Adoption Didn't Magically Fix Me

This post was published on herviewfromhome.com on February 3rd, 2016! I am so excited to be able to contribute pieces for this helpful website! http://herviewfromhome.com/adoption-didnt-magically-fix-me/

Our adoption journey began like many others – first battling the fiend of infertility. I know not all couples who adopt have traveled that road. However, most people assume you’ve adopted because you can’t have biological kids. So, yes, we adopted because we found out a biological birth would not happen for us.

Here’s some truth. At the beginning of the course, before the test results were in, way before we began the adoption process, it upset me when some (well-meaning) person would say, “Well, you can always adopt.” At that point, I was so raw, still fighting for answers and emotional processing, I didn’t want to hear that. Pursuing adoption seemed to be acknowledging that we hadn’t succeeded, and that we would never become pregnant.

Ultimately, it became apparent that adoption would be the path by which we became parents. We first had to grieve the loss of having a biological child, of course. But, following that, when we faced the future and began making plans, I felt differently. We were and are proud adoptive parents. We absolutely believed that any child of ours, however created and brought into our family, would be completely loved.

And maybe even extra loved – because, of course, “You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.”
It’s a valid point that, having been through infertility, miscarriage, or loss of a child, you are über-aware of the gift that each child is. I would see someone with an unplanned pregnancy, and I wondered why they would be blessed with a child when we wanted one so badly. If a couple got pregnant without difficulty, I was sincerely happy for them, but inwardly, I was hurting and, I’ll say it, jealous for the effortlessness of their reproduction.

If I saw a mom looking stressed out with her kids, getting groceries or at the park or outside at school, I would immediately think, “If I had children, I would never get stressed out because of them. How can they take for granted what I want so badly?”

And I honestly felt that way. At that point, we wanted children so incredibly much, that it seemed like that would be the answer to everything. You know, the old “if only”? If only I had a boyfriend, if only he would propose already, if only I had a good job, if only we had more money, if only we could have children.  I thought that once I was a mother, that heartache and pain would go away, and the wonderful awe of being a parent would overshadow any of the daily problems that would come my way.

Once I got this fixed, life would be okay again.

Because I was in a really bad place during that time. Infertility is a stressful experience, emotionally and physically. I dealt with some situational depression. I felt hopeless and impotent. Getting through a regular day was difficult. I developed shingles due to the stress. I didn’t know how to express my feelings to my friends and family. I went to a counselor to help process it in a healthier way – which was a good decision. Ultimately, though, I felt like being a mom would help everything be okay again.

It took seven months of adoption classes, training, and interviews, and two months of waiting before we got a call for our first child. We were smitten instantly. She was beautiful, sweet, and oh-so-huggable. We settled in as first time parents do – joyfully, awkwardly, unsure of ourselves, but with the shining patina of finally being “mom” and “dad.”

Fast forward seven years. We now are the blessed parents of four kids through adoption – three girls and a boy.

Guess what. Adopting them didn’t solve every problem in the world.

Guess what. My kids stress me out sometimes.

Occasionally, I’m that mom I self-righteously thought I would never be.

The always loving, ever-patient, eternally grateful mother I wanted to be isn’t present all of the time. She’s busy with dirty laundry, facilitating meal times with young children, and playing referee to these active monkeys, while maintaining a positive relationship with my husband.

I love my kids. I couldn’t imagine my life without them. Please hear that.

As I ponder this, I realize something. This doesn’t make me a bad mom. It makes me a real one.

My kids are just like any others. I am just like any other mother. Yes, we took a crazy path to get here, and yes, I have baggage from the journey that will always stick with me. But, hey, I’m here! I’m a real mom! A real-life, sleep-deprived, coffee-chugging, Target-shopping, homework-helping, bedtime-story-reading mom, living the insanely eventful parental life. My every problem wasn’t fixed, but the dream of motherhood came true.

Adoption wasn’t a fall-back plan, or something we had to settle for. We are now a real family.

Just like Pinocchio or the Velveteen Rabbit, I’m real.  Not perfect, but a real mom.

And it feels so good.

To the Almost-Mothers on Mother's Day

Mother's Day is a wonderful day to celebrate the women in our lives who raised us and had an impact on our lives. The generations of female influence, biological or not, dwell on, and is a rich inheritance. I am so grateful to my mom, to my grandmas (one in Colorado, one in heaven), to my mother-in-law, and to so many women who have played the role of "surrogate" mom to me, providing wisdom and guidance. We are so blessed to have the sisterhood of women to support and encourage each other.

And as thankful as I am, and as happy as I will be tomorrow to celebrate with my little ones this year, my heart aches for those who are not-quiet-yet-mothers, and yearn to be. For I've been there. And I know how much this day can hurt.

