HELP!

We were eight years into our adoption journey, and I felt like I was drowning. Having one kid with trauma and special needs (not physical but emotional) is hard, but when you have three it feels impossible. I sat in the pediatrician’s office and cried. I had requested an appointment without the kids, something I didn’t even realize was an option until I called to ask. And I spilled everything out in a waterfall of verbal chaos along with my tears. Our pediatrician is wonderful, and my kids have been seeing her since they were babies, so she already knew a lot of the stuff I was telling her, but it felt good to let it all out anyway. “Kelly, I think it’s time you took them to a psychiatrist to have them evaluated,” she said. I froze. Psychiatrist? That sounded like such a scary word to me. I have never been more afraid for my kids and their futures than in that moment. Psychiatrist? Wow. I didn’t even know what to say. “What do they do there?” I asked. “Well, they’ll have a psychological evaluation and probably receive a diagnosis…or more than one.” More tears. How are we here? What have I done wrong? Am I a failure? Am I a bad mom? Is this my fault? Those were all the questions going through my head. I’m trying my best. I’ve loved them with every ounce of myself. I’ve neglected me, my health, my hobbies, everything that makes me an individual, for years, and now we are here anyway. I felt like I was starting to lose hope. I could tell from the pit in my stomach that was making its way up my throat. I had done everything I knew to do and still it wasn’t enough. Do you ever feel like this, adoptive mama? Like you have given it your all, and you’re still failing? Let me tell you, two years ago that’s where I was as I sat in that pediatrician’s office. My kids were having huge behaviors, and I mean HUGE. Between the three of them they were lying, stealing, being disrespectful to teachers and grandparents, hitting, cursing (and let me be clear, they have never heard a single curse word in our home), among other things. One of them had been suspended from school nine times that year for stealing and had to switch schools. And at this point we really had no clue how to help them. We were trying to handle their behaviors with traditional parenting. I knew nothing about trauma or the brain or how drugs affect a child long term or even that most adopted kids have diagnoses and trauma, that every adoption is a trauma. I would learn that later. I felt SO alone. I didn’t realize this at the time, as I sat there bawling my eyes out, grasping for that last straw of hope in the pediatrician’s chair, but over the next two years so many things would change, and I would learn so much. I would learn so much about my kids, but I would also learn so much about myself. It’s funny how God works that way. He uses things in our lives, trials and pain, and in my case my kids, to grow and stretch and sanctify. He draws all of your sin, fear, and insecurity out over days and months and years to change you into a person that more closely resembles who He would have you to be. He had been doing this work in me over the past many years, but I was not prepared for how He would continue to work in me in those next months. That day was a sort of beginning for us. In that moment as I sat and talked through next steps with the pediatrician, I had no idea what was to come. I had no idea what type of help was available, but there was so much more available than I would have guessed, and it wasn’t quite as scary as I had imagined.

When you sit through “training” before you become foster parents, they talk a lot about babies. One thing I explicitly remember from our training was the instructor asking us what are some reasons babies might not cry? The answer he gave was that some babies have learned not to cry because there’s no point. No one comes to help. That was heartbreaking to me and should have been my first look into the trauma that many foster kids have, but instead I thought, well that won’t be my baby. I will show them that they are loved and that I will always come when they cry. And I did. I came every time. I carried my foster babies on my body and comforted and soothed and put their cradle right by my bed. I responded when they cried…every time. And you know what? It wasn’t enough. What they don’t talk about a lot in training is older kids. Sure, they talk about how badly older kids and sibling groups need homes too, and they talk about how everyone wants a baby, and no one wants the older kids. They surely do try to guilt trip you, but what I mean is that they don’t talk about the trauma the babies that turn into toddlers that turn into big kids have, even though they were put in a loving home as an infant. Other than our one daughter, who came to us at age three, both our other girls came to us as infants; one was picked right up from the hospital. And they both still have trauma, severe separation anxiety, developmental delays. These are the things they don’t tell you (I think they’re afraid to scare you off honestly). So, what do you do? Well, you pray a lot, and you educate yourself. Our first step after that appointment with the pediatrician was to contact a psychiatrist, which was really really scary. But we went, and it was actually super helpful, for us and for them. The psychological evaluation wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be, and it gave us a lot of good information. Some people say they don’t want their child to receive a diagnosis because they are afraid it will follow them, but for me it was actually a sigh of relief. For so long I didn’t understand their behaviors. I thought we were just failing as parents, doing a terrible job. But when you have a medical professional look you in the eyes and say, “you are doing an amazing job. This really is just extremely hard, and it’s not your fault”…I don’t know about you, but for me it healed just a small part of the fissure that was making its way across my heart. It gave me a tiny bit of my hope back, and for a few minutes at least, I didn’t feel like such a failure. One of the things that the psychiatrist told me that was super helpful was that I needed to contact PerformCare right away. Until that point, I had no idea what that was. He was super patient and explained to me that PerformCare was an agency in our state that gives help to parents. They provide a number of services including therapists, behavioral assistants (which I didn’t know existed), family support, and help navigating all the services you may need for your children. I’m not gonna lie, the thought of navigating a state agency after all we had gone through with foster care was again, terrifying. But he basically looked me right in the face and said, “I don’t know how you have done this for so long without any help, but the very first phone call you need to make when you leave this office is to PerformCare.” Now, was that the first call I made? No. My anxiety got in the way, and I talked to several people from the state who I trusted before I made that call, BUT I did eventually make it, and I’m so glad I did. The most surprising thing they said to me on the phone was that we realistically needed to call mobile response, which is when they come out to your house within a couple of hours to assess the child and get services in place, rather than waiting the typical six weeks. Listen, we had been living in this state of survival for so long with our kids’ behaviors that it had seeped into the ‘normal’ category in my mind. So, it felt shocking to hear yet another professional tell me that what we were dealing with required pretty immediate help. It felt shocking but also validating. Because here’s the thing…while it had started to seep into the normal category in my brain, in my pre-adoption brain that was still buried in there somewhere, I knew this was not normal. There was something much more going on than just misbehavior and temper tantrums. But before this moment, talking on the phone to this kind woman who was so so patient with me and listened as I cried and shared all the things that I didn’t want anyone to know about my kids, I had no idea what to do about it. I was scared and stuck. So, we entered the world of outside help. And let me tell you, I don’t know how we did it before. It’s no wonder I started blood pressure and anxiety meds that same year. I was literally drowning.

