.” While I was crying, Greg said “we need four years – he needs as long with us as he had before us.” And, it’s true. Each year has brought significant progress in his comfortability with family life. Our relationship and our days are far easier than they were at that one year mark. We have more strategies in place. We generally know when things are “off” and what we can do to help get back on track. But, it is still hard work – subtle work but constant. I still do it wrong so much of the time. And, I now know that four years isn’t the mark. Getting him into an adulthood where he can experience healthy relationships is the goal. And, I know it’s a long road to get there.
I love adoption. I love seeing waiting children join families. It’s really my passion. But, I know that it can be a hard, hard road. And, I know that it takes years of commitment and work. I know that it changes the shape of a family. It changes the shape of a mom (and I’m not just talking about my twelve Avi pounds which are finally gone!).
But, I also know that the work and committment aren’t wasted. Avi may always struggle with relationships. He may always be uneasy if he isn’t controlling every situation. He may never want to hug his mom. But, it is so clear to us that Avi would not have entered adulthood with anything even close to the ability to form relationships without being in a family.
And, everyday, I get to see the areas where we have moved forward, where we have grown, where we are successful.
It’s not wasted work. It’s slow progress. It’s uphill. It’s wearying. It’s life-changing. It’s soul-challenging. But not, not, not wasted.
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Jennifer Isaac lives in Colorado with her husband and four children, two of whom were adopted from African countries, both with medical needs. She is passionate about medical needs adoption and runs From HIV to Home, a nonprofit that aims to provide education and support to families adopting children with HIV. She blogs here.
. It went something like this, “I often hear people saying that God will never give me more than I can handle. But, this is not true. God often gives us more than we can handle. Alone. He will allow trials of all kinds in order to draw us to depend on Him.” It occurs to me too that trying times by definition are difficult by the mere fact that our strength and abilities come up short. We are brought to our knees. We are forced to rest at His feet and cry out that we are totally unable to handle this…alone. Only by His strength and the Truths we rest on and in will we be made strong enough to handle the curves of life.
