Fear and Self-Loathing….Why Sometimes Not Having a Biological Connection to your Child is a Bonus.

I was reminded again this week that my insecurities are still a much bigger part of me than I had hoped they would be in my forties.  I won’t go into the sordid details, because frankly, they’re not THAT sordid, and most would say, just get over it!  But, here is my point as it actually pertains to adoption.  I have realized that there are benefits to not having a biological connection to my child.

My handsome D.

First, let me let you in on a little secret.  I have self-esteem issues.  Yes.  It’s true.  And those of you who know me really well are not at all surprised by this declaration.  Those of you who know me on a little more superficial basis are probably somewhat surprised.  Exhibit A.  The title of this blog.  As I went back to research it a little more, I realized that the phrase comes from a novel entitled “Fear and Loathing in Vegas.”  I would, of course, be the one to add in the “self” part.  I have had that phrase stuck in my head for a long time, “Fear and Self-Loathing” and it’s not even correct!  But, I’m digressing a bit.

Here’s the thing.  I have realized that because I have some unaddressed issues that keep me from feeling as confident and self-assured as I would like to feel, I have a really hard time feeling that confidence about anything I do, whether it’s artwork or writing or anything I have had a hand in creating.  Like children.  But, I’ve realized, that since I didn’t have a hand in creating these children, that I find they are exempt from this.  I used to pine away over not being able to get pregnant.  But, I’ve realized that maybe that was one of the greatest blessings.  Not just for me, but for them, too.  They will never have to suffer me coming down on them because they represent something I never was.  To me, they are even more beautiful and more amazing partly because they came from somebody else.  I feel perfectly justified in bragging about them and in telling them, or others, how handsome they are, because there is no part of me that feels they are beautiful because they carry any of my genes.  I am removed from them in a good way.  They will never carry my baggage.  I will never feel to cut short a compliment because, in some roundabout way, I might feel I am bragging about myself.  Or worse, YOU might feel that I am bragging about myself.

My beautiful S.

Maybe this is all just a little twisted.  And yes, I’m sure I need therapy.  And I am not saying that others withhold because of these reasons.  I am speaking to me and my case alone.  Contrary to what this might portray, I am a silver lining kind of a girl.  And this is one of the unexpected silver linings to adoption.  I love these boys partly because they are NOT a part of my gene pool.  I shower them with compliments.  I tell others (probably to an annoying, nauseating degree) how beautiful these boys are.  How amazing and talented they are.  How funny and smart and thoughtful they are.  How athletic and bound-for-the-Olympics they are.  And, even though I know some of that comes from how they are parented, I truly believe that a lot of it came with them when they were born.  I love these boys more than I thought I would be capable of.  And maybe, when I truly feel that love for myself more, I will be capable of even greater love for them, too.  I hope to get there someday.  But for now, I know I am released from any boundaries that would inhibit feeling and expressing my love for them, because they are released from representing any part of me that I don’t love.  And that is a great thing.

P.S.  PLEASE don’t see this as a call for compliments and reassurances that I am just so wonderful.  It won’t change me.  I have to be the one to change myself, and I am truly working on it.  It only makes me think you don’t know me so well!  :)

(photos by the amazingly talented www.ashleykressinphotography.com)

Somewhere Between Saviourhood and Depression

There are two comments I, as an adoptive parent, really get tired of hearing.  Take note, because I can guarantee if you know someone who has adopted a child, they feel the same way.

My boys.  Challenging and amazing.

This first is some version of "you are so great to adopt these children!"  And when I respond something like "oh, well we are really blessed to have them," I usually get some form of "well there are so many kids out there that need good homes, and you are so great to take in these kids and give them a good life."  Does anyone else see what is wrong with this?  I'm forty-two years old.  The first time I went on fertility medication, I was twenty-one.  My oldest child is four and a half.  I know you can do the math.  Let's just say I spent many, many years trying to have a child.  Praying, begging, crying, pleading with God to let me have that blessing.  I am not a savior.  I didn't go into it with some altruistic goal of saving some poor child out there.  I didn't set out to save anyone, except maybe myself.  Not only is it uncomfortable to be spoken to as if I had done some great unselfish act for the sole purpose of being unselfish, it's almost offensive.  I am a girl who grew up wanting to have a family.  I am not a charitable organization.  And it's even worse when this kind of comment is made in front of my child.  He is not the receiver of a charitable act for which he needs to consistently show gratitude.  He is a child.  He is my child.  He has a mom, just like your children do.  And he doesn't need to be reminded how lucky he is that someone took pity on him and was kind enough to give him a pillow on which to lay his little orphaned head.  He needs to be reminded that he is loved, like any other child in any other family.  And his childhood should be just about that--childhood.