I write all of this for one reason. If it helps one person, one other adoptive mama, to know which step to take next, who to call for help, or even just that you aren’t alone, that someone else is going through the same things, it’s worth it. If it helps you to feel one less ounce of shame or prompts one person to get the help they need, I have accomplished my purpose here. You see, until like three years ago I had zero idea how to get help or what help was even available. My hope is that someone will read this, and it will arm them with a small amount of knowledge that they didn’t have before and that they will be just a tiny bit better off than I was.

So what help do we have in place now? Well, two of my girls have therapists and behavioral assistants through PerformCare who come into our home weekly. It did take a while, but we finally have people who we love working with our girls. We have a psychiatrist who manages meds. I have read books on the brain and trauma, which have been super helpful. I linked them in my resources. For the past three years I have attended a foster and adoptive moms retreat in February, which has been lifegiving, and multiple times a year I attend support groups through Foster the Family, which is also linked in my resources. Another thing that has taken a major swing for us in the past two years is that two of our girls go to public school now instead of a private Christian school. When my husband and I got married we were very adamantly opposed to public school. All of our kids started out in a private school, but as their needs changed and became greater, we realized that the services provided at a public school would be much more of a support to them and to us. Now, does that mean that we won’t put them back into private school at some point? No. But what it does mean is that we have prayerfully adapted our expectations and allowed ourselves the freedom to take our kids needs into account over our own preferences. And our one daughter at least is much happier and has less school related anxiety. As for myself I allowed myself to finally address some health concerns I had been having. I began blood pressure meds and anxiety meds, which was a super scary step for me but has helped tremendously. I began seeing a therapist and going to a gym almost daily, two things I have never done before. I think the biggest thing that has changed is that I’m willing to ask for HELP. We have an amazing support system through our family and our church, and over the past two years I have begun to intentionally build that support system. We had to realize that we can’t always ask grandparents to babysit (because they help a ton), and we needed to have a more well-rounded group of people to hold us up and love our kids. Finally, I have started to say no a lot more. Five years ago, we were part of a church plant, and my husband became an elder, so naturally as the wife of a leader of our church I felt like I needed to sign up for every meal train and help organize and plan and be a part of every Bible study. I was also a room mom for my son’s class at school and had most of my kids involved in sports. It was WAY too much, and I found I had fallen into a very American way of living, which was pushing all of our heads under water. This past year I have learned to say, ‘I’m so sorry but I just don’t have the capacity to help with that right now.’ I have adopted the mindset, “motherhood is my ministry.” My kids need a lot more than most kids their age. They aren’t as independent as I sometimes wish they could be. So, I’ve had to allow myself permission to say no to other things so that I can pour my time and attention into what my family needs. I hope you feel like you have permission to say no too, not from me of course, but from yourself. It has been very freeing.

It’s baffling to think about how I’ve grown and changed from the woman who sat in that pediatrician’s office two years ago to the one I am now, a woman much more capable of advocating and caring for my children’s needs. I have so much more to learn about myself and my kids, but they are worth every effort. They are worth every tear, every late night, every anxiety attack, every IEP meeting, every hour that we spend in therapy. You know that’s true, mama. Because we love them…with every ounce of our hearts. No matter what the behaviors are, no matter how many times they scream something they don’t mean, no matter how many phone calls we get from other parents or from teachers. We love them unconditionally. Even as I write this we are going through a particularly difficult time with our kids, even with all the help. Just because you get help doesn’t mean it all goes away. They are still going to have huge behaviors and need therapy, probably even through adulthood, but even through adulthood we will be there, holding their hands, helping them along, giving them whatever support they need. Because we are their parents, and we won’t give up. It’s simply not an option.

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, self-control. Against such things there is no law. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires.” Galatians 5:22-24

May we be ever growing in the fruits of the Spirit as we love and care for our children.

As always please contact me with questions. I’d LOVE to chat. Check out my resource page, and don’t forget to click SUBSCRIBE so you get an email when I publish new posts. Thanks for reading!