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“How do you do it?”

“How are you sane?”

“Why did you adopt more?”

These are questions I have been asked along my journey as an adoptive mom. Some more regularly than I would like if I am being honest. I am always amazed at some of the things people will say thinking it perfectly normal. Some I give more grace to as I know they are at a loss for words as they see or hear about my kids behaviors. Others I simply roll my mind eyes at and just go about my business. I mean, let’s think about these questions for a minute. You go to a friend’s house and she, as a mother, is dealing with hard behaviors of her precious child. You then ask her how she does it, how she doesn’t lose her mind, and you look at her other child and ask why she had more. Oh, did I mention this friend is a mother of all bio children, her hard kid has cancer and she is dealing with the hard behaviors that the drugs cause. What? You would never ask her that? You would have compassion on her and the situation she is in? Tell me then why it is ok to ask adoptive mothers those very questions? Are they not real mothers because their kids aren’t really their kids? It is so easy for those around us to think how of course a bio mother with a child that has ADHD and runs around the house screaming and throwing tantrums would love that child, after all they are flesh and blood. But to accept that an adoptive mom could love another’s child that screams more than they laugh, or plays with their poop more than their play dough, or lets them know they hate her more than they love her is beyond possible. Well, let me share the heart of an adoptive mom with you and maybe, just maybe you will be able to grasp the idea that  one can love a child that is not of their flesh but of their heart.

Our journey started out like many others. We talked of children, we dreamed of them playing together and growing together. Vacations full of laughter and hearts full of love. When it was obvious that we would only be blessed with one bio child we began our journey to adopt. At first my heart was to give our son the joy of having a sibling, for him to have the memories and connections that we had growing up. As we began to research we began to understand that there might not be the same kind of memories and connections but instead there might be a deeper understanding of how to truly love a brother or sister unconditionally. We began to understand that the child or children we would bring into our home would be hurting and full of resentments that could take years to heal from. It was made clear that if we wanted adoption to complete our family we were doing it for the wrong reasons and should rethink our motives. So we did rethink our motives. Why did we want to adopt? Who did we want to adopt? What did we think we would get from adopting? Once those questions were answered we were ready to adopt for the right reasons.

Why did we want to adopt? To give a safe home to a child in need of one. To offer a chance at a successful future after having their childhood stolen from them. To take at least one child out of the running for the sex trade or streets of crime and possibly suicide.

Who did we want to adopt? A girl. Someone older that might be past the “cute” phase that pulls the heart-strings of those who will see her picture.

What did we think we would get from adopting? Though we knew we would get a daughter out of the process we also knew we would get a new prospective of what it means to love unconditionally. In this process of adopting an older child, one that is harder than most, one that might be headed to an institution rather than the deans list you have to choose everyday to love them no matter the hurt they cause you. You have to remind yourself of the hurt that one, if not multiple mothers before you have already caused them. You have to put aside your feelings, dreams, desires, and emotions in order to give them the love that they need from you.

We found our daughter, we were asked what we would do when it got harder than we thought it would be, how would we react to a child that has serious behavior problems. Would we change our mind and ask that she be removed from our home? That question hit me hard. I sat and thought about all the mothers I knew that had been given bio children that are a bit hard, those that have had to stay up night after night due to a handicap their child had been born with or had been given after life dealt them an unfair accident that led to an altered life. I knew not one of those mothers would ever walk their children back into the hospital they had them at and say they changed their minds and then walk out the door leaving them behind. I thought of my own son and knew I could never turn my back on him if he had something happen to him and needed extra love and care. I felt it at that moment, the love in my heart for our daughter I hadn’t met yet but knew I loved already. Much like when the doctor confirmed that I was pregnant with my son I felt a mothers love for her when the case worker said “we know you are her mom and dad”. She is mine, and once we figured out what it was that was causing her behaviors (trauma) we were able to make a plan and care for her the way she needed to be cared for. Much like bio-parents, we chose to have more children after her, only we adopted ours. We are a family. I do it everyday just like any other mom. I get up, get myself ready for the day, and take every crazy moment one at a time. I love my kids because they are my kids. Yes, they can be hard to like at times but they are never hard to love. Just like any mother who loves her child that once grew in her womb no matter the behaviors or the sacrifice that she has to make, I love my children that grew in my heart. I am their REAL mom, they are my REAL babies and that will never change. So, How do I do it? Just like you do. How do I stay sane? With a lot of prayer and a little wine! Why did I adopt more? Why haven’t you adopted one? They are my heart and soul, my goal in life is to help them heal and find joy, and so I write………………

I recently had a young lady ask me if I had a moment to answer a question. It had been a long day and I was really hoping it would be an easy one to answer so I could just go on to bed and sleep away all the emotions the day had already overwhelmed me with. I looked at her and told her of course. It wasn’t an easy one.

