Healing the Child Within

My journey to motherhood was a battlefield; my mothering experience has been one of joy and thankfulness. But in recent months there have been little cracks developing in who I am as a person, away from being a mother. A child is an incredible gift, one that has the power to make you become acutely aware of what was tarnished, broken or missing from your own childhood.  I have learned I will never be able to be the mother I hope to be until I deal with the child I was, that remains within me.

When you choose to become a parent by way of adoption in Canada there is a required education component to being approved. When you choose to adopt transracially there are countless courses and resources on how to do so. When your child is home there are other parents who have walked the road before you, and articles to support almost any situation you may encounter. You often can choose how prepared you want to be.

However, as a child you just become a member of your family. No choices, no guidance, no advice. We all navigate some bad experiences in childhood; many times we celebrate the good. Hopefully, life has offered you balance between the two.

Often times, when the balance is lacking and we carry some memories with us that were perhaps not what our parents ever intended. Some are dealt with, talked about and worked through. Some are buried. Some things seem unimportant until we have our own little girl or boy in front of us and we cannot imagine them ever being hurt.

I have become aware that how I parent, and what I dream of for my child is based on what I felt was missing for me. Doing better, or doing right by my child is the driving force behind many of my choices. My focus is not on baking, or activities, or keeping a perfect home. It is purely emotional, being there for her, helping her grow in confidence and letting her know she has a voice.  All valuable lessons, but they control me. I will never be perfect; and I will never be free of making mistakes. I will do my best, and hopefully she will be free enough to tell me what she needs.

As adults we can put on glad faces and do all the right things in front of others but who are we in our quiet moments? What do we think about? What do we say to ourselves? What do we fear? A child will make all of these thoughts, fears and feelings so much more obvious.

I must come to terms with what I needed as a child, what I didn’t receive and what I hear in the quiet. These are my issues and I cannot save my daughter from something that may not necessarily exist for her.

This year will be one spent working on me. I must see beauty in myself before I can truly appreciate the beauty around me. I must understand that the love of my husband and daughter will not fill the emptiness created by me not loving myself. I must believe in myself first, or I will never truly accept that someone else believes in me.

This coming year brings the promise of growth, for my family and me. I am thankful for my daughter and how this little person has stirred within me a desire to be better to myself. I know I will be more for her than who I dreamed to be because I will not be choosing from a place of fear. I know the child within me is safe and loved because I am the one holding her.

A Child of My Own-Repost

This is a piece I wrote for the website Mothering in the Middle in October 2013, I am reposting here as it is near and dear to my heart….

I was walking through an antique store and a lady approached me to say how adorable my daughter was and, that now that I had adopted, I would get pregnant and have a child of my ‘own.’ I had not met her, spoken to her about my road to adoption, or about infertility and if it played a role in my world.  But she continued to tell me her friend had finally given up and adopted, and then she got pregnant.

Many (most) adoptive parents experience things similar to my encounter. “Do you have any of your own? Do you plan to have yourown child?” I could brush it away as ”another woman had this child” therefore… but really that isn’t what is being asked of me. They mean biologically, thus resulting in the child officially being mine.

Others may think I am being picky about wording, obsessing about semantics. Clearly my daughter is adopted, I am white and she is brown.  Obviously the woman is just chatting me up, telling me a story about her friend. When strangers ask questions it usually isn’t with the intent to be rude.

I remember as a child having a couple of different children introduced to me as someone’s “adopted daughter.’ Each time it didn’t matter what ethnicity, the significance was they were ‘adopted.’

If you are following what I have said so far you are noticing that everything is from the adult’s perspective. But now think if my daughter was older and capable of understanding the statement ‘a child of my own.’ The children who I was being introduced to as ‘adopted’ were around eight years old, at the time.  What kind of impact do these statements have on them?

I do not want to see what will happen to me if I hear the words ‘adopted daughter’ prefacing my child’s name. I think the same knife that could pierce her heart will pierce mine. I share who she is with her with her Haitian Mother; she carries her blood and her characteristics. But this little girl carries both of our hearts.

I have loved her since my eyes first saw her wrinkly little face and her tiny knit hat. I fought for her when I thought I had lost her because of an earthquake. I cannot put all the different emotions I felt into words describing the first time I held her. I have been up with her while she cried, been to the hospital with her when she was sick and had anxiety attacks stressing over things that will likely never happen.

To throw an extra word in front of son/daughter removes a portion of the bond any child has to their family. If there are biological siblings involved it makes it even more damaging. It creates an opening for a child to feel less-than. She is my daughter. My daughter by way of adoption, and yes it is semantics but the wording does not preface my child’s identity within my family.

I used to feel I needed to share details so that people wouldn’t judge our family and the extended family in Haiti. I have since come to understand the cloak of protection that families have over their adopted children’s story. I am thankful my daughter was a baby and didn’t hear me blathering on so that I am the only one carrying shame. A great deal of who our children are is tied up in their story. We should only be adding to it not taking. They have already experienced too much loss before they come to be our sons and daughters. We can’t afford to give away more of who they are.

If you are in a position where you have to introduce someone’s child as “adopted,” introduce him or her by his or her name. If you see a family who looks like mine (transracial), refrain from asking personal things. People will always have questions; it is inherent in human nature.  But know that their story is not your story.

Original post, and my others here: http://www.motheringinthemiddle.com/?tag=michelle-eisler

Grief and Promise

This past week I have grieved for you.

You are a son I have not met. A boy I have not held. Now you can walk. You are getting teeth. You are eating solid food and learning how to say prayers.

Your smile makes my day so bright. But I have only seen it in pictures.

Your mother asked for me to raise you. in that moment I knew it would happen. I couldn’t see how, I didn’t know the way, but I knew if it was her hearts desire it was mine.

We are waiting. So many approvals, so many steps. A year ago we started. I know the wait, I walked it with your sister.

This is so hard, and my head knows better than to get trapped in these emotions. But I understand there is a new delay, one I didn’t count on and now all I feel is loss. My heart is heavy.

I am missing out. We wait once again for things we have no control over, no timeline. How do I not see time with you slipping through my fingers, like every other adoptive parent?

I skipped Christmas. And New Years. And all the days in-between, I have spent the last 3 days in bed, I have no words for people right now. I was even afraid to tell your Dad how hurt I was because it would make it real.

Know this: You are worth every tear I have shed. Every missed meal. Every prayer. Every anxiety. Every moment of cocooning myself away. Every minute.

You are worth it and so much more. My son.

This morning I saw this on my computer: ‘Watch closely: I am preparing something new; it’s happening now, even as I speak, and you’re about to see it. I am preparing a way through the desert; Waters will flow where there had been none.’ Isaiah 43:19 Be encouraged!

I will hold onto these promises, and carry them as closely to my heart as I carry you Jadyn.