Spring Comes on Like a Bad Lounge Act
Spring really pissed me off when it finally showed up– a diva demanding attention–after an endlessly snowy winter in upstate New York. It seemed to scream with an over-the-top happiness I couldn’t share. Crocuses, daffodils & hyacinths popped their beaming, adorable faces out from near frozen ground; I glared at them suspiciously. Pear, cherry and apple trees flowered exuberantly outside my front door; I refused to admire them. Lilacs and lilies-of-the-valley gave off their intoxicating, in-your-face scents; I rolled my eyes. The big show offs!
This is when, I suppose, a little voice first whispered that something was wrong. But when you’re the mother of four children six and under, who has time to listen to whispers?
Before I knew it, Wynne, Theo, Moses and Beatrice were choosing bright pink, blue, orange and purple baskets for the Easter Egg hunt and we were racing across lawns at dizzying speeds, the children screaming as they spotted colorful metallic jewels in the grass, stuffing obscene numbers of these chocolate treasures into their mouths in Guinness Book of World Records time (Theo: “I can’t help it, Mom. When I eat too much sugar I get frisky!”).
When pale young leaves began blanketing the Shawangunk mountains–surely a symbol of all that is hopeful and optimistic–I noted one fern’s tender shade of apple green, burst into deep uncontrollable sobs and walked away.
Really? Seriously?
After spending the past five years on some sort of impossible-to-explain, lighting speed road race to complete four adoptions, Tim and I are finally home with our four much longed for cuties.
According to my five year plan, now is the time for celebrating…
In the course of the four adoptions, might there have been one or two more obvious moments to become discouraged? Hmmm. Let’s see. Oh yeah. During the past five years I’ve cheerfully (mostly) endured:
- four, six-month rounds of mind bendingly tedious, high stakes bureaucractic paperwork
- a roller coaster year away from home in two developing world countries
- getting fingerprinted more times than a hardened criminal
- adoption breastfeeding (my own personal battle of the wills)
- getting spitup, peed and pooped on on 24 hour long international flights
- a pre dawn frisking by burka clad Muslim women in a dark room at the Dubai airport while my baby sat untended outside (ok, not so cheerful)
- carrying a naked, screaming child (she peed on her clothes) through a laughing crowd in a blingy Cartier store
- being stared at by Mayan reed weavers, Kenyan taxi drivers, Mother Theresa nuns and Rwandan coffee farmers.
- more sleepless nights as a new mother in dirty cloths in hotels, airport lounges and far flung rental apartments than I care to add up.
- tuberculosis scares
- scares of being detained indefinitely in Kenya (related to the tuberculosis scares)
- hours concocting sophisticated escape plans from Guatemala to Honduras, to live the rest of my life as a fugitive.
So….if it isn’t too much to ask…wtf? Why the face NOW?????????? NOW!
Turns out there’s a catchy name for what’s wrong with me: PADS, “Post Adoption Depression Syndrome.” Clearly the person who gave it this name has never experienced PADS or the name he chose would be a lot less catchy. How about “YJFLBYLCTMTFYTYCHIBYCS,” which stands for, “You-Just-Freaking-Lost-it- Because-Your-Life-Changed-Too-Much-Too-Fast-and-You-Thought-You-Could-Handle-It-But-You-Couldn’t Syndrome?”
And since hardly anyone has ever heard of PADS (kind of like Post Partum Depression was little known 10 years ago), how catchy a name is it, really?
But back to the story…
The Five Year Plan
This year, according to my ‘plan,’ we are supposed to be doing some serious nesting in our peaceful mountain home (which we bought while we were living in Guatemala during our first adoption in 2005).
Kids holding seed packets. Putting in the new garden.
We begin digging a garden. (“We” meaning Tim and his former post college NYC roommate, Eric) The house is soon stocked with adorable seedlings and brightly colored seed packets. On one unseasonably hot day, the kids spontaneously strip off shoes and clothes and run under a sprinkler leftover from the the previous summer; it’s as if they know the steps to some wild & ancient primal Spring dance.