"A hope deferred makes the heart sick." Proverbs 13:12

For those who are childless not by choice, this day can be a painful reminder of what God has not granted yet.

For those who have been waiting and waiting for the title of "mother", with silence and negative pregnancy tests the only answer.

For those who have lost a child - to miscarriage, stillbirth, or early death.

For those young women who are unmarried, praying for a husband and children, trusting that God knows the rest of their story.

For those also who won't be celebrating this day with their own mothers, who have left us briefly to be with Him in heaven.

I was very uncomfortable on Mother's Day for several years, during our journey to start a family, and until Miss A came into our lives. I was incredibly happy to honor and celebrate the women in my life, and to acknowledge how important mothers are. But I either felt so alone, suffering in silence and disappointment over coming to another Mother's Day without being a mother, or almost angry, having the inevitable awkward/painful conversations that the day would inspire, when some well-meaning individual would ask when we would be having children, or, worse, why we hadn't. (I felt like this happened constantly, and quite often the person would respond to my gawky, lame sputterings by saying something like, "You better hurry up - you're not getting any younger." Honestly, this even was said to me on an airplane by my seat partner, whom I'd never met in my life.)

I know that my feelings were mostly selfish, that I was focusing on me. Yet, infertility seems like a condition that separates you from others. It's not something people talk about - and it's not something that's comfortable to talk about. You don't know what it's like - physically or emotionally - unless you've been through it. (Which is with most happenings, especially deep griefs.) Most people don't know what to say if you bring it up, and I completely understand that, and I tried not to take offense at well-meant remarks. It's almost like you can't process it well enough, because there aren't a lot of outlets in which to do so.

Again, I am SO GRATEFUL, SO GRATEFUL, SO GRATEFUL, that, through the miracle of adoption, and the blessing of fostering, that my day tomorrow will be spent with four little creatures who will make messes in our kitchen and lots of noise in our backyard. But I remember what it felt like without them, and I will never forget.

So tomorrow, while we celebrate our mothers, and, some of us, being mothers, let's not forget those for whom this is not a happy day, but a trigger of emotions reflecting the ongoing struggle inside. Please don't forget those who are experiencing infertility, have suffered miscarriages, placed a child for adoption, lost a child - or lost a mother. It may be difficult for the person next to you in church, or at the next table at the restaurant, or walking down the aisle next to you at the grocery store. Even though the support they have for the mothers around them is there and present on this day, it may be difficult for them to express the joy and happiness they do feel, while in the midst of their own heartache. Please be understanding if someone isn't as "celebratory" as you. Everyone has things going on in their lives, most of which we may not know about nor understand.

If you know someone dealing with this situation, it's okay to share a quiet, to-the-side "I'm praying for you." I felt so alone every year on Mother's Day. One year, a fellow sister in Christ bought me a small bouquet and inconspicuously gave them to me, and whispered, "Happy Future Mother's Day. God has great plans for you." I will never forget it.

To the women and men who are hurting due to a loss or a hope deferred thus far, know that there is comfort and hope. It's okay and normal to have feelings of anger, sadness, fear, disillusionment - God is more than okay with hearing about your hurt. He cries with you every time you shed a tear.

 "'He shall wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor cying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.' And he who was seated on the throne said, 'Behold, I am making all things new.'" Revelation 21:5

Don't beat yourself up about feeling the way you do. Don't think you are less of a godly person for it. "Take it to the Lord in prayer." God has great plans for you. No matter what those plans end up being, it will feel like - and it will be - the absolutely right place for you to be.

Please don't forget about those who are struggling with pain from infertility or loss. Pray for them. Pray that God would bring healing to their souls, first and foremost, and that His will would be done in regards to their futures.

To those women who have shared with me their own private struggles and griefs, I will be praying for you tomorrow. Please know that you can talk with me and we can cry, pray, laugh together. God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good. God is always with you and can carry you through this storm. You are never alone.

"But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;
    they shall mount up with wings like eagles;
they shall run and not be weary;
    they shall walk and not faint."
- Isaiah 40:31

On The Other Side: 5 Years Past Infertility

This Saturday afternoon, we traveled with the foursome to the home of The Man of the House's sister and her husband, our newest brother-in-law. They were married last spring in an awesomely fun beach wedding at Key West where we all were involved with the ceremony. It's a really neat thing to welcome new members into the family and we're blessed that Aunt Kimbie is so happy. AND THEN they told us this past summer at the beach that they were expecting in April of next year. So exciting to have another little one around!