“If God really loves me and wants the best for me, if he really knows what is going to happen to us in this life, then why didn’t he just give me to my adoptive parents instead of me having to go through the hurt of being born to bad birth parents?”

Her question hit me harder than any from that day. I stood beside that sweet girl and my heart broke because I had no answer to give her. No hope of a brilliant plan I have the inside knowledge of. Instead I started to cry while looking into her confused and hurt face. “Do you know I adopted three of my kids?” I asked her grateful the night hid my tears from her. She looked surprised and answered no. I gave a silent prayer that God would give me the words and that they wouldn’t drip with the bitterness I have over this very question. “I am just going to have to be honest here and tell you I have no idea. I will add that I have asked this very question nearly every night since my kids have been placed with me. I will tell you I have cried, screamed, and demanded God to tell me why I couldn’t have just had my kids instead of them having to go through the hurt of those years with their birth families. I still don’t have an answer. If I can help you with anything on this it is giving you an insight to what your mom must feel just as strongly. I know that she wishes she could have been there from the first second. But know this, God does love you and he indeed hand-picked the mom and dad that would keep you safe and would show you his way. Someday I think you will be approached by a young girl that is hurting and confused and only you will be able to help her with a connection that you will feel to her and she will feel to you.” We spent the next hour or so talking as she poured out her heart, her hurt, and her confusion. I went to bed and didn’t find the sleep that would allow me to be free of the emotions of the day. Instead I wrestled once more with the plan that I can’t seem to understand, the questions I had for God, the anger I had with him over the orphans of this world. I could have had all three of my adopted kids. I would have enjoyed each pregnancy. I would have taken care of them from the first second they came to be. My womb would have been safe and full of love. I would have played music to them and read to them the same way I did their brother. I would have taken the vitamins, eaten healthy, and decorated their rooms full of hope and joy. I spent eight years begging God to let me do that very thing. Instead I picked up the pieces of the broken life my kids were born into.

Why?

How come?

What for?

These are the unanswerable questions. We won’t know why there are families that have the desire, ability, financial stability, and the dream to be loving safe parents and are unable to be. Meanwhile there are people who have no desire, no ability, and are not safe that have child after unwanted child after abused unwanted child. I would think it would be the other way around, but again I am not the one with the answers. I will struggle with this question until the day he gives me my answer, but has he somehow already tried to answer me and I have just been too bitter to listen. Well, there is a twist. I know that we are called God’s children, told that we are adopted into the inheritance of Jesus. We are shown through example that God has a heart for the orphans and then we are called to have the same heart. So if we all had our own perfect little bundles of joy, would we then reach out to the hurting orphans around us? Already I hear from friends on a daily basis how hard it must be for me and how they could never do what I do. I hear too often from people that it is just too hard to think about how bringing in a child might uproot the lives of the children they already have. So then is this an insight to why there are some unable to have their own, so the selfishness of an easy life isn’t there to fight? Does God use his people to give homes to those they wouldn’t think twice about if they had the rooms in it already full? Would we listen to the sermons of the preachers, the stories of the missionaries and say there is no room in the inn if our hearts were already full from the laughter of our own children? Where would my “high risk adoptive” kids be if I hadn’t had a heart for more children? This world will always be full of children needing a safe mom and dad but will it have enough men and women who will be willing to put aside comfort and sanity to offer their hearts and homes to those needing them most?

I present another question, will you step up to the plate and take on a hurting child in need of extra TLC? If the answer is no then, why? How come? What for? Our world is full of over 500,000  kids who are asking those very questions, and so I write………..