Watching this giddy scene through the kitchen window–seeing the happy family I dreamed of for years finally manifest in my backyard– I am floored to find I feel almost nothing. Only a dim, phantom flutter of tingly warmth remains–like someone whose foot has been amputated feels a phantom pain where his leg used to be. Except it’s my joyful heart that’s missing.
And every day I walk around with a growing secret: I cannot wait for darkness to fall so I can put the kids to bed, get under the covers, and hide from all the wonderfulness we’ve created.
Flash Mob Video Addict
I stay up late watching old episodes of Modern Family. One night, during the scene where Cam & Mitchell get into a fight at the mall, and Mitchell dances in a flash mob to prove how much he loves Cam, I burst into a particularly satisfying round of tears. I become hooked on flash mob videos. Actually, I’m addicted to crying at flash mob videos. Even fake ones. (fyi, I highly recommend the one on season 3 of the ABC series Greek).
Soon I don’t even need the flash mobs. I am up crying at 4 am. I’m crying in cars. Crying as I make dinner, hiding my face from the kids and holding my breath so I sob silently.
At about this time we hit our one year anniversary of bringing Moses and Beatrice home from Rwanda. I feel like I should plan the welcome home party/shower I never had for them, but I just can’t muster the energy.
I try making the requisite one year anniversary adoption celebration video montage– complete with heartbreaking images of the Rwanda orphanage, triumphant arrival scene at the airport, adorable highlights of happy children today (all to the tear inducing soundtrack of gorgeous & hip contemporary Christian music). But that’s not happening either.
On the exact day of the year anniversary, my eye becomes swollen shut with the same creeping crud eye infection I had a year earlier at our appointment at the US Embassy in Nairobi to apply for the kids’ passports (see In Nairobi with Internet.) My body at least, acknowledges the anniversary.
Big Enough to Receive the Blessing
Then one night, at my Sacred Mothering group (I live in the Hudson Valley of New York, home to the original Woodstock spazzy-hippy spiritual free for all. We love this sort of thing), somebody mentions something she read about grief. About how in certain African tribal communities, people don’t freak out when someone is in despair.
They don’t rush around in a panic trying to fix it. They don’t avert their eyes in embarrassment. It is not a sign of weakness. It is taken for granted that in every life, even the most ordinary. stuff happens–loved ones die or suffer, dreams never manifest, illnesses occur, relationships break up, and there are unexpected natural disasters.
Various members of the community take turns sitting with the grieving person and letting them cry. or do whatever they need to do. For as long as it takes.
Grief in these cultures is just routine emotional hygiene, like brushing your teeth or taking a shower cleans off yucky dirt that builds up in the course of living. Tears are a way to clean up and clear out old pain, to remain fresh and open to life.
As I think about this, it suddenly becomes stupidly obvious. I’m running from the truth and here it is: I’m crazy desperate, break in a million pieces sad. I miss my old sweet, peaceful family of four.
I miss cuddling in the quiet mornings without a fight breaking out. I miss floating down the cobblestone streets of Guatemala on some sort of new mom endorphin high, with one baby in a sling and another on my back (both carriers made only of single pieces of handwoven Guatemalan fabric tied by the woman who wove them) feeling powerful, free and blessed beyond measure.
Probably most of all I miss being a good mother. With four kids, I can’t seem to do even the simplest things right..
I’m fighting with every bone in my body having to say goodbye to the family of four I loved in order to embrace the new & unfamiliar beauty of the family of six I have right in front of me.
Sometimes I worry maybe I’m not strong enough to handle this. That I won’t be able pull myself together. That when I look back on my life at the end, this will be the thing that took me down. The thing I never really recovered from.
Doesn’t everyone secretly worry that some tragedy or challenge will come along that is just be too big, and they won’t be strong enough to get up again?
But maybe we’re not meant to be that strong. Maybe it takes a different kind of strength to fall apart. To allow yourself to be remade, shaped by the losses of your life into something different than you were before.