We were heading to their home for a gender reveal party. They didn't tell us beforehand how the big reveal was going to happen, but once the time came, we all - the family and their friends who came to celebrate -  had cans of Silly String, unmarked, covered with wrapping to hide the color. On the count of three, we all sprayed at once... and tons of blue string came flying out at all of us! Everyone was ecstatic and began chattering about how much fun a new little guy will be.

As we drove back, I had plenty of time for musing. The thing that was hitting me was how happy I was for my sister-in-law and her husband, and how finally this feeling was separate from any personal or inward sadness over the fact that we won't ever have biological children ourselves. And I realized that, a few weeks ago, when I was told by our church choir director that she was also expecting in April, I was able to honestly feel happy and excited for her. And maybe what I sensed was also a LACK of a feeling - the lessening of the tug of the grief, waning over time.

Wait. How selfish to say. Are you the reader a little irritated that I even mentioned considering whether or not I was feeling happy and excited about this?

If you haven't gone through infertility struggles, this might be hard to understand. It's also hard for me to articulate. This probably all sounds incredibly selfish and self-absorbed. Why wouldn't you be happy? Someone else's happiness doesn't diminish your own or take anything away from you. Especially something like a pregnancy - it's not like my own pregnancy was personally taken away from me by any other woman I see that is pregnant when I am not.

Five years ago was when my husband and I were living out the nitty gritty parts of our infertility story. Each woman (or man) encountering infertility will handle it differently. For me, it was the most painful thing I've ever gone through. I'm not saying that to be dramatic; it's the honest truth. I lost my dearly dearly loved grandmother to ovarian cancer when I was twenty-one. That's the only thing that comes close to any actual grief I've faced personally. I feel blessed that the first part of my life was not marked by any deep tragedy for me or someone close to me. I thank God for the blessings and experiences I have had. Infertility was the first grief I really had to face. And for me, it was an incredibly devastating grief.

I always knew I wanted to be a good wife and mother, and that that calling was the most important beyond whatever I did as a career. That's not to say I never wanted a career - I just knew that as much as I loved whatever I ended up doing, I would love being a mom more. I was the girl who was going to be a teacher or pediatrician because I loved kids so much. I honestly worried as a little girl, as I was wont to do and still am, whenever I read the stories of Rebekah and Rachel and Hannah in the Bible - what if I find out my husband and I won't be able to get pregnant?

When no pregnancy happened after a year, we began testing. I watched my friends and my sister get pregnant and I festered an increasing frustration that turned into depression. It was a very dark time for me. By the time the testing began, which added stress in and of itself, I had developed shingles. The doctor told me he had never seen anyone who was my age and as otherwise healthy as I was have shingles. "You must be extremely stressed and you need to relax," he told me. Easy to say, right?

I didn't really talk to anyone about this at first. It's anticlimactic to tell people you're "trying to get pregnant". Infertility is a lonely struggle. You feel like the only person going through it.

And, of course, it doesn't help that everyone seems to be pregnant around you when you're going through infertility. In fact, The Man of the House and I have a joke that I am other people's good luck charm. Whenever I found out that someone else was having infertility problems, I would gently reach out - it's hard to face crises alone! BUT... then, soon, they would be announcing their pregnancy and I would be SO happy for them, honestly and authentically - please understand that - but still left once again to struggle and grieve on my own.

As much as grief is ever present, I've learned that its severity is also cyclical. There are times when things affect me much more than others. I can go a long time between days of really feeling sad about it. The rest of the time, the best way to describe it is like scar tissue - it's there, has made its mark permanently on you, and might make its presence felt at times, may hold you back a tiny bit, but it's not on the forefront of your mind all the time.

I had to come to grips with the fact that this pain cannot be allowed to be all-consuming. There were definitely times when it felt like it was. Like I would never feel happy or whole again. This struggle stole the light from my spirit for a while. The days went on with or without my paying attention to them, or fully living them. I can't make this worse by letting it turn me into someone I'm not.

I'm not pessimistic. I'm not self-consumed. I'm not non-functioning. I'm not broken. We're not doomed forever because of this. I can't become these things.

If anything, I want to use this as a catalyst for strength. I can look back and say to myself, "You've made it through this." I can be proud of how we not only made it through, but thrived - as a couple, and now as a family.

Our story progressed into a journey traveling through foster care and adoption. Others may have a different journey, but there is purpose, both in the journey and in the destination, whenever and wherever that comes. Good can come through any struggle. We can grow.

For anyone going through this same struggle, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. You will emerge eventually from the darkness. It won't look like the life you planned, and you won't be the same person you were when you began. You are in my thoughts and prayers as you travel your own journey. Please know you are not alone.