I am overwhelmed with sadness as I sit and write this. I was up most of the night watching the hate unravel in Dallas as the numbers of senseless deaths rose. I watched it. Live on Fox News, the camera went to the lifeless protectors after shots rang out.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, I looked at my friend and asked “are those cops on the ground?”  Then the anchor said in shock and horror that they would not show the bodies of fallen police officers. I was in shock and disgust. What has our world come to? Or has it always been this way? In between watching the news and cooking dinner I was navigating the hurt that my little one had caused a neighbor and I was overwhelmed with a hopeless emotion. What hope do my kids have of healing in a world so full of hate and anger? Why does it feel like the world is on fire? Then they hit me, the words of a speaker I had just listened to. “Hurt people hurt people.”

This world is full of hurt people. It has been since Adam and Eve were cast out of the garden. Since Cain killed Abel. Since always. We have always been a people of hurt. We have always lashed out at others through our hurt, some more than others. This is an undeniable truth but how have we been able to overcome these hurts in the past? Have we overcome our hurts? I have to look to my kids, what hurts have they been dealt? Have we been able to help them get past these hurts, or just suppress them?  I sat across from both my son and daughter at their therapy this morning and watched as they each reacted different to the therapist explain what we would be working on to help them heal. My daughter began to cry and admitted she didn’t really want to continue because it was not fun. My son sat and looked at his would be healer and said yes, he is ready. the hurt he carries is finally too heavy for his little shoulders and he wants to give it up. My daughter on the other hand doesn’t want to do the work it will take her to heal, she wants others to do it for her as she has fun somewhere else.

There it is, the ingredient to change: Desire or Want to change

So I wonder, what would the world look like if we all wanted  or desired it to be changed? I think back to the interviews of those around the horrific scene of downtown Dallas and I know there are two types of people who come out of these moments. One was a guy who spoke of what he saw. A man in the crowd carrying a gun and then how he heard shots. He said there were shots that came from the crowd of protesters and then the police shot into the crowd. The news caster asked if he was sure they came from the crowd and if the cops shot back, he said with anger in his eyes that yes the cops shot at them. Then there was a man who said the shots came from above and as the police fell others ran to protect the crowd. He was full of a different type anger, a kind that was awed that as fellow officers lost their lives those still standing rose to the call and protected the innocent.  Both men were of the same ethnic background, both men stood feet from where 5 lives were lost defending the right to protest, and both men showed their hearts. One wanted to spread fear, one wanted to spread a wake-up call.  I am almost certain that both at one point in time had been hurt by just being them, one chose to find a way to heal. I know, strong statement coming from just watching an interview but I know hurt in the eyes of those I look into, I know the look of a victim angered, after all I have three living in my home. 

Each has a different look in their eyes. One has a look of hurt surrounded by the fear of letting go of the control that anger gives her. One has the look of hurt surrounded by the shame that should not be his to carry and engulfed by the fear of what others will think of him if they truly know that hurt. One has a look of hurt surrounded by a high of power that hurt gives her to hurt others, that is the scariest look of hurt I have seen. I see it in those that spread hurt and hate on TV these days. I look into the eyes of my three wounded babies and I hurt with them. I hurt from not being able to go back and protect them from their pasts. I hurt every time I see them hurt each other do to those past hurts. I hurt every time I see them hurt by outsiders that don’t understand them and in turn fear what they don’t understand.  How do I stop the hurt though?  How do I teach them to love in spite of their hurts when all around them there are unsafe situations that threaten to cause them more hurt?

I fall back to the foot of the cross. In this world we were not promised a life without troubles, in fact it is quite the opposite. We were told in this life we would have hurts and yet we are called to love those that hurts us. Why? Because God knows that hurt people hurt people and he wants to offer hope and healing. Look around you, we are all surrounded by hurting people. We all have the opportunity to spread love or more hurt. I have a reason to spread love, well actually I have four reasons. I cannot choose to spread more hurt and anger and then expect my children to be happy healed adults. We are a small tribe in this vast world of hurting people. We are part of the few who have said yes to the hope offered by Christ and I pray that we each will be able to see the hurting and try to show them love. I pray that my little hurt people will no longer hurt people. I will continue to encourage them to choose the change that will bring healing, I will continue to choose to forgive those that hurt them so badly in their past lives and I will choose to forgive those that will hurt them in their future lives. That is all each of us can do. Desire change. Spread love. Pray for a world all our children can grow up safety in. I cannot control their hurt, I can only choose to not hurt back when they strike out at me, and so I write……….