Maybe it takes a kind of strength to understand that, when you’ve asked for something big, something bigger than you maybe realized when you first asked for it (right now the fervor with which I wanted four children seems like delusional insanity) the only way to get what you really want is to first break apart, sometimes into a million pieces, in order to create enough surface area to receive the blessing.
In some churches there are ‘grief rooms,’ rooms especially made for people to fall apart. A safe place to ride out the storm. A place where we don’t have to carry the burden alone.
What if everyone had a safe place to go?
So I offer up this post as a kind of makeshift grief room. A place simply to consider the possibility that we could stop running from grief, that we could stop hiding our losses from one another in the quest to appear cool and invincible.
And wouldn’t it be funny if it turns out that what we needed all along was not the next big superstar, philanthropic billionaire, or genius inventor but something even more amazing: a bunch of ordinary people who manage through the ups & downs of life to hold onto a ‘robust vulnerability,’ as the poet David Whyte calls it.
Where instead of growing harder and more cynical as we get older, our hearts grow as soft as our children’s (especially our adoptive children, who have the world’s most forgiving hearts). Filled with empathy for others in pain.
Wouldn’t it be freaky if what saves us in the end is a totally new & unexpected kind of strength?
(kindred spirits: please demonstrate your own robust vulnerability/strength by leaving a comment below xoe)
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Beautiful post, Elizabeth. I hope that you’re getting the support and healing that you need.
Thank you Claire!
This was my first major life experience where I have had to reach out for help consistently. It has taken a bit of getting used to! But I now have such amazing support in my life, coming from so many places, it is awesome.
One of my hopes in writing about this is to encourage adoptive moms (and all moms!) to reach out for help and support from the very beginning of their parenting journey. It takes about a thousand villages to raise a child! xoe
There’s that annoying adage, “be careful what you wish for, you might get it.”. Sometimes when we wish for and receive we just aren’t prepared for the changes that ensue. I quit my job and started a business recently. The learning curve has not been like a trip to Mt. Everest but it has been pretty steep. There are so many things I didn’t anticipate.
I think if you aren’t feeling over the moo happy when you get what you want there is some guilt that tags along too.
I only raised two kids and remember how challenging it was when they were small. Four kids is exponential! It probably feels like 16 sets of needs and demands. Hang in there. It will get better! Beautiful post, Elizabeth.
Thanks, Loran. Yes, I get the whole “be careful what you wish for’ thing. Definitely true!
But maybe, we also live in a time where most of us only show each other the shiny, beautiful exterior of our lives. Then, when we take on a big challenge–like a new business, or two new babies, for example!-we get blindsided by the huge internal upheaval that is really a normal part of growing into a bigger life.
I know for myself it was denying all the negative parts of this big beautiful experience that nearly tore me apart. Once I stopped feeling bad for not feeling good, things started to flow again.
Good luck with your new business, and thanks for sharing! xoe
I was ruminating over your post and thinking about how to comment, and then you knocked my socks off with this comment, E. Yes, yes, yes. This is what I see as a HUGE part of the problem. I’m not sure if it’s the social media age or that presenting only our best is as old as the hills, but we all need a big dose of honesty. I think it would encourage us all to be more vulnerable. Especially in adoption. And especially particularly in Christian adoption.
Growing into a bigger life takes internal upheaval. One key is to stop feeling bad for not feeling good. Thank you so much for these gems. I’m carrying them with me.
Kim VB recently posted..Of chocolate and conscience
Well put, Kim! And thanks once again for your generous heart and comments. (They have gotten me back to my laptop on more than one occasion). Keep up your unique & honest writing as well (I didn’t buy hersheys for Halloween because of you!). xoe
I love this, Elizabeth. I so agree with embracing all our emotions and “negative” parts. I talked with an 81-year-old man on the plane yesterday who told his kids not to mourn when he dies but to celebrate his life. I felt sad about that message since grieving is such an important part of passing on and of life. To me, it was like he was asking them to cut off a limb.
