Underneath the Skin of Adoption...

So, this post may piss a lot of people off. Meh. Been there. Done that. Haven’t written the book on it yet.

Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.

If you just found my blog…this is not one of those "warm and fuzzy-cutie-adoption-blogs" keep-on-surfing that ole’ google search button.

Yes I have nine children.

Yes they are ALL adorable.

Yes each one has incredible talents and strengths.
Seven of my children are adopted.

Seven of my children had someone else make a life choice for them that severed something deep in who they are, who they might have been, and how they must pick up the pieces. They were too young to understand how deep their loss is, so most of their loss just equals unexplainable shame. ALL OF THE TIME.

One comment routinely that makes me want to punch people in the face help correct people so that they might understand better is ;

“Oh but they were SOOO young when you got them, I wouldn’t expect anything to be wrong with them.”

Yeah, I know, RIGHT?

How is it people brag about how SMART babies and young children are, unless we are talking adoption? Then thank goodness they are too young and stupid to not realize biologically you are not that original voice that lulled them to sleep in the womb, you are not that heart beat that arithmetically reminded them everything was safe. You are not the walking pattern that soothed and rocked them in the womb. How is it a newborn can seek his mothers voice out of a crowd…but  not considered intelligent enough to realize when another surrogate comes available to take the original ones place?

That was my new born adoption preparation. NADA.

I was there to resume a role, naturally fall into sync with a child I didn’t give life, because he was 3 days old and wouldn’t know the difference.
Can I just say it?
BULL SHIT.

You see I had biologically experienced that wonder and miracle of that instant biological connection with my daughter. I knew what being a mother meant. Then we adopted.

When they placed that beautiful baby in my arms, the love and adoration I felt for him was over whelming, it was life changing, I have never loved or wanted a baby boy more. Still it was not the same. I will admit that.
He did not smell, feel,  his heart beat to heart beat was not in sync with mine like it had been with  my daughter.

Shoulder shrug, moving on, I WAS a new mama!

I had kept my breast milk in by pumping and borrowing friends babies to hold and smell while I pumped. I was going to breast feed this new son…but then a enormous realization began in my world. He. did. Not. Want. Me.

How? How can a new born not want to be nursed, not want to be cuddled, prefer anything, his car seat, a swing, lying on the floor on a blanket, than his mothers arms?

But he did. He would STOP CRYING, if I would just leave him alone.

I remember calling the agency, embarrassed I was doing something wrong, possibly I had missed something in the training, but all I got was “Maybe it is you, maybe you have post pardem, it can happen with adoption.”

and so I began to believe that myth.
You know the one…the one that says “what your child is struggling with is YOUR FAULT.”

I had a perfectly happy, sweet two year old daughter that loved me. So I couldn’t be that terrible/failure of a Mother,Right? but I was.

From the time he was little I deeply loved my son. He cried, oh how he cried. He cried all of the time. Especially when I was trying to comfort him. His swing was his favorite thing…but I refused batteries and had to push it, so I would be near him. Same with his Johnny Jumper, and he would let me rock him, if he was facing out…facing in towards me, he would push away and scream. I sang and rocked him every time before I layed him down for bed or naptime. Unlike my other babies, and nieces and nephews, he would not let me rock him to sleep. He stemmed once he could sit up, humming and rocking him self against the crib.

There is nothing more painful than being rejected by your baby. Nothing.

It took until he was 20 months old for him to spontaneously reach out for me, and hug me. I remember the day. I was 8 months pregnant with Peanut butter, He was wearing striped footie pajama’s with Cowboy boots over the top…I was holding his hands and jumping on the bed singing “Ring-a-round-the-rosies” and we all fell down, and his eyes lit up, he gave a glorious laugh, he looked right at me and he hugged me. 20 months.

Now six years later, I understand. I have been able to forgive myself and that sweet baby, but not forget the hurt those years ago afforded me. As that familiar primal rejection hits me in the face over and over gain with my other children I have more understanding, education and empathy to deal with it. Though it still breaks my heart.