The words “My kids would never do that” will sadly not ever be said by me. I can’t think of a situation that I would jump to the defense of them as most mothers do. When the neighbor boy screams or cries I immediately look to my young as the culprits. I am on edge whenever they walk out the door and watch to see if they are acting as they should. I know my kids struggle with truth and that is the reason I struggle with trust.

“Trust takes years to build, seconds to break, and forever to repair”

In my world the kids placed with you have a lifetime of baggage already tied around their necks. They come to you masters of manipulation and lies. They learn early on that they have to watch out for themselves and not to allow what others feel or think get in the way of self-preservation. Here in the twilight zone of trauma nine months of feeling your baby grow and move never happens, there is no teaching of trust from the first breath, we don’t get to hear the first cry of life and they don’t get to hear you speak love over them while growing. Here in our neck of the woods a child has learned to distrust you from the beginning, the first words we hear are most often a lie. Even when they run into your arms and call you mommy the day they meet you, they are doing so out of fear of what is to come and not out of truly believing that you are their mom forever.

This is taught in the classes you take. It is talked about in the groups that you join. You can read about it in every book you’ll buy. This however can never be understood fully until you are living in it. All the preparations made are helpful, but none take away the sting of not being able to trust the child you desperately want to love and help heal. Telling yourself that you understand the reasons behind the lies is easy because you really do understand why. Holding onto trust during those lies is impossible. One reason being that most of the time the lie is brought to you out of the blue, for no reason at all, completely random. One minute you are laughing with them and talking about happy things and then BAM! Johnny killed his sister right in front of them. You know it is a lie, they stick to it being the truth, they won’t budge on it, and even when Johnny and his sister come to the door to ask if they can play they look at you and say, “oh, it must have been a dream.” then turn and run out the door leaving you hearing the music to the Twilight Zone playing in your head.

But why?

Why is there a need to slam you in the forehead with a lie when everything is going smooth? Is it the need to bring the world back into their comfort of chaos? Are they testing you to see if you can see if they are in lie mode? Or is it to see if they can fool you this time? Why are they ok to put their sibling on the chopping block when there is no reason to? How can they see the one that went through the trauma with them in fear of trouble because of a completely made up story? Oh, these questions roll around in your mind never stopping and rarely being answered. It’s like living a nightmare of rutting around in the dirt and leaves looking for truffles and knowing you’ll never find them because you don’t have the snout to sniff them out with. You would be rich if you could sniff out the truffles, like I would be at peace if I could hear the truth.

The worst is when the lie is believable and sickening. The ones that send you into protective parent mode. The lies that have you asking yourself where you were when this happened. The ones that cause the voices in your head to scream your failure to protect. In these moments one can read the others mind and can pick up where they left off, you can separate them and they still can give word for word account of the lie the other has started. It is too believable to be a lie, yet the lack of trust has you praying it is and holding onto the seed of disbelief. The ones that cause you to have to bring outsiders into your chaos. They cause you to shatter the peace of those outsiders worlds and open their eyes to the twisted mess you have going on inside your cookie cutter house. You play out the scene in your mind, you know how it will go and you pray that you won’t crumble in front of them. “Please God, let my knees hold out until I get behind closed doors.” The reaction comes, it is as you thought it would be, and your knees begin to shake. These lies hurt the most because you see the passion and trust coming from that outsider and you know that even if it could be the truth, it will not be trusted. There have been too many times that small ridiculously random lies have been told for this one to be believed. You hear the words “my kids would never!” or “my kids don’t even know that stuff” and you prep yourself for the next hurtful words, “your kids have been through…..” and the ugly truth sets in. Your kids have been through              , fill in the blank and they have seen it, felt it, or been dealt it. In those moments of reality you are hit with the truth that the label that is ‘trauma kid’ follows no matter what is known or not known. The outsiders see your kids as adopted thus damaged, broken, dangerous, unclean. They don’t mean to but it is there. In that moment you buckle because there is no ground to stand on because you are unable to say that you know they aren’t lying. In this moment of he said she said your she has already lost against the he because even you believe the he over the she. And the crazy-go-round continues. There is nothing left in that moment but to apologize for what you brought into their lives and hurry home before the panic attack that is rising to the surface brings you to your knees.