Sue Sullivan recently posted..Everyone Needs a Superhero
Thanks, Sue! That’s an interesting perspective. Thanks for sharing. xoe
Oh, dear Elizabeth, what a writer you are. I appreciate your honesty so much.
Our youngest’s announcement in 1992 (my husband is a graphic designer, so this fun job was on his plate and it got done!) was a little booklet. Page 1 was Jackson- the teenager, page 2 was Patrick- the pre-teen, page 3 was Maurita-the two year old, pages 4 & 5 were Rosie -the new baby and her stats and arrival info, pages 6 & 7 was a picture of the whole crew with the tagline – Some call it insanity, we call it a family.
The tagline was written largely in response to the naysayers -”you got lucky once, don’t press your luck” “you got your girl, why another” “blah,blah”! But geez! IT was insanity for a while there. Nearly 20 years later I can honestly say that adoption changed all of us in ways that we could never have foreseen. I’m a big believer in the theory that there is no rewind and therefore no need to rehash either!
When they are all here this Xmas and we take the family photo, I will whole-heartedly say, It was insanity but it’s my family! They are a crazy mixed bag of kids, that eldest adopted daughter is trans-gendering to become our son (thank the adoption goddess that I took a chance on a second!!) and that’s just the highlight.
Elizabeth, I’d love to sit down with a glass of wine and just talk. Life is hard but you’re showing up and sometimes that’s all you can do.
Blessed be to you and yours!
XOXO Susan no longer from the Census!
Funny comments, Susan. Good to hear them! I think you have the gift of distance and time, which gives you much better perspective. I like picturing me and my family down the road a ways 20 years, taking pictures at Christmas, laughing and saying, “hell, it was nuts, but it’s my family, I love us all, and I wouldn’t trade a minute of it!” Grateful to you for that picture now in my head…xoe
Love your post, you really write what you feel and I must say that you’ve say it all. I hope you will overcome what you’ve been through this past few days, will pray for you.
Patricia recently posted..Getting Pregnant Faster
Thanks so much for stopping by, Patricia. I appreciate your comments very much! xoe
I’m back. 10 days later, I have had time to process this a little more, and I have some time to share my experience. I would say that I definitely experienced post-adoption depression. My son was placed with us as a newborn on 24-hours notice, 4.5 months after I had miscarried identical twins toward the end of the first trimester. I fell in love with him within 2-3 days and was absolutely thrilled to have a baby in my arms, but it was a whirlwind, and whirlwinds don’t always work so well with my personality. I also unfortunately had to return to work fulltime when he was 3 months old, and this cast a dark shadow over my maternity leave and the following 18 months until I was finally able to stay home with him almost fulltime.
As an adoptive mother, I wasn’t physically recovering from childbirth, but I’m pretty sure my hormones were a mess anyway, given how hard it was for me to get pregnant and stay pregnant. I firmly believe that my post-adoption depression had a hormonal component to it. Since post-adoption depression is even less recognized than postpartum depression, there is even less support for it. And more reluctance to acknowledge it and to reach out for help. To this day it stings that not one person made me a meal after we brought my son home. Don’t get me wrong, people were very supportive in other ways. But it hurt to be treated differently than a biological mother, and this added to my depression.
Fast forward almost 4 years later, and I still experience some effects of the post-adoption depression. Right now we’re going through something with my son (I can’t get into details online due to confidentiality, but I will say that it has to do with his birth history, and that it is not a bonding issue), that is re-opening old wounds. Adoption has been the biggest gift of my life, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything, but it definitely comes with pain. Which I guess can be said of parenthood in general.
So many things to say, Claire. First, how brave for you to share your personal experience with PADS. Thank you. A lot of adoptive moms have spoken to me privately about this, but most still find it hard to talk about publicly. I agree, there is not a lot known about PADS and there is almost no support out there for adoptive moms going through it.
