I love all of my kids — born
to me and adopted by me — the same, with consistent limitlessness. Then again,
if I'm honest that's not totally true. I love my adopted kids "more,"
because more is required.
My adopted kids arrived with
invisible overflowing suitcases of tough stuff, issues inherent to adoption,
spilling over into their and our daily lives. These issues stemmed from the
losses of family, family history, and culture of origin.
I was confident in my ability
to parent my kids, and I believed I had the basics down. But, I discovered that
a number of my thoughts about parenting adopted kids would eventually be proven
partially or altogether untrue, such as:
1. I never thought I would
need to hold my child for hours while she sobbed her way into and around her
birthdays, missing her birth mother. My experience was that birthdays were
celebratory; she showed me they could be laced with pain.
What I know is love alone
cannot negate any trauma my kids have experienced. However, honest dialogue,
unending patience, and the gifts of time and perspective help immensely.
2. I thought loving my kids
would be enough to get them through the rough patches of sibling squabbles,
being bullied, mean girls, identity development, personal compass navigation,
and adoption loss and grief.
What I know is loving my kids
is the easy part. Staying ahead of them in their psychosocial stages is the
challenging job.
Read more: Preparing your home for an adopted child
3. I thought I would parent,
more or less, independently or collaboratively with my husband, with occasional
advice from more experienced parents.
What I know is I needed to
compile a team of therapists and support people who would help me hone my
emotion coaching and parenting skills. These professionals and support people
would educate me about how to better address the traumas my children
experienced from not having their most basic needs met.
What I also know is that I
have come to appreciate the wise advice of my kids, at first wholly unsolicited
but genuine, and later upon request. Their insights have been profound and
honest, a good check to gauge my effectiveness.
4. I thought differences
would not matter. I was oh-so-wrong. I was color-blind, entrenched in my white
privilege.
What I know is differences
matter greatly. We perceive our lives through these lenses of difference. To
disregard our differences would be the same as turning our backs on who each of
us is, who we are as a family unit, and how each of us contributes to and
supports each other and our remarkable family.
Read more: Are you ready to adopt?
5. I thought I would be able
to weave my adopted kids into my family history and stories. I was partially
correct here.
What I know is that as my
kids have become older, they have put the brakes on being integrated too deeply
into the family. They accept those they know or have known personally as their
bonafide family.
When I share with my
daughter, "You are named for your great, great grandmother."
She responds,
"Dad's great grandmother?"
I nod and think, "That
would be a 'yes,' my child. Thank you for correcting me; we do not know the
name of your great, great Chinese grandmother. I realize I have misstepped. I
have muddled your identity formation."
6. I thought I could sit back
and watch each child emerge. I found out otherwise when I said, "You're
just like..." or "You remind me of ..." when speaking to my
birthed son.
What I know is that
comparisons of this nature do not belong in a family such as ours; comparisons
of this nature are reminders of my kids' adoptive statuses.
7. I thought I would teach my
children. And I do — things like stranger-danger; wrong, right, and shades of
gray; peer-predatory behavior; how to be a good friend; and think before you
speak or act.
What I know is my kids have
taught me far more-how to appreciate the small things, the soothing balm of a
good belly laugh or a long puppy-hug, the importance of being in the moment,
the beauty of grace, how to soften the messages a parent must impart with the
purpose of safety, and the significance of our blended family.
I thought I knew a lot about
parenting, but what I have realized is that I am challenged every day to grow,
to examine how I raise my kids and who I am as their parent. Although I know
more with each passing day, and definitely
book-loads-and-countless-conversations more than 22 years ago, I am still a
novice.
Judy M. Miller is a freelance writer living in the
Midwest with her husband and four children. She is a Certified Gottman Educator
and the author of “What To
Expect From Your Adopted Tween” and “Writing to Heal Adoption Grief: Making Connections & Moving Forward.”