Too Brave

We have all faced painful loses in our lives. We all know the hurt that comes from the death of someone important to us- someone who has helped to shape us into the people we have become. We have all wished things could have been different, that they could have stayed with us a bit longer, that we had said what we needed to, that we could hold them just one more time. It is a universal experience that all humans share.

Imagine the pain you would feel if you had lost both your parents.......four times. Think of the hurt your heart would feel and the challenges that would bring. Now, add being taken from the only home you have ever known- the culture, the language, the sites, smells and sounds. Imagine all of that is suddenly gone. Finally, add being a toddler. All of this pain happened in just two short years. Your first two years of life. This is what you have known.

This is adoption.

This is a happier version of adoption.

Many adoption stories come with so many more hardships.

Our daughter is "lucky".

Actually, I hate that word. Our daughter is not lucky. She is not lucky to have us, she is not lucky to have lost so many people throughout her journey to us, she is not lucky to be loved. Her past is not the product of good fortune and aligning stars. In turn, we are not lucky to have her. We were meant to be her family. We worked hard to bring her home. Luck had nothing to do with it.

Many have/will say that she is lucky to be so young. "She won't remember", "You will be the only family she knows". But that's not true.

She will remember. She will always remember.

Maybe not true memories with her birth mother, or cuddles with her first foster family, or her first steps with her second foster family, or playing with her foster sister while with her third foster family. She may not actually remember these things, but she will always remember that they are absent. That there are so many parts of who she is that won't ever be the same.

Adoption trauma is one of the worst, in my opinion. Mainly because it is the only form of trauma not really recognized as such. So many people see her as being "saved". We did not save her. She had a beautiful life in Korea with her foster family. We took her away from everything that she knew. At this point, her experiences are more in line with being held captive- the opposite of being saved.

Our little girl has been through so so so many hard things in her precious life. She has recovered from things that adults can not cope with.

Yesterday, I watched my brave little girl fill ten-ish vials of blood without a squirm or a sound. Part of me was so proud of my beautiful girl- how strong and brave she is. Then it hit me- no two year old should feel the need to be that strong and brave. Not that I was hoping for screaming and flailing, but she showed no fear or concern of strangers poking and prodding her. None.

Although supporting our little girl has always been a given, we now see a very specific area of focus. We will prove to her that we are not leaving, and neither is she. She doesn't need to be so brave with us. We are safe, her feelings are safe, her memories are safe, and her past is important to us too.

This special little girl shows so much strength and love in her smile, in her hugs, in her giggles and in her tiny hand as she reaches for mine. Even after all that she has been through, she still has such a strong sense of self. She is confident, smart, kind, goofy, organized, and has no problem making her plan known (especially if it is disrupted).

We will ensure that these qualities won't get lost in her grief. We will preserve the truest version of our daughter. We will do all these things by checking our needs at the door- at least when she needs us to. We will be open and honest with her about what we know of her story. We will address the struggles that her trauma will uncover in the best way we know how. We will seek support for everything, because we know that she (and we) are not alone.

Three Weeks In

We have been home three weeks. Part of me wishes I would have done a weekly recap, part of me is glad I didn't. Although so valid at the time, there are some emotions from our first weeks that I do not wish to revisit, nor do I wish to encapsulate and preserve them in time through writing them down. I have felt more mommy guilt in the last three weeks, than I have in my almost eight years as a parent.

The first week home was rough on us- at least Maylee, Joe and I. Liam and Nolan were extremely easygoing about the chaos that ensued. It wasn't until our fourth day home when Maylee had a fever, that we learned that she had an ear infection. This was probably a contributing factor for our traumatizing travel experience, as well as her extreme sadness the first week. We knew that she would be sad and grieve, but the first week was spent with her in my arms, alternating crying, whimpering and screaming. She refused to eat, wanted nothing to do with Joe or the boys, and was only truly calm when sleeping.

This was so hard for us. We thought we knew why, but all of the skills we had spent over a year learning were not helping and we had no idea why. Maylee had been such a happy playful child in Korea and she had warmed up to her brothers instantly, but once home she seemed like a different child.

Again, we were prepared. We knew about the grief, we knew about the confusion and frustrations she would be feeling, but even as newly adoptive parents, this all seemed somehow "not right". Hearing news of her ear infection brought down our stress levels and our hearts were once again at ease. Our intuition was spot on.

Within a couple of days of antibiotics, the little girl we knew from visits and photos began to slowly emerge. She started smiling and giggling now and then, her appetite grew, and the very best sign- she began bonding with Joe and the boys.

Although she was so happy to play with the boys and interact with Joe if I was around, she continued to be upset when I left her sight and when Joe returned home from work. She would whimper or cry, which broke my heart. Of course, I was sad for her. All of this must have been so unnerving and confusing, but I was also so sad for Joe. Like me, he had waited so long and loved her so much and now she was rejecting him over and over again. He was so patient and understanding of her needs, where I found myself being increasingly more frustrated.  It hurt me to see her dismiss her daddy.

For the sake of my sanity and out of pure desperation, I decided to tune out her screams and head up stairs to take a bath and read for a bit after Joe returned home from work one day during week two. The first ten minutes were torture. She screamed so hard and called for me in a voice that could only have come from a place of pure fear. But Joe and I held strong. Soon her cries quieted and by the time I came back downstairs, she was fine- happy to be sitting with her daddy, eating a snack. Every mommy fiber of my being and everything I know about adoption-based trauma told me what I was doing was wrong, and yet it was the right call.

She still whimpers a bit and protests my husband's presence each time he returns home from work, but if I leave quickly, she warms up quickly. During our post-placement meeting, our social worker told us that this is extremely common. She is upset with him for leaving her each day and her response is a direct effect of that frustration. In short, she does it because she loves and trusts him. Such good news for this worried mama!

Now, our little lady loves legos, playing chase, stickers, and rolling around on the floor with her brothers. She gets sad at every oppa drop off and when she needs to say goodnight to them on our way to bed. She loved to eat anything and everything (except extra crunchy carrots and lettuce without ranch). She is sassy and smart. She is cuddly and creative. She loves being outside and snuggling Maizy.

Each day is a bit better than the last. Each day, our bonds get a bit stronger. Each day, our family of five solidifies a bit more.

Last night, when putting Maylee to bed, I kissed her cheek and told her that I love her. Then it hit me, "I actually do!" Not that I haven't loved her all along, but until now, I have loved the idea of her. I have loved the future that I imagined. I have loved a picture and words on paper. Now, I love HER. I love her for the child she is. For the personality that she has. For the new future I see.