The other night my son ran out of my room in tears. He yelled a few things from the hallway, then slammed his bedroom door. I didn’t go after him because I honestly wasn’t sure what to say. I gave him a few minutes to calm down. Then I went into his room and we had a good, hard talk. I did my best to validate his feelings and we also talked about how sometimes it’s easier to be mad at the person in front of you instead of allowing yourself to feel angry at people you can’t communicate with. We talked about why we don’t yell angry things and slam doors.
The next morning he was fine. I took him to school and he was nothing but sweet and my same precious son. It was on the quiet drive back from school that it hit me— this was one of those moments I had been dreading for years. It happened. It’s over. We’re fine.
When you first imagine becoming a family through adoption, it’s normal to have some level of fear. We worry about a lot of things (genetic issues, will I know how to be a mom, attachment struggles), but in our honest, middle of the night moments, we’re most afraid that some day this child will look at us and say, “You’re not my REAL mom.” or some other statement that will make us question who we are to our child. All of our darkest fears would be realized and this would all be for nothing. We would be rejected and our family would be invalidated.
But then you take the leap. You fill out the paperwork, do the home study, hop on a plane, head to court—however it happens, you become a parent through adoption. The fears are still there, but with every cry you respond to, every smile sent your way, every time you are the only one who can comfort them the way they need, you become more solid in your identity as their mom. The fears become quiet as you build something beautiful with this child who needs you and whom you love entirely.
As we are now over a decade into this adoption journey, I see those fears starting to come to the surface again.
My kids are getting old enough to have their own feelings about adoption, and some days those feelings are not entirely positive. They are old enough to realize something was taken from them before they were old enough to even understand and without their consent. They can entertain their own ideas about what a different life would have been like and I can’t control that.
Then the moment happens. Difficult words are spoken in anger. Doors are slammed. And I’m left sitting in my room, wondering what this all means for my role as the mother in the life of a child I desperately love who is wrestling with the life he’s been given.
When the moment you’ve been dreading actually happens, when your child asks the uncomfortable questions and you both have to face your fears, it’s just not the event I imagined it to be back before we had the relationship we’ve developed over the years. Those words are just words. They may feel true and I need to listen to them, but they don’t invalidate me or my role in his life. They are the honest thoughts of someone working though a pain I haven’t had to experience.
I had to let go of my own desire to be right or fight for position or defend the choices we’ve made. I don’t have to be right. I have to be loving. I have to be nurturing and safe so my son can work through what’s troubling him. My ego is irrelevant. The more I can let go of my desire to justify his story, the more he can feel what he needs to feel and find a way to make peace with it.
We talked. We hugged. It was fine. The moment came, and then it passed. And he was fine. We were fine.
I love my kids so much, I can’t really put words to it. They aren’t my ADOPTED kids, they are just my kids. They are my heart, walking around outside of my body. They are the children they are because I have raised them. And they are the children they are because someone else gave them life. Their stories are complex and defy the “grateful adoptee” narrative this world sometimes seems to require them to live. They are allowed to be ungrateful for the losses they’ve experienced. I don’t want them to settle there, but I recognize that it’s a step in a long journey as they process their stories.
My fears from those pre adoption days have come true. I have realized I have less “ownership” of my kids than I’d like. And that’s a good thing. I have chosen to love my children and now they can choose to love me. I don’t need to own them, I just need to love them.
When the moment you’ve been dreading actually happens, it’s just another step in navigating the beautiful parenting relationship your adoption experience started. Changing diapers, wiping tears, serving snacks, bedtime stories, and talking honestly about the realities of adoption. It’s a journey we’re on together. I wouldn’t have it any other way, even when the moments I’ve been dreading actually happen.