Year 4

Last Friday marked the 4 year anniversary of Quiet Tiger.

We were at the cabin, so this post couldn't go live until today,
because Wifi doesn't come easy in the woods.

We didn't celebrate the day.  We didn't even mention the words "Gotcha Day."  
No gifts, no special Chinese food meals, no cupcakes or fun desserts.  
Sometimes the reminder of trauma just brings the ugly.  And this year, we didn't want to bring it up.
Trust me, her brain remembered anyway.  
Her behavior was all over the place all week long.  

I realized that I never even posted a blog entry last year for her 3-Year-Gotcha-Day.  I know I had one written, but we were moving and life was chaotic, and I must have deleted the draft.  I also think I deleted it because it was a hard reality to swallow.  It was a good post, a very clear look at our life with a child from a hard place.  I wish I would have posted it.  So.....Today I'm posting about the hard reality that was last year -- Year Three -- and the hope I have for Year Four that we just entered into.

This is going to be a very harsh look at adoption.  My adoption friends might not like it.  They might prefer I shut my mouth as to not spread bad words.   But our story needs to be told, because it is our reality.  My reality.  And it is somebody else's reality too (in fact, many have it far worse) and that person needs to know that they are not alone.

Gotcha Day
May 28, 2012
Xi'an, Shaanxi China

I struggle with this child.

I struggled to get her home for way too long.  We struggled with our own family trauma during the adoption process that left its scars on me.  Its safe to say the scars haven't healed.

I struggled to help her adjust for way too long.  She struggled with the trauma of 22 months in an orphanage, all the scars that brings, and the difference of having a loving family.  Her scars haven't healed either.

I struggled with having a 5 year old who acted like a 3 year old.  Nearly every single day I cried real tears over this child, behind closed, locked bathroom doors.  I could almost audibly hear my prayers bouncing off the ceilings and ricocheting around the bathroom.

Gotcha Anniversary # 1
1 Year Home
May 28, 2013
San Antonio, Texas

The more I try to love her,
the more she pushes me away.

The more I try to teach her what is right,
the more she goes to do what is wrong.

The more I try to teach her that 1+1=2,
the more she fights and insists it's not.

The more fun we try to have,
the more out of control she gets.

The more I smile and dance and keep my calm,
the more she insists on being angry and screaming mad.

Raising a child from a hard place is tough.  Way tougher than I ever imagined.  And I suck at it.  I really, truly do.  Adoption is TOUGH!!!!!

And sometimes love isn't enough.
If love were enough, we wouldn't face the junk we face.

Somedays, I get yelled at by the girl I fought like hell to bring home.  She has been known to yell at me to my face, "I don't want you to love me!!!"

Yes, she has said those words this year.  To my face.  Multiple times.  And I turn around and cry someplace quiet, alone.

Yeah, it's that hard.

Gotcha Anniversary # 2
Two Years Home
May 28, 2014
San Antonio, Texas

I had hoped that last year was just tough because she was Family-Age-Three.

Family-Age-Three?  

That is how psychologists, social workers and adoption experts describe the development of a child from a hard place.  All adopted kids will be delayed in some way or another.  It's just a fact.  Every adoptive parent needs to expect delays even from a healthy child.  Here's what we mean by Family Age:

Simply put, Family Age is the length of time the adopted child has been with a family.  An adopted child will very often behave according to their Family Age instead of acting their chronological (birth) age.

Example:  A 7-year-old child home for 2 years will act like a 2 year old, despite being a 7 year old child according to their birthday.  A 3-year-old child home for 1 year will act like a 1 year old despite being 3 years old.  And so forth.

Do you see it?

For Us:  This past year, Quiet Tiger was 5 years old according to her birthday, but home with our forever family for 3 years.  So, despite being 5, she behaved like a 3 year old.  We called her our 3 year old in a 5 year old body.

And I despise all three-year-olds.  

