Little Man has been home for 9 months now. I marvel at the changes we see in him on a weekly basis. It seems that things have truly settled into a normal routine. Things do not feel "new" anymore. Instead, life has become a beautiful phase of rest in the new-found security of our relationships with each other. We no longer feel that Little Man sees us as strangers who have captured him, but I believe he feels now as we do- that we have been a family all along.
I say these things remembering that in the very recent past, I thought we would never make it to this point. While Facebook is overwhelmed with pictures and stories of smiling children, the events taking place behind closed doors was drastically different. I have mentioned before the trauma that is in the hearts of little ones who have come from the "hard places" but the extent of it is so far-reaching, that it is impossible to describe without damaging relationships. We are incredibly thankful that the Father has seemingly healed Little Man, to an extent, from some of this past trauma. Many children express that trauma in different ways, and normally in a complex combination of those. Some experience severe depression, acting out, anger, and anything else you can imagine. I would say that the underlying expression we have witnessed is rage. The walls of our home have witnessed so many episodes of screaming, violence, anger and tears, that it would stun those who see our son on a regular basis as a happy, smiling miracle boy. Do not misunderstand. He is those things. But trauma is a very real, intense, and many times a private, process that most eyes don't witness.
One of the things that we have recently learned about is Secondary Trauma. This is basically a term that describes how people intimately involved with others who have experienced trauma can absorb that trauma into their own hearts and lives, and in turn, potentially act on it. This is why many adoptive families experience depression, PTSD, and a host of other complications after bringing home these precious, yet wounded, little lives. Have you ever wondered how trauma counselors are able to cope with their daily lives? How do they function after hearing stories of horrendous abuse, neglect, etc.? And how can they possibly witness the effects they have on their patients' lives and in turn be able to help them find healing?
The answer is they go home. They emotionally pull back. They have to be able to separate these things in their own minds so that they do not crack. For adoptive parents, this is not an option. The hurt is at home. When you see the devastating effects of trauma, there is no opportunity for parents to process and compartmentalize it on their way home from work. Instead, you must pick up that child and continue on with your daily routine, meeting all of these very intense needs for love, sensory processing, and attachment, as well as feeding them dinner, bath time, play time, and laundry.
Adoptive parents: you are my heroes. And the longer your child has been in an institution, the more and more respect I have for you. If you also have to juggle severe medical needs and appointments in addition to all of these things, I don't even have words to describe my admiration for you and your resolve.
My news feed has changed drastically over the last two years. About 50% of the stories I see are of children who are coming home or who have come home from these hard places. Each picture and story I see causes my heart to break, knowing what life behind that post looks like, but I also rejoice with these families, because I know that it. is. worth. it. Most of these friends I have never met, but often after our children are asleep, we chat and find strength, hope and encouragement in each others' stories. So for all of you adoptive families, this post is for you. I too have had my parenting judged and questioned. I've been told I am "exaggerating it," just as you have. But know this: You are so loved. And your role is so important. You are making a difference. I thank God upon each remembrance of you. And don't ever forget that He. sees. you.
I hope that this sheds some light on how difficult the adoption process is for those who have not adopted or are waiting for their babies to come home. Adoption isn't just the act of bringing that child home, but the continuous process of making that child a son or daughter.
We have seen tremendous improvement in Little Man's ability to function, but I am learning that the trauma that grips his heart so tightly doesn't seem to ever go away completely, it just loosens its grasp over time. As recently as last night, I spent the better part of an hour attempting to regulate his breathing from his hysterical screams, while holding his hands tightly to prevent him from pulling out his hair and eyebrows.
While adoptive families are learning to navigate these very new waters of trauma parenting, they are also trying to form their own attachments to these children they now call their own. I know well the feeling of overwhelming, all-consuming love that possesses you when you see the first photo of your child. But I also know the confusion between your heart and brain when you attempt to snuggle this new child and he doesn't smell like your baby. God has orchestrated so many beautiful things into the heart and biology of a mother that enables her to attach to and love her new baby, even in those first exhausting, sleep deprived days. He causes the scent of your child to be intoxicating as you breathe her in. The shape of her face is etched into your heart as you trace those chubby cheeks with your finger during midnight feedings. There is a bond that is formed, and I'm convinced it is stronger than any other force on earth, when your baby gazes into your eyes as you cradle her.
But for adoptive mamas, many times your new child is unable to even look into your eyes. His scent is foreign to you and reminds you of the heartbreak of your time spent in his orphanage. The curves of his face are unfamiliar, and he can't tolerate being touched as he falls asleep, much less snuggled.
So in addition to the traumatic behavior that makes you want to run for the hills some days, you are fighting biology to form your own attachment to this new child. Your heart screams, "This is my child." But your brain whispers, "You don't know this person."
My dear friends, THIS is the miracle of adoption. That the Father can bring hearts together from across oceans and weld them into a family. He alone can master biology- for He created it. He alone can make the stranger a son. And He alone can mend the broken pieces of a little boy's heart, for He makes all things new.
This is why our hearts beat so strongly for adoption. Church, we simply can not be content to go about our lives while these little hearts are crumbling. Their very lives are crumbling. Their bodies wasting away. Is adoption hard? YES. Is it necessary? YES. We cannot leave these babies confined to their cribs and institutions when we have the room and love to give away. Christian, the Father has given you love in abundance. It is not for us to hoard away for ourselves. No. It is to be given away. After all, we can't out-love the Father.
So as we reflect on our last 9 months together, and I look down and see Little Man scooting his way across the floor, I can confidently say that we love Little Man, as if he had been born to us. Our journey to bring him into our family is an ongoing reminder of what a blessing he is. As we dig our heels in and fight to redeem the shattered pieces of his heart, we remember that the Father fights for us as well. He fights for us and He fights for these kids. What a beautiful thought! The Holy King going to battle on our behalf.
And He is always victorious.
