Telling Your Adoption Story
“You should tell your story!”
I hear this recommendation frequently from the few people I don’t hide the details from. I just blush and feel like maybe I’ve said too much. It’s embarrassing to connect to those memories again. I also have this bizarre sense that just a few years ago, there was some other person living in my home (instead of my adopted son) and that person’s story isn’t important or “real” anymore.
Looking back, it seems… Maybe some part of our journey was just a bad dream?
– Original post date: Dec. 15, 2017
Sometimes This Disassociation Helps
For example, in the last 30 days, my son has set a fire inside my home and mixed household chemicals, thankfully, not at the same time. It’s a little like “Final Destination” over here, and I’ve finally gotten serious about taking out a life insurance policy on him.
I’m not sharing this for shock value, rather, this is my normal life.
My son has rocked my world; sending me into a tearful depression over the challenges he’s brought upon us, then surprising me with impressive desires to change the world by finding the cure for AIDS and cancer.
Memories I Try To Forget About
As I think back to some of the early days with him, I remember locking myself in my room and calling emergency crisis numbers while he banged his head against the wall, kicked, punched and threatened to kill both me and himself during a tantrum. Then, a neighbor kid stopped by to play. Overhearing the noise and reporting it back to his mom, she later threatened to call CPS on me for the injuries he sustained. I almost laughed at her because that might have actually caused us to receive more help for him at the time.
I remember my heart breaking so badly at his fearful and angry rejection of my touch. It took two weeks for him to trust me to touch him. The first contact I had: applying sunblock. Gradually, we worked up to hand-holding and then once he finally decided I was OK… we had our first opportunity to kiss.
Mamas, don’t ever take those kisses for granted. Top of the head, back of the hand, cheeks, whatever – they are so, so special!
The fatigue that plagued my home for a year in the form of night terrors, and intense fear of bathing, and rejection of food… has brought me to my knees on many occasions and left me for dead on a daily basis.
Un-Adoptable? Faith Beyond Foster Care (On Sale Now!)
But Our Story Isn’t Over
And then there has been our journey through homeschooling where the maternal bond has been nourished through my self-sacrificing weight gain and gray hairs. (Basically.)
I can only imagine where we’d be without the intense relationship work we’ve done in these past few years. Though my paycheck says $0.00, my heart shows a balance equal to an NFL player after a game well-played.
I’d thought… one day, when the “story” is done being written… I could help the next person. Encourage them. Strengthen them. And so on. But now, what I’ve learned is that EVEN in the middle of the chapter… even when we are about to turn a page that will surprise us all… my story matters NOW.
I’m glad people are watching us, listening to us, and finding humor, hope, and a sense of community.
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To hear more on Janelle Molony’s story and her thoughts on older child adoptions, check out the video below!
In case the video embed doesn’t work, here is the direct link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZgG9fe-DwYo&t=65s
What to read next:
Who Is This Kid? Post-Adoption Identity Crisis
Waking Up Scared: Pediatric PTSD in Foster Youth
The author writes from an unabashed, had-it-up-to-here, daily defeated and re-strengthened by grace and hope… kind of place. An adoptive mother of a curious kiddo, full of spirit and sass, tells her tales of homeschooling, fostering, and raising children with special needs. Thanks for joining us on this adventure from adoption to life!
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