Even my own sons, I hated at age three.  They were living terrors.  Case in point, when Super E was 3 and we were living in Nebraska, when we'd need to discipline him, he'd grunt in a very staccato way, "You... hate.... me."  We now laugh at it.  But back then, it drove us INSANE!  He knew we didn't hate him.  But my sweet, laid back, loving boy was gone for 1 year, the year he was 3.  Well, Quiet Tiger does the same thing, she only says those words, "You hate me," very nasally, not annunciating her words, very slurred, a sure sign of disconnecting.  I knew this age could be tough for my daughter, and that coupled with her adoption issues, that this past year might be the end of me.  It nearly was.

Gotcha Anniversary # 3
Three Years Home
May 28, 2015
San Antonio, Texas

To be honest, she has changed, she has grown, she has improved.  People who see her only a couple times a year have noticed how she has changed and matured and grown, physically and emotionally.  Just this weekend, my mother-in-law mentioned to me that Quiet Tiger's attention span has improved.  So, it is happening.  But the change comes slowly.  Too slowly even for me to see most days.  Too slowly for my liking.  So slowly that I get impatient and expect her to act her age, her real, chronological age, not her family age.

I have hope of my girl turning into a sweet Fabulous Four Year Old - a 4 year old in a 6 year old body this year (she'll be 6 in July).  I have hope that this will be the year that our family turns a corner, that the girl starts embracing our family, that she matures emotionally and begins to exit her state of family-age-toddlerhood.  But experts, psychologists and social workers say that it could be more like 5-7 years in the home before adopted kids "catch up," to their peers emotionally.  That statistic makes me sad because it is hard to hold on.  It makes it hard to be in the present when all I can do is hold on and hope and dream for some unknown future point when everything will be alright.  And maybe it will never be alright.  I have to accept that possibility too.

When I look at this face, this face, the face of the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in the whole wide world, I have hope and reason to hold on.  And I want it so badly that I ache.  But it is so hard!

And I'm just a broken, messed up mom 

raising a broken, messed up kid.

Gotcha Anniversary # 4
Four Years Home
May 28, 2016
At Grandma Collins' cabin
Hayward, Wisconsin

Please, PLEASE pray that this year, year four, would be a banner year for Quiet Tiger and our family.  That the bad toddler behaviors would diminish, that our daughter would continue to grow and catch up to her peers emotionally and that she would lessen the grip on her desire to control her world.  Please pray that we see the Fabulous Fours from our Quiet Tiger.

With all my heart, 
I truly wish my daughter a 
Happy 4th Gotcha Day!

Trauma Doesn't Tell Time - A New Look

I've posted before about how experts have proven that the brain remembers trauma, no matter what the age, what the maturity level.  Trauma does not discriminate.

On a Monday in mid-April, I took the kids to karate.  I knew we were ending our first month of introductory lessons which were cheap at only $14 per student for 2 lessons a week for a whole month.  I certainly knew that our fees would go up after our first month.  We were brought into the office to discuss the next steps for my 3 karate kids.  The printed contract made my jaw drop to the floor.  Nearly $4000 for the next 18 months of karate.  No, there wasn't any typo, no extra zero, no missing decimal point.  Even my boys knew that the price was pure insanity and that their time in karate came to an abrupt end.  They left in tears.  I left in tears.  At home, I couldn't control it.  I sobbed while doing the dishes and pretty much all night long.  Uncontrollable tears.... over karate.

That following Thursday Prince died at his Minnesota home, 45 minutes away in Chanhassen.  My jaw dropped to the floor in the van as I shushed the kids to hear the news and drove up north to my husband's office with lunch.  When we returned home after lunch, I finished school with the kids and sat on my couch to relax for 5 minutes. I found myself choking back tears.  Friends, I don't even own a Prince album.  Sure, his amazing music was part of the soundtrack of my youth.  I did a dance routine to Batdance with my dance squad members.  I owned the single on cassette.  I knew he lived in my home state of Minnesota.  But I was never a diehard fan.  So why the tears all afternoon and evening?

One glance at the date on the calendar in the menu bar on my laptop and I realized it.

Four years ago.

Four years ago this week we were grieving.

Four years ago this week we were angry.

Four years ago this week we were scared.

Four years ago this week the bottom dropped out.

