It has been almost three years since we met L. From day one, I have felt a nagging worry that I am not doing the right things or doing enough for her.
I never felt that way about M, or if I did, those worries have been fleeting. M and I shared one body; our hearts beat together before she was even born. I see myself reflected in M: her behavior; the way she thinks; why she makes the choices she makes; and her mannerisms. With M, there is familiarity and recognition. There is nothing about her I do not understand. She can’t keep herself secret from me. Because I know her, I know what she needs and when she needs it.
L is a puzzle. When we adopted L she was a stranger to me and she didn’t want to give up her secrets. She is a tough little nugget on the outside protecting a wounded, broken heart. She is a mystery wrapped in a mystery hidden under a shell of false bravado. I have spent three years loving this girl, but I am still learning who she is and what she needs.
I am afraid someone will read this and misunderstand what I am saying. It isn’t that there is a difference in the intensity of love I feel for my children whether they are adopted or born to me. I love them both with a love I never thought was possible. Overwhelming and all-encompassing love that could break my heart.
The difference is in the knowing. I have to learn L. I have to study her and unwrap her secrets one at a time. I have to tweeze apart the layers of false confidence and see the tiniest flicker of her eyes to tell me she needs me. I have to see past the brave front. I have to show her it is OK to be scared and she can trust me to keep her safe.
This week, we began L’s occupational therapy evaluation and it broke my heart. My brave girl marched through the testing with barely a peep of protest. It was only when we asked her to do something that was causing pretty serious discomfort (we think) that she showed the slightest hesitation. “Can I be done?” she asked in the tiniest voice, with a flash of panic in her eyes.
My sweet baby girl. Things are harder for her than they should be. Seeing is harder. Loving is harder. Just the simple act of being is harder. The effects of L’s rocky beginning are written on her body, her brain and her heart.
I have known all along, she was wounded, but we are still trying to figure out how extensive the damage will be. As her mother, I feel like I should already know but I don’t.
I love her so much, I should know what she needs. I should have known she was struggling. I should have trusted that nagging feeling that was telling me I wasn’t doing enough.
I don’t know if I will ever be able to do enough.
This is so beautiful. I hope you find the answers you are looking for.
No misunderstanding here. I have felt that way for the longest time, I take joy in the small understandings, the new insights, seeing each puzzle piece on the table and trying to make it fit to form a whole picture.
This post has hit me hard today, M is recovery from her surgery on Friday and last night/this morning has been the worst of it I think (I hope). It was having to hurt her to heal her is what is killing me, she doesn’t understand. We have been establishing trust for four years and these are the moments that test that trust.
I hate that she hurts. I hate that she has to deal not only with the pain of surgery, but the pain of coming to terms with so much more. Children should not have to deal with so much. If I hear another person proclaiming the resilency of kids or that you are not given more than you can handle I will scream! If that is true why are so many adults damaged? If that is true why do people self harm or commit suicide? I guess it is easier for them than actually acknowledging the loss/pain/wounds.
Thinking of both our girls, I just hope we can help them to understand.
“She is a mystery wrapped in a mystery hidden under a shell of false bravado” really hits home with me. Nope, no misunderstandings here.
I understand. We can can only do our best and hope that they know we would do anything for them. Camille is 4 now and just starting to unfold.
Oh dear, your post is so beautiful and heartbreaking and, I imagine, hard to write and live through (mainly to live). I hope you can learn more and more “secrets” and ways to fulfill her needs as the days, months and years go by. It may not be enough, but it will be all you can give, or more.
Oh how I hear you, it is song that rings in my ears too, “will I ever be able to do enough” is my mantra many days.
This is such a beautiful post. It’s making ny heart ache.
You’re a wonderful mother.
Wow.
I look at my girls, my loves, my heart, and wonder how do they work? I have wondered if I will ever be enough, if honestly, they will ever be enough. I wonder if all the Ot/Pt will do for them what they need, not to heal but to deal.
I love my girls more than anything in the whole world but they are an enigma to me, so different than me to the core, YET they have my mannerisms and my expressions. It will be long before they can find themselves and we can all except we are all different and until then I roll with it. Knowing love doesn’t solve everything but at least it provides something they need now and we can work together for a common ground with OT/PT/PSY thrown in there.
This is beautifully written and heartwrenching. I am so glad that your daughers have you and Mr. A for parents – the love and determination you bring are wonderful and deeply needed in the world.
I have this feeling constantly with all 3 children. One whom I know 4 generations of birth family but still there are layers I haven’t reached and I am not sure if they are for me to reach or that is the job of friends and lovers as they may come and go in the future. As for my girls at 6 and 2 they have many years of healing in front of them. and As their mother that is my job to get to the point where I say it is now about you and your future experiences coming to terms with who you are.
It isn’t to say I won’t be here for my children I will always be here but I might not be the right person for them to heal the many cracks and grazes on their soul.
What I do know as their teacher, mother and biggest advocate I will always be here for them and lead by example whether by showing them how to cry, fight for another or themselves, and to love unconditionally as much as that hurts me or them in the future.
I know that when my children look back they will think that I did my best even if it wasn’t what they needed all the time. They know they have been loved unconditionally.
That is my legacy!
Thanks for this topic.
Hugs Ruth
“It was only when we asked her to do something that was causing pretty serious discomfort (we think) that she showed the slightest hesitation. “Can I be done?” she asked in the tiniest voice, with a flash of panic in her eyes.”
Hmmm… I believe Paula (Heart Mind and Seoul) wrote about this in a blog post – as an adoptee growing up, she felt that speaking out would inconvenience others, even when it came to physical discomfort on her part.
Actually, that still reminds me a bit of myself, even up to today… I don’t like speaking out, I don’t like to voice discomfort for fear of inconveniencing others. My mom said I’ve always been like that, even as a little girl.
I can really relate to this. Just getting through the day is so hard for Thanh some days. It breaks my heart. I hope you can get some good support through the OT.
This post made me realize something. I feel exactly the same about my firstborn kid as you do about M., even though he’s a boy: he is so much like me that I always know what he’s thinking, sometimes even before he knows himself.
I do NOT feel this way about my two other kids — they are like little strangers, even though we share DNA. Sometimes I get where they’re coming from, and sometimes I simply do not.
Of course, it’s a different situation because none of them is adopted, so I am not trying to fill in blanks. And I love them all just the same, the known and the unknowable!
Strangely, I feel the same way with my girls.(in terms of understanding them)
Girl #1 I totally understand
Girl #2 is an enigma to me. I have a conference with her Hebrew School teacher soon because she refuses to take anything seriously.
My comment goes with L’s above. They may share my DNA, but they are both different enough that I really am not sure what I do and don’t understand
Sending you good thoughts as you work through the stuff with L.
No misunderstanding, rather total understanding here. It can be so hard when you think that you have reached a new level of trusting & then something that can seem so small & inconsequential to most can cause a setback in our little ones.
“I have to tweeze apart the layers of false confidence and see the tiniest flicker of her eyes to tell me she needs me. I have to see past the brave front. I have to show her it is OK to be scared and she can trust me to keep her safe.”
That statement just reached out & grabbed me, 3 1/2 years later and there are days I feel that is all we do. Keep doing what you are doing and just trust that the foundations you are building are strong. OT has helped Katie tremendously, to the point that our house is becoming a sensory house complete with a sensory swing in the living room. Wishing you & L luck with the OT and everything else.
I feel this way, too, sometimes. It’s not loving one less than another – it is just a different interaction, and it is more of a challenge to discover the needs of someone who doesn’t reflect their needs in the same way you do.