A restless night of nightmares brings morning and here I sit preparing myself for another importance of honestly lecture. I can already see their blank stares, mouths agap, and wheels spinning. I will say the same thing I have already said too many times in the past four years and will say too many times in the next four years. I will tell of how untruths break trust and when trust is broken it is near impossible to rebuild. I will paint a picture of the day when one of them will be hurt by another and I will be unable to say with certainty that it is truth. A day may come that another may accuse them of a hurt and I will be unable to say there is no way my child would do such a thing. There may come a day that they are telling the truth and I will not be able to trust them. Maybe that day has already came and my heart breaks that I am unable to look an outsider in the eye and say with passion “I know my kids, if they said it happened then it happened” and so I write………………….

There used to be moments of crazy. Days that I would find myself feeling like I had failed without the understanding of why or how.

Now, I find myself passing and I try to grasp onto the sanity that comes with it. I rarely know how I have found the sanity or how to get it back after the moment passes and the crazy returns.

At least that is how I feel at this moment. This moment when I have once again taken personally the lies that my daughter has told my husband to try to make me look like the worst mommy in the world. “Why are you so surprised?” he always asks. I am not surprised, I have just reached my fill of being able to let it roll off my back. My character has been attacked one too many times in the last few weeks to be able to let this one slide without hurt.

It hurts, this game of taking care of those that need to hurt you to show that they still don’t trust you. The ones that glare at you throughout the day and then turn into sheepish lost puppies when their father walks through the door. It hurts, even though you know what they are doing. It hurts because you are the one that is working so hard to help them heal. The one that spends everyday scheduling their therapy, their ortho appointments, their tutoring, school, and their social life. You are the one that notices their clothes have grown too small or have too many holes so you take time out of your day to buy more. You are the one that goes to bed every night after them, the one that wakes up before them, the one that eats last and sometimes hours after they have. Yet you are the one that they choose to say the worst about.

I get it, I mean it has been four years of the same thing. The pictures all show happy little smiles. There are always words of encouragement that she so polite and sweet or how nervous she looks all the time. I get complimented on how much she has grown and how good of a job I have done. I know that all this is true, she is a sweet girl. She knows how to be polite and most of the time she means it. However; there are most nights that she tries to see if she can hurt me or make me look bad in the eyes of my husband. I can deal with it most of the time. Roll my eyes and smirk “Oh, ok. Yes that sounds just like me.”

I can let it just go and tell myself I must be doing something right if she feels the need to see  if I will react and send her packing.

Can I be honest?

Can you handle my honesty?

I kinda wanna throw my hands up in the air, repeat the words of my mother of just wanting to disappear, and then actually follow through with it. I sometimes wanna look in her hurtful eyes and scream “you win!” I can see myself throwing in the towel and walking out the door, jumping in the car, and driving for days.

I drove through the mountains of Montana just yesterday and I dreamed of running deep into the woods and never looking back. The fog over the water of the lake called my name and invited me into the safety of its shield. The lone island whispered its freedom of solitude and I longed for the comfort of its quiet. I am tired.  I am hurting and I am not the only one. I know she hurts when she can’t just help me bake cookies and talk about her day. I see the longing in her eyes when I talk about getting nails done with a friend. I can hear the frustration in her journal as she describes her jealousy over her brother having a friend stay over. My brain gets it. My heart breaks with every lie told to her dad about my made up careless actions towards her. My heart aches with every milestone that passes without us getting to enjoy it together. I feel the guilt of being happy to leave for a work trip just to be able to put a few days in between the thick cloud of anger and hurt. I feel the guilt of not missing her while gone. I fall into feelings of inadequacy when I find something the rest of her siblings would love and don’t think twice about what she might like.

I long for just a moment of sanity during these times of crazy. I know it will pass, I will recover. My heart will heal, and in the meantime I will continue to do what I do knowing that I will be lied about on a regular basis. Some days it will hurt more than others and some days I will look out the window and wonder if there is life out there (a little Reba throwback). I know that someday she will look back at the mom who stayed and appreciate her. Until that day I will search for moments of sanity and so I write……………..