I scheduled an appointment for me with Noemi's therapist today. Um...yeah...it's been that kind of week. Perhaps it's all of the coming down from summer-induced hooplah; I just don't know anymore. We're back to a new version of the hot mess I spoke of a few months ago, and though I have been assured that this roller-coaster ride is a very typical route for healing, I still feel like the seagull poo on the beachcomber's head. Or the unsuspecting beachcomber. We're back to startling aggression and sleep disturbances and I needed someone to tell me it is going to be OK.
What I have realized about this whole experience is that I have been running on adrenaline for many months. OK, for a year. Sure, I felt crazed, isolated and exhausted, but having a few weeks without the mayhem and now having it rear its head again is messing with my noggin. It's not that I didn't think it would ever come back, it's just that I've tasted Noemi's sweetness. I've watched her beautifully unfold and I want to see more. The exhaustion has truly set in now that the ugly has returned.
Cognitively I know that she is doing tremendously better with her trauma response and attachment. She's becoming increasingly secure, calm and aware of how Mommy feels when the going gets tough. Being a strong-willed toddler is just the icing on this stress cake. I wept in front of her after the Battle of Galactica in our kitchen last week and since then she frequently checks my eyes for "water." Her words. Yikes. Perhaps showing her mommy's humanness is a good way to build empathy--perhaps it worries her in the same breath--perhaps it helps her feel in control.
I've never raised a baby; and I've certainly never raised a baby with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Folks talk about the challenges that can sometimes exist with adopting older children-- this conversation is quite common in the adoption community. But what is less common is the conversation about the challenging baby. I can't tell you how many times I have heard, "but she was so young when you brought her home...she won't remember any of it...babies are so resilient." On the contrary, research shows that the earliest moments in life have the most lasting effects on the brain. If a child has a firm foundation as an infant, then later experiences trauma, he/she is less likely to have the lasting physiological effects as the child who experiences trauma early in life. Our babies aren't as resilient as science first thought. This is not to say that Noemi isn't already growing into a content, well-adjusted child--I truly believe that she is on the fast-track for that. I see it every day in her kind, eager and joyful spirit. But adoptive parents of babies often need just as much support as those who adopt older children. And some babies are going to need just as much support, if not more than, some of those older children.
Please note that my intention is not, in any way, to paint a scary picture of adoption. Just check out the video below and you'll see why adoption is the greatest gift of my life. Our story is simply one of a toddler who happens to have derived PTSD due to the circumstances surrounding her adoption. In fact, a recent study reports that most adopted children grow to be very psychologically healthy. *I won't get all geeked-out by referencing these studies in APA format or anything, but I'd be happy to share with those interested.* So keep the hope and don't let the resounding voice of "your baby was so young" keep you from getting your baby/toddler help if you feel something is amiss. I feel fortunate to have the support and confidence that results from knowing that early help is the most effective help.
I've dedicated my professional life to working with and loving challenging young children, but there is something extraordinarily different about parenting one. There is a mental return to childhood that doesn't exist while one has on her vocational hat. At work, I draw on my training and experiences to evaluate a given behavior and react to it. But at home, in the darkness of the night when I am pushed to my limit, I draw on what I knew as a child. What I was taught--for good and for bad. And I'm learning to listen to the voices that make me stronger rather than weaker. I am trying to weed out the well-intentioned but highly misinformed voices so that I can focus on listening to the voices that induce healing for the both of us.
I hear voices of friends, family, professionals--geesh, even strangers. I receive opinions and advise. But all I can rely on right now is the voice of my Maker, who told me before I even started this journey, "I made you for this." And the man sitting at the feet of my Maker, my dearly missed grandfather, who would nod his head with his toothless grin and tell me softly when I start to fear that I am not capable, "Just forget about it, baby doll, just forget about it."