Four years ago in mid-April we were dealing with the loss of Jay's job at a church outside of Sacramento, California.  What I have to say next has never been said publicly and we left some great friends in NorCal that may not like what I have to say, but it needs to be said now.  It needs to be said because I need to heal and writing has always been my means of expression.

We were blindsided.  We had no idea a firing was heading our way.  We had been with the church for only 2 days shy of 1 year.  While our Nebraska house took over a year to sell in a badly downed market, it had just sold weeks prior and we had plans to view (and purchase) a home for sale near the church, in our closest friend's neighborhood that very Friday.  But Wednesday night, Jay was asked to come into his bosses office and was told, "It's just not a good fit," and was let go.

We felt used.  Jay was hired in good part due to his extensive knowledge and abilities to move churches into new buildings or to add onto current facilities.  Jay did that seamlessly in California.  I served the church in as many ways as I could with a child still at home.  I tried to be the best associate pastor's wife that I could be.  My 2 boys were young (3rd grade and preschool) and lived in 3 temporary California homes while we waited and prayed for that Nebraska house to sell.  House to house to trailer.  One suitcase of clothes each and 1 box of Legos, 1 box of Hot Wheels cars was all they had to their names.  My youngest boy Super E slept in our bed nearly every single night, wanting to be close to mom and dad, the only things stable in his life.  Living like nomads was so hard on him.  Our dogs were at the home of a more than generous church member willing to help us out so we didn't have to get rid of our beloved dogs.  Our guinea pig was housed at another dear, dear friend's house, those that we would have been living by had we been able to buy that house.  We lived like nomads for 1 whole year of our lives and it took its toll on all of us.  And then the church pulled the rug out from us.

We were gagged.  We weren't allowed to tell anyone about our devastating news, or else the church would revoke any and all severance.  We couldn't post anything online, on our blog, no reaching out to friends for networking, no asking for help, no public prayer requests.  We had to keep our mouths shut.

We were banned.  You'd think we did something illegal or immoral, but no.  Yet the church informed us that they would be announcing the staff change at Sunday services and told us we were not welcome to attend for fear that it might "confuse" some churchgoers.  The church closed it's doors to us.  We were unwelcome.

When my husband came home to the trailer that Wednesday night and told me the news, I swore.  I was livid.  I wanted to hurt someone.  Badly!  Jay held up his hand and asked me to calm down.  I had to keep my mouth shut.  As time went on and we did begin telling parents (off of social media and other public forums, mind you), I was told by many that I had to stay strong for my husband's sake.  He felt bad enough, I didn't need to add to his stress, they said.  I had to stuff all my emotions, all my thoughts, everything deep down.

Friends, there is nothing healthy about that.  I don't care what you say.  Even if that was what my husband needed, it was not healthy.

We moved to Texas to stay at my mother-in-law's house, while our Nebraska house was being packed into a storage facility, while Jay began a new job search.  It was the only place we could go.  We took 3 days to drive there, spent 5 days doing laundry, setting up house, job searching, and then I was back on a plane to California.  I was heading out to pick up our daughter in China via San Francisco airport.  Ten days in China, 1 new daughter, but still no new job.  So, we decided to leave ministry and change careers completely.  And while my husband was training for a new career, then driving 200 miles a day from the condo to San Antonio, I had to keep my wits about me as much as I could to support my husband, my new grieving daughter, my 2 sons who had been through the wringer.  Crying in the privacy of the shower became a daily occurrence.  Stuffing the feelings, silencing the words, hiding the truth only causes harm.

Time hasn't helped.  You can tell me all you want that God provided, that we made it through, that we're even better off now than we ever have been.  I know that.  All of it.  I get it.  I see it.  But friends, that doesn't help.  The hurts are still there.  The trauma has left its ugly mark on my life and the scars tear open a little each year in mid-April even if I'm not completely conscious of the date.  The church (in general) isn't a safe place to me anymore.

That week, that one week in mid-April, before even I remembered, my brain recalled all of it.  The grief, the devastation, the hurt, the pain.  Thus the tears over karate and a musician I never faithfully followed.

Friends, trauma doesn't tell time, even for adults like me.