Getting Real . . .

I'm always hesitant to deviate from the "sunny fun" tone of my blog. For one thing, if we're close you already know all of it, and if we aren't, I doubt you'll find my troubles particularly enthralling. But lately I've been wondering if it wouldn't do some good - at the very least for myself and maybe, even better, for someone else - to get a little gritty and be real about where our lives are right now.
So here it is folks, the real deal:

If I'm being completely honest, I knew deep down that something was wrong the moment they placed her in my arms. There was no hard evidence to support my gut feeling, she did all of the things the books say a traumatized and grieving toddler will do - but I knew all the same that there was something more.

Her first year home was the most grueling time -physically, emotionally, and spiritually - of my entire life. The experts told us that might happen, that all of this was normal. I truly believed things would start to settle down after that first year. I counted down the days like a prisoner awaiting freedom from a particularly cruel sentence. But I honestly believed that if I did all the right things, that if I just loved her enough, everything would turn out fine.While I clung to this hope, in my quiet moments I spiraled ever deeper into anger and despair.

I'd done all my homework going into this adoption. I knew all about Attachment Disorders, and in my more honest moments, I suspected that Hannah fell somewhere on that spectrum, but the implications of that were so frightening to me that I quickly hushed those thoughts.

As we near the four year mark, I began to believe that this was it. I started to believe that there was no hope, and that my happy family and tranquil home were just gone forever. And now she was struggling in school, too. I felt powerless to help my daughter, powerless to give my other children the happy home they deserve.

Most of all, I felt like an absolute failure. After all, don't good mothers overflow with loving patience? Don't good mothers feel invigorated by their children rather than drained completely dry? Aren't their hearts filled with compassion rather than defeat and anger? As a matter of fact, there were days when I felt like I couldn't stand her. What mother could feel that way about her child?

I think that was one of the main factors in my waiting so long to seek help. I was ashamed that I had to reach out, to admit that I didn't know how to parent one of my children. I was ashamed that I was struggling to love my daughter, and I was afraid that if I did reach out for help, I would find none. I was afraid to admit defeat (or what I saw as defeat), and I was afraid to hope that things could get better. I guess at some point we all have to get up from our defeated position curled up on the floor, no matter how scary that prospect might be. I'm not exactly sure when the moment was that I decided to get up, or why. I just did.It feels so good to stand again.

Now that I was up, I wasn't sure what to do next. I started with her pediatrician, who sent us to a neurologist. The idea was to rule out anything neurological that could be causing her behavior and learning issues. I won't even go into that whole ordeal - it was an ordeal, for sure. Once they ruled out anything neurological, I began the search for an Attachment Therapist. This wasn't as daunting as I'd initially thought, due in large part to the book "When Love Is Not Enough", by Nancy Thomas. If you can relate to any part of this post, I would highly recommend this book.

One of the many benefits I gleaned was how to tell an Attachment Therapist who knows their stuff from one who doesn't. This was invaluable to me, and saved us quite a bit of stress and heartache we might have experienced bouncing from one therapist to the next.

I did find a therapist in town who specializes in attachment and works exclusively with the child's parents - the idea being that the child's best therapist is their parent, and I wanted a therapist who could equip Joel and I to help Hannah heal.

In two sessions, he's given us some tools and alot of insight into dealing with her behaviors. He's helped us understand what's really behind them, and helping us learn positive ways to interact and connect with her. Interacting and connecting with your child probably sounds like something you shouldn't need to learn to do. That's what I used to think! Moms are just supposed to know this stuff, right? But it's completely different with a detached child.

To get an idea of what it's like, I recommend finding a large, angry porcupine and giving it a nice snuggle - maybe even try spooning with it for awhile. Doesn't sound like much fun? Well, that's how "connecting" with Hannah used to sound to me.

The greatest part about the therapy is, I'm already seeing a huge difference. Admittedly, the differences in Hannah are subtle thus far - but they are there. But the difference in myself is monumental! I feel like ME again, I feel empowered and calm and in control. I feel myself starting to delight in my family again, and I find myself looking at Hannah with brand new eyes. In fact, when I look at her, I make a point to picture to myself the little girl she really is inside. I see the real Hannah behind the behaviors that are really just a protective mask - the one who has been through hell, suffered so much pain, and needs me to come and get her.In so many ways, we haven't really brought Hannah home yet.I've found what I've been missing for four years - Hope.

We still have a long journey ahead of us, and I know that there will be many steps back for every step we take forward. The difference is that I'm no longer fighting this battle blind, helpless, and hopeless. I wish that I had sought help four years ago, that I'd realized that "more love" wasn't the key component here - and I wish I'd been strong enough to admit that I wasn't strong enough!

I'm not going to look back and wallow in that regret, I'm only going to look forward to our future together. I plan on talking more about this as we continue on this journey, and share some of the techniques we're learning in our therapy sessions. I sincerely hope that maybe our story will serve to strengthen another lost Mom.This post has taken me over a week to write, and I feel terrified that I'm actually posting it. It makes me feel so naked somehow . . . putting it out for everyone to see and judge.
I keep thinking how it would have helped me to know I wasn't alone in this, and that is what gives me the courage to hit the "Publish Post" button. :)