I identify with a lot of what you describe here…the whirlwind of a quick placement and new baby. Especially on the heels of a miscarriage. So much loss and joy at the same time! A lot to process. And almost no time to do it in.
I understand what you say about there being a hormonal component to your PADS. I don’t think the science has caught up with this, but I feel intuitively that many of us may have subclinical hormonal imbalances that really get triggered when we adopt.
And I can’t tell you how many other adoptive moms have told me the same thing, hardly anyone offered to bring over a meal when they first came home with their new adoptive child! You’re right, being treated as if you are not a ‘real’ mama does add to the depression. (NOTE to friends of adoptive families: please please please organize a meal drop off schedule when your friend comes home with her new adoptive child!)
There is so much power in telling our stories and that’s why I especially appreciate your comments. Each of us who comes out of hiding and tells our story makes it a bit easier for the next adoptive mom. And that’s why my mission is to give a real voice and face to adoptive mothers. xoe
Thank you so much for doing this, Elizabeth. Your advocacy is a tremendous gift to the adoption world. I just hope that plenty of prospective adoptive parents read your blog prior to adopting. Awareness of these issues ahead of time could have a huge impact.
One of the things I remember most from when my first child came home was how sure I was that I was going to love every blessed minute of being a new mother. Well, anyone who has had a newborn, adopted or otherwise, can tell you, every minute is not wonderful. From lack of sleep to lack of showers, I did not love every minute….and then I felt guilty about it. I had worked so hard for this baby. He was wanted so badly, how could I not love every single second? But you know what? I didn’t. There were plenty of seconds I was downright miserable. Years later, (he is now a snarky 13 year old), I laugh at my naivete.
All I can say is that you are not alone…parenting is hard, growing a family so quickly is hard, adjusting to your new role is hard. Cut yourself some slack, know that you are in good company and when need be, have a glass of wine…or 2.
Kate Hlava recently posted..The Power of A Bigg Mac
It’s true, Kate. It’s totally normal not to be happy every minute of being a new mother, no matter how much you love your child!
It is especially hard for adoptive moms, though, because there is this belief that you worked so hard to have this child, so now you must be happy happy happy. right? right? And adoptive moms do not have the support that pregnant women do, as Claire commented on, no one brings us meals when we first come home, or treats us as if we have just gone through huge life transition, which we obviously have. A lot of us with multi cultural, transracial families also have the high visibility thing to deal with as new moms (everyone everywhere going up to you asking ‘are they yours?’ or ‘where are they from?’ when you need your time and privacy respected).
But no matter whether we adopt or give birth, you are also right. Parenting is a wild roller coaster ride that nothing can prepare you for! Thanks for stopping by. xoe
Really great article! You’re one strong person! I know you’ll get through everything! Good luck!
edmond0925 recently posted..Winter Dog Walks
Thank you for sharing the part about how the African tribal communities handle despair. It is so wise and really resonated with me.
Having gone through my own episodes of grief, I find myself wanting to tell people that sometimes you just have to be in the despair. It is not a sign of weakness, or something we need to “get over” to make everyone around us feel better. It cannot be fixed by those around us, nor do we need to be reminded about all of the good things in our lives. They are separate, and telling us to focus on the good stuff simply invalidates the present feelings. Sometimes we just need the space and support to be sad, or angry or however we feel at the moment.
How beautiful that you were able to share that – and I hope that now you have a lot of people in your life who model those tribal culture’s behavior of just being present for you.
I also want to commend you for talking about depression after adoption. It is so rarely discussed, and I think so many people feel like they worked so hard to adopt, they have no right to feel the letdown or whatever else they may be feeling after bringing home the child. I wouldn’t say that I personally felt depressed after our adoption, but definitely overwhelmed. After a particularly stressful and exhausting day, someone said to me “this is what you wanted and tried for so long to have” and I wanted to slap them. Just because I’m stressed or overwhelmed doesn’t mean I don’t still want to be her mother. Even though my career was stressful and made me complain sometimes, it didn’t mean I didn’t love my career – why should adoptive motherhood be only sunshine and flowers? Maybe if more people know about reality and what to expect (that depression or a letdown can happen and isn’t shameful), it will come out of the closet and be normalized.