I don’t remember where I heard it first. “New born and Baby adoption and abandonment is not just a loss to the child, it is an amputation”.

Nancy Newton Verrier, Ph.D. author of The Primal Wound said;

"I believe that the connection established during the nine months in utero is a profound connection, and it is my hypothesis that the severing of that connection in the original separation of the adopted child from the birth mother causes a primal or narcissistic wound, which affects the adoptee's sense of Self and often manifests in a sense of loss, basic mistrust, anxiety and depression, emotional and/or behavioral problems, and difficulties in relationships with significant others.”

Ummm yeah, how, how would a teeny child, so very vulnerable and needy who loses the only thing familiar in their lives not have trust , anxiety and other issues?

Duh.

But I still get questions. Questions and comments about Dude and his chronic crying/whining. “He came home at 17 months old, right, he should be fine.”

Dude was dropped off at an Orphanage, at 12 days old. Put in a crib, and in his limited understanding abandoned and left to die. Food is not the only thing that sustains a human soul.
and now I raise this angry little 3 ½ year old. Never in my life have I felt so much rejection, hate, defiance and control from another living being., and do I wonder why? NOPE, the kid survived didn’t he?

May I suggest a theory. I ain’t no Docter. I’m really not much of anything but a mother, desperate in this journey to help my children heal the things that we can, have tools to cope with the things that we can’t and no matter what let them know what it is to be loved and accepted for exactly who they are.

I believe beginning at conception our children’s story begins being written in their bones, behind their eyes, with the growth of each little wonder...as their skin develops and they are born those words begin being written on the inside of their skin.

It is written on very thin lines with a sharp pencil. Everything. Everyday, every moment.

These daily, moments, second by second experiences recorded forever within their bodies. Some of these words and stories happened preverbally , I can not get to those places. The other places of their stories have ingrained and written their belief systems, their recipe’s for survival, their understanding of cause and effect, their deep belief in story after story that they are unworthy of love, that they will be abandoned again, hungry again, abused again, alone again. These are their first stories, why would they not believe them the most. They were true.

I am NOT saying ALL of my adopted children don't trust me, or are not bonded, some of them are, deeply. NOR am I saying all adopted children are hot messes...some of my kiddo's really and truley are doing incredibly well, as I expect are some of yours. That doesn't go to say that some day, some time in their lives they are not going to experience the loss that them being separated from that first mother for whatever reason has afforded them. I as an adoptive Mama, have to own that and be prepared for that for them.

and so for my children that are struggling now, and may always,there are dates and times that trigger my kids from their past stories, written on the lining of their hearts that terrify and torment them. There are sounds and smells and people that are not safe or to be trusted, for they have that proof written there as well.

The beautiful hard, the time and sensitivity it takes, and what I have come to realize…is parts, slowly they will show me, let me into, and help them re-write some of those stories.

But just like when I am helping Chatter with her homework, the stronger she has written and pressed the pencil into the paper, the darker she has written the wrong answer, the more gentle and patient I have to be with the erasure. The harder I try to do it quickly, and with out patience, the more likely I am to rip the fragile paper.

There are far to many stories, far to many words that have been written in my childrens hearts, and heads, behind their eyes, and skin that tells them LOVE is not safe, that TRUSTING someone else to protect and care for them is a LIE…and so each day is another story to be written to defeat those beliefs…some days are even opportunities to go in and rewrite…but we, parents, therapists, family members and fellow humans can not discount their stories.  We can not discount that even if their stories of being in a SAFE, LOVING, Forever Family began at 3 days old, 3 years old or even 13 years old, that those stories have not been written, have not become the intricate belief system that created who they are and what they believe about themselves.

When people say adoption is no different, when people say, it is the same, the love is the same, the family is the same…it is not.

That does not mean what we have is not beautiful, and meant to be . But as a mother adopting children from hard places, even if that hard place was a hospital at three days old from Utah. If I am not excepting my children’s stories, seeing their losses, truths and struggles, I am not seeing my children., and I want to see my children, every.beautiful. inch.