I can hardly find the words to share because to tell you the truth I find it nearly impossible to write words about an experience that I am still in process with. I've attempted to give you a few glimpses into the struggles---> 9 months, 12 months of adoption, 16 months in, but up to this point I did not have the capacity to do more then scratch the real issue that has plagued my heart ever since I returned home from Africa with my precious boy.
To tell you the truth, even with all that I read (and that has been a ton) nothing can prepare you for the moment when your worst fears seem to be lodged on a torturous repeat cycle.
I'm not writing out this part of the story because I have regrets. I firmly resonate that adopting was/is one of the most beautiful gifts I have ever experienced/am experiencing earth side. The mystery of the echoes of beauty in all the broken is a story I refuse to put down. However, not only was I unprepared for the tragic twist of the plot I was seriously confused as to the character I would play in this story. Let me explain.
Truthfully, I thought I'd be the heroine in the story. Maybe not at first, but eventually. The mom who would unconditionally love my son into healing. I was equipped for this role. I spent over a year preparing for the in-country audition. There was all my knowledge I'd gleaned from numerous adoptive parenting books. This includes but is not limited to techniques on attachment & bonding, how to organize adoption paperwork, educating myself on the issues of SPD, RAD, grief, identity, what to expect, what not to expect, what to tell your friends and family to expect etc... and of course an in-depth study of the culture of the DRC. I think you get the picture.
To ensure that I would live up to this leading role I made sure I had access to the tools that an adoptive mom would need. I had surrendered personal expectations, so I thought. I had a good group of supportive and praying friends and family. I surrounded myself with people who "got it" in real life and online. I rehearsed scriptures and prayed my guts out. I was committed to do anything and everything to give my son what he needed. I was prepared to lose friendships, be misunderstood, not leave the house, and put my 110% into this child.
And I did. I barely made it through two months of grieving that left me raw, but I made it. I kept pushing when the going got tough. I thought if I could just get a year under my belt, I might be able to relax a bit. I would love him until he liked me.
It didn't matter what I did, what technique I used, he was not following the script. I was definitely not his heroine. If anyone was, it was his daddy. The daddy that he would wait anxiously for at the window, and when he came home, he would wrap into a bear hug. I loved seeing them bond over wrestling, rough housing, playing outside. I rejoiced in it at first. Until I realized that my leading role was "Mean Mama". Resentment began to build. It wasn't that Daddy never disciplined, because he did. However with dad, it was never personal. With mom, it was.
Some where in those days of insecurity the fear pushed hard and whispered, "You failed!" Not once, but over and over again. "I thought you were a good mother. I thought you were called to this role?!"
The fear held in the hurt. Eventually, I succumbed to my minor role as "Mean Mama" I accepted I'd be rejected over and over. I let it become personal, because no matter what I did, he would never choose me. I'd keep teaching, doing sensory activities, correcting him when needed but I was simply going through the motions and I was numb inside. The show was still going on but I was behind the curtains weeping.
If there is one thing that I have ever, some what prided myself on - it is I am a good mom. I love my kids. Not that I am perfect, but motherhood has brought me so much joy. I may not be good at a lot of things, and seriously stink at a lot of things -- but a lot of my self worth was wrapped up in being a good mom to my kids. Suddenly, I couldn't even do that right. It was a devastating low.
If that wasn't enough, then we started Pre-K and suddenly the glaring truth was made perfectly public to everyone. It didn't matter the teachers were with me, for me, helping me. All my hurt was telling me was that they were judging me and it was just too much. I couldn't handle it.
I quit fighting for my son. I was tired and emotionally spent. I just didn't care anymore. I decided he had won. He didn't want a mom, so I wasn't going to be one. He wanted a cook and a housekeeper. That is what he would get. That sounds so harsh, horrible I know. I am shamed to write it. It was how I felt.
I am thankful that I didn't stay in that horrible place for long. Out of desperation I crawled into the lap of my Father, and poured out all the pain, disappointment, jealousy, resentment, insecurity and fear. I prayed and asked for forgiveness, because I had so much to learn about loving as He loves. As I surrendered he started to write a new act in our story. He rewrote the cast of characters.
Leading Role:
The Healer of the Heart - God
Minor Role:
Day by Day, Prayer warrior, covered in grace mama: Tessy
We're in this together, got your back dad: Craig
He explained to me that He was writing the script, and because of that, and that alone, I had nothing to fear. It didn't matter what dramatic twist may lay ahead because He was in charge of the story and how it ended. In that truth, I was set free.
We are still navigating through some rocky waters as we adjust to school, new teachers, new routine and new boundaries. I am also seeing him trust me more. It took so much pressure off the poor boy when I accepted him exactly where He was at instead of pushing Him to be where I wanted him to be. There is still hard days, but I am learning how to share more, be more honest, and even if it sounds dumb, name it so I don't allow fear to creep back in.
So though I ain't no leading lady, I am becoming quite content in my minor role. I'm more of a warrior then a heroine. Warrior's get bruised up sometimes in the fight, but they keep fighting. So if you feel you have been in battle, I encourage you my friend to keep fighting. The wounds will heal and you are not alone. Our children are worth fighting for!
These smiles are why....
Beautiful surrender:) Hang in there Mama!
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