Things I didn’t know about adoption until I became an adoptive parent (part 1)
Healing is NOT linear.
This sounds so obvious, right? For some reason, when I thought about the process of helping my future adopted kiddos heal, I always imagined it being a semi-linear process. I expected that the first year would be very tough. We’d have to adjust to being a family, our kids would have to build trust with us, we would have to be patient and understanding and meet them where they were at. But eventually…after about a year, in my mind…everything would settle down. We’d be a happy, functioning family with kids who had worked through their trauma and were thriving because their worst days were behind them.
Maybe I’m being a little too hard on my past self, but a part of me definitely believed and expected that. And it’s true that our first year as a family was by far the hardest. It was traumatic in so many ways and sometimes I really can’t believe we survived. And it’s also true that every year get easier. However, it’s not easier because my girls are “fixed.” It’s easier because we know them better, we can see their subtle cues more quickly, they know and trust us more, and we can all communicate more effectively. But to be completely honest, it’s no less demanding than it was. The demands are just different.
Parenting is hard, no matter which way you build a family. What makes adoptive parenting different, though, is that you are constantly teaching, correcting, and healing damage that someone else did and you sometimes barely understand. Your child has fears that you’ve never imagined and barely know how to navigate, yet you have to help them navigate them anyway. Your child is developmentally all over the place - they look like a 12-year-old and sometimes act like a 12-year-old, but sometimes they’re mentally a 5-year-old and have the social skills of a 3-year-old. They know how 12-year-olds are supposed to act, logically, but when they feel insecure, tired, or overwhelmed, their brain automatically reverts backwards. And this is SO DEEPLY ingrained that you find yourself re-explaining and re-teaching the same things again and again and again.
What brings me tremendous joy is when I see my daughters finally putting pieces together for themselves. When I ask why they did something they know they’re not supposed to do, and instead of staying stuck in a fight/flight/freeze headspace, they say, “I did it because I was angry…but I know that doesn’t make it okay.” Sure, this doesn’t mean the behavior or automatic response is cured - they’ll still do it again - but their awareness is growing.
They will make the same mistake a hundred - or more - times over. But with the right blend of correction, teaching, reinforcement, and absolutely, unconditional love and acceptance - this will change. It’ll just take longer than you think. And I mean LONGER than you think. So long that you will absolutely not keep your patience. You will lose your cool. You will say thing you regret. But underneath it, your child just needs to know that you still believe in them. That even though they’ve done the same dumb thing hundreds of times, you still believe they can and will do better.
And you can know they will do better because you’ve seen their growth. You’ve seen them at their best. You’ve seen their ability. You understand that healing is not linear. That they’ll have days they are on top of the world and thriving and their best self. And then they’ll have days - fewer and further between days, and more manageable when they happen - when they are just exhausting and you wonder if any of the progress was real. This is how it goes.
As a parent, it can be SO discouraging and frustrating when this happens. I see you. I’m right there with you. If you’ve had a day, take a breath. Give yourself some grace. Reflect on what you wish you had done differently and how you want to handle it next time. Then remind yourself of what you’ve already done. Remember how far you’ve come. Remember what your child used to be like and where they are now. You’ve got this.