The other comment I get tired of hearing is, oddly enough, on the other end of the spectrum.  If I am having a difficult day with one of my kids, for whatever reason---maybe one is being a pill, or one is fussy because of teething, or one is sick, or one is just not sleeping much and I'm exhausted--I don't need to be reminded that this is what I asked for so I need to be more grateful.  Or as someone stated just the other day, "yes, but this is what you signed up for." Yes.  You are right.  This is what I prayed, begged, cried and plead for.  I am well aware of that.  I don't need your gentle reminder.  But, you need to understand that I deal with the same parenting issues that everyone else does.  I have hard days.  I get tired.  I get frustrated.  I seek out help with issues my children are having.  And, I need your love and support, especially if you have walked the path of parenthood before me.  Believe me, I am completely grateful to be dealing with these issues, because it means I have children.  It means I am a mom.  It means I am enjoying this long-awaited dream.  I know this.  So please just take it as an unspoken fact that I am more grateful than you will ever know.  I love being a mom more than you could possibly comprehend, unless you also had to fight seventeen years before you were blessed with a child.  And I love these boys more than I ever thought possible.

Like most moms, I ride somewhere in the middle between Saviourhood and depression.  I rarely get close to either extreme.  I ride in the middle, recognizing that even on the most difficult days, life is still so beautiful.  And the best days don't come because I was just so overly righteous that day.  They come and go just like they do for every other mom out there trying to do her best.  They ebb and flow mostly near the middle of the river between perfection and disaster, rarely nearing either shore. And I'm okay with that.  In fact, it is what I consider a successful day.

Loss is Loss

Maybe I’m just coming to a less selfish point in my life, and realizing that not everything is about me or directed at me in some way.  What a shocking revelation that is….  It has occurred to me lately that we all need to take a step back and see things for what they are—nothing more and nothing less.  In all the adoption classes we’ve taken, and the difficult experiences we’ve had over the years with failed fertility treatments, a failed adoption and everything in between, I have found it interesting that we all compare our grief.  I’ve heard it from both ends, too.  I’ve had people who feel that the things they have experienced have been worse than what I have experienced and they say something in the form of “well, at least you didn’t have to _____________”.  And I’ve had people who were amazed at what we have been through say something like “Wow, I’ve had ____________ happen, but that was nothing compared to what you’ve dealt with”.  It’s as if all the painful experiences in life can be measured on a line, with one standing behind the other in some grand descending order.  So, how does it go?  Does having to give my soon-to-be-adopted son back to his father trump your miscarriage?  Is losing a parent farther down the grief line than losing a child?  What if it was a more tragic death? And what about dissimilar experiences?  Does your ongoing chronic health problem match up to my losing a job?  Does my frustration with my weight win our over your depression?  We even do it with children.  My three-year-old can experience some pretty big grief over losing a monster truck—a seemingly insignificant thing, so should I just tell him, hey, I’ve lost a child, so suck it up?

What I have come to understand is that loss is just loss.  It is the same emotion though perhaps driven by different experiences.  I’ve had many, many friends over the years who were afraid to tell me they were pregnant, especially if it was unplanned, and especially if they were not wanting to get pregnant at that time or ever again.  So, does the stress and grief of a mother overwhelmed with several little children, who just found out she was pregnant again when she had hoped to wait until things had maybe settled down—does her grief go in front of or behind my grief at not being able to get pregnant at all?  What about when my grief is magnified by years of failed fertility treatments, including two very difficult rounds of invitro, neither of which worked?  Now do I win?

Loss is loss.  It is still grief.  There may be degrees, but it is the same sadness and pain and depression.  We would do well to stop comparing our emotions in an effort to either justify our level of sadness, or to make ourselves or a friend or loved one “snap out of it and be grateful for what you have.”  The truth is, most of us are very grateful for what we have.  But, sometimes we are just sad and hurt over something we have lost.  Maybe it was a loved one.  Maybe it was the dream of having that loved one.  Maybe it was the dream of a stable income or a good retirement or a healthy life or a home or a particular friendship.  During our adoption/foster care classes, we got a little refresher course on the stages of grief, and we learned how we have to move through each stage before we can progress to the next one.  No matter what the loss is, our feet must touch each step. Some may be quicker than others.  We might breeze through denial and then wallow a lot longer in anger before moving on, but they all have to happen.  It is something we all have in common, so, in essence, we would do better to stop worrying about whose grief is greater and whose deserves more sympathy, and just mourn with those who mourn.  Because, even though the driving force may differ, we are sharing in the same experience.  I’ve often told stressed mothers with several children who felt like they couldn’t break down in front of me, that it is okay for them to be sad and upset and stressed, and it's okay if I know about it.  I always say that they are learning the lessons of patience and compassion through the difficult journey of caring for their children, and I am learning the same lessons through the difficult journey of trying to have children.  Same lessons.  Because patience is patience and compassion is compassion and loss is just loss.  No grand sequential lineup.  It just is.  So cry on my shoulder because you’ve changed 3000 diapers today and soothed 26 temper tantrums and done 16 loads of laundry, cooked 3 meals and 12 snacks, all with your husband deployed.  And I will cry on your shoulder because the cysts in my ovaries are extra painful today and I still have health complications left over from the hormone manipulation that is invitro and my aging parents are experiencing health problems and I don’t have two shiny nickels to my name and my family is so far away and my long, long-awaited son keeps asking for a baby brother and I can’t give him one, though it is my greatest wish.  And, then, soon enough, we will eat some chocolate and laugh about our breakdowns and suck it up and be grateful for what we have.  But, for now, let’s let ourselves grieve together.  We just might learn something from each other that will make our lives a little bit better.