Anyway, so glad I found your blog, and thanks for keeping it honest and real.
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Great comments, Sue. I love that you resonate with this new (to us) way of looking at grief. Since this way of dealing with grief is not common in our modern culture right now, those of us who are lucky enough (if that’s not too annoying a way to put it!) to have experienced and processed our grief in this way have to, I think, show the people around us how to act in times of loss. First, we need to let them know that we are, indeed okay. That they don’t have to be frightened of our pain. Then we have to ask them for what we need, whether its help picking up a child after school, or simply hanging out with us for a cup of tea and feeling like we don’t have to put on a falsely bright face to calm them down. Although in an ideal world this should be automatic, I think its also kind of beautiful that we can learn a new way, teach it to others, and be constantly growing. you know? Thanks so much for stopping by. xoe
I think that I have YJFLBYLCTMTFYTYCHIBYCS, too. Or I will have it once we adopt these sweet boys.
I hear its going around!
Thank you for this…I stumbled upon it trying to find someone out there going through what I am. It has only been two weeks since our foster/adopt son has come into our home but it has felt like a lot longer. I want to scream and run and cry! I don’t know if I can do this! Let me give some background….We have been on an infertility journey for over 11 years. Multiple miscarriages, IVF’s, surgeries, and plenty of heartache. In all of that we did have our biological son. He is 7 years old and the light of our lives. About 3 years ago we started talking about adoption in order to add to our family and to give our son a sibiling. 3 years later here we are with a 11 month old in our home. All of our friends and family gave us gifts and have come to meet him. I was so happy the first few days. That has all changed. I wake up with anxiety, pains in my chest at the sound of his cries. I don’t want to get up in the morning bc I know I h will have to take care of him!!! What is wrong with me?! My husband was so reluctnat to adopt…he thought he was going to feel the way I do….oh how the roles have reveresed. He gets up with the baby at night. He is very worried and so am I. I meet with my caseworker tomorrow and I want to tell her to take him! I am so confused about my own feelings and I am worried that people are going to hate me for doing this. Most of all I don;t want my 7 year old son to hurt! What did I do?! I have only really told my brother about this and he said give it time. How much time? a week, a month, a year, after the adoption?! I feel trapped. I not only miss my life I feel like now I realize I was only supposed to be a mother of one! I feel like an evil person! help!
My dear Jennifer, there is NOTHING wrong with you! I wanted to tell you that right up front.
How awesome that you found AG and that you reached out for help by posting. My sense is that if you are clear enough to know you need help, you are not as far gone as you think.
Although it would take a much more in depth series of conversations to mentor you through this, here are a couple of thoughts to point you in the right direction…
-My first suggestion to women with PADS or any sort of adoption/mothering adjustment challenges is…GET SUPPORT! DO NOT ATTEMPT TO DO THIS BY YOURSELF! MORE SUPPORT THAN YOU”VE EVERY ASKED FOR IN YOUR LIFE! The kind of support that makes you feel guilty. You have to take a risk and ask people to help you. Although it sounds like you have an awesome husband, it takes way more than that for most women to adjust. …
-Find a therapist. Preferably one who specializes in PADS, PPD, or adoption issues. One with whom you really resonate after the first meeting. Or a very supportive, positive non-relative with whom you can regularly tell the truth.
-Call in every single friend, relative and resource you have. Ask them to make meals, do your laundry, watch your kids. you need chunks of time away from the baby to get perspective on your situation. You need to sleep (so important!).
-hire a babysitter if you can afford it and need it. Even if you can only afford it for a few weeks. Try http://www.sittercity.com if you cannot find a referral through a friend. try a local college. Do not feel guilty about not bonding perfectly with your baby. I dont care what the ‘experts’ say about attachment and strangers. If the mother is truly suffering, it is never a good idea for her to sacrifice her sanity in pursuit of perfection around attachment. It is important to not go crazy!
You are going through a MAJOR life transition. It is almost impossible to make a clear and authentic decision when you are in the midst of such a whirlwind of change. Unless you are in danger of hurting yourself or your child, I would suggest you put yourself on a program of intensive loving self care (adequate sleep, regular time alone, walks, therapy or supportive non-relative to talk honestly with, eat well) and see where you are in one month.
Sending you hugs and lots of encouragement,
Elizabeth
p.s. Make sure you get on the AG mailing-name & email in the top right corner of this page. Then look for an announcement about a very special Adoptive Mothers’ Circle starting in early 2012. (I think it’s something you will really like.)
Hey, Elizabeth! Long time no see. How are you all? I saw your blog on facebook, and I just checked it out. Loved your writing on PADS. It caught me totally by surprise with our son, Zachary. An excellent therapist, some low-dose drugs, and an absurdly patient spouse helped me through, and now on the other side I could not love our son more. Hope you and your family are well, and enjoying the new year!
Laura
Thanks for your honesty, Laura! Great to hear from you. xoe
So glad to read your honest, well-written reflections and experiences. Specifically I’d like to hear more about your experience with adoptive breastfeeding. We’re currently approved for a private domestic infant adoption and are waiting for a birth-mother to choose us. We have no biological children, so I’ve never breastfed before but would sooo love to attempt it with our soon-to-come baby. But…..I’m so afraid of that challenge and I can’t find anyone who has induced lactation without having ever lactated or been pregnant before. I’ve read different website about the how-to’s of it all, but would more like to hear someones real story. If you have anything to share with me that would be so great! Thanks!
Carrie, I actually have an article in the works telling the whole lengthy story of my adoption breastfeeding experience. I don’t have space to detail it for you here. But If you opt in with your name and email on the right hand side of this page, I can let you know when it’s being published with a link.
For now, let me just tell you this…that I am SO happy I did it. It was a crazy struggle and on some levels, not totally successful (I always had to supplement milk supply). BUT it was the most magical, meaningful experience for me and my daughter. It forged a physical bond between us that is indescribable. I highly highly recommend attempting it. if you feel drawn to do it. (logistically, I followed normal protocols using herbs and natural supplements and pumping, as you’ve probably read about in other places).
Good luck! xoe
I stumbled upon this post today and I’m so glad I did… as a single adoptive mom (about 2 months post finalization), I am in the grief room right now. I am working on the self-care piece (FMLA leave, babysitters, grown-up dates, therapy), but it’s helpful to know that I am not alone (nor necessarily losing my mind). This is one issue for which all of my “pre-adopt” preparation did not prepare me. Thanks for sharing your story!
Thank you for this post. It made me cry, grateful that I don’t have to feel alone in my grief anymore. We brought home our beautiful daughter 3 months ago, when she was only a day old. Since then, there have been days where, like you mentioned, I look at her and feel absolutely nothing. Then the guilt sets in, because in my head, I am thinking, that I should be just overcome with love and joy, because I have been trying to have a child for almost 20 years. I would be interested in hearing about your breastfeeding experience as well.
I had that. I had waited so long to adopt that I felt bewildered that I wasn’t happy when I did. I was happy in a sense, but I more wanted to hide away in the bedroom. I was severely sad and feeling very mortal (40 was getting awful close) and thinking how mortal my kids are (as in what’s the point of living when we’re just going to die….). Really severe stuff. I couldn’t get counseling as money was so tight. It was more important that my violent son get the counseling and then my memory-repressing daughter needed it, too. Some of my depression lightened up when my son finally gave up 99.5% of his violence. It just sort of happened. So fighting with my son was part of my depression. My husband said something profound in it: You haven’t figured out who you are now. I wasn’t who I used to be and I needed to figure out who I was now. I think I’m still working on it. It’s getting better. I don’t hide near as much and I’m not nearly as morbid (though it still crops up). I still can’t do all the things I used to do but I have hope that I’m finding my way.