When you just want it all to fade…

I have good days with adoption, and then I have bad.  Today is one of those bad, weepy days.  It’s kind of like an illness, or a dysfunctional relationship.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not comparing adoption to cancer.  I’m just saying it’s like a chronic illness, like maybe Diabetes.  You have days where your sugars are good, and you feel like you’re in control, then…BAM!  You have an off day, and you’re spiraling down towards being really sick.

I’m not sick.  Today, I’m just sick of it.

Adoption can be beautiful, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.  But, it comes with hardship.  It is rooted in loss.  And, our last adoption was rooted in lies as well as major loss.  More lies pop up every single day.  I’m just weary from it.  I have yet to adjust.  When we adopted ResponsiBoy, whose adoption was done domestically, and took FOREVER so there was no way that anything was unethical, I remember feeling this way.  At that time, adoption had made our family look, well, different.  I was still adjusting to the idea of being a white woman with a black son.  I would come home from Target and cry about the fact that, yet again, I had been asked questions about his origin.  I just wanted a baby.  I didn’t want to be the focus of everyone’s attention.  I wanted to be like every other young mom out there.  Gradually, I adjusted.  And, as ResponsiBoy grew (and more children that looked “different” came to us), I kind of became proud.  Now, as he grows into this great young man, I’m super proud of how we’ve handled it.  I’m proud of the fact he’s different.  I’m proud of all of it.  Except, I’m sick about answering questions about three of my kid’s pasts.

When will I feel proud about our Ghanaian kids?  Right now, I don’t even want to answer questions about Ghana.  It’s like the whole country has abused us all.  It feels like someone we all loved just slapped us in the face.  Which I know isn’t true, but it sure does feel that way.  Even though we’re good with the kid’s birth parents, which is most important to me, we’re not good with how our kids got here or the conditions they were forced to endure, or witness, before they came.  How do you come back from something like that?  Today is one of those days when I wonder if I ever will.  They’re healing, but I’m not.  And, it’s affecting them.

This blog isn’t about looking perfect.  It isn’t about telling other people who might want to adopt that this is all sunshine and roses, this is about recording what it’s really like.  Sometimes, I have a bad day.  It wouldn’t be fair of me to advocate for orphans and adoption and then not tell you what we have dealt with as a result of our international adoptions.  It also wouldn’t be fair of me to record things that aren’t how I really feel either, since this is a journal for my children.  Today… I feel sick of it.  Never sick of my kids, just sick of all of the rest of it.

So, I’m going to break for awhile to find the love again.

who hopes tomorrow will bring more sunshine and roses.

3 thoughts on “When you just want it all to fade…

  1. Oh, I am just so sorry. It sucks when the corruption in a country almost takes away the love you would have otherwise had for the country. We have a pretty traumatic experience in Vietnam with the embassy (they told us to leave our son and go home, would be months). To this day I just cannot make myself have the true heart-connection I would like to have with Vietnam. It was stolen from me by corrupt practice. I would just hate for that to happen to you, but there’s just no doubt that you have been traumatized by what you and your children have gone through.Big Okie Hugs,Anita

  2. It is exhausting physically, emotionally and even spiritually. I wish we could have all come through with untainted memories of our children’s country. The Ghana we THOUGHT we saw the first trip. Right now I agree with Efia. I have no desire to go back, ever, and I would prefer not to talk about it, ever. Not healthy but it is where we are. When you said “They are healing, but I’m not,” it really hit home for me. I’m doing a terrible job of forgiving, though I know I must. It affects the way I trust, the decisions we make for our future, the way we treat our children, how we watch Efia for any sign that we still don’t know ALL that hapened. Exhausting. I pray for your family every day, and for all of the others who are mourning the loss of what “should have been.”

  3. I know exactly how you feel. For over a year I only see Ghana as a “trauma” that we all experienced. It is still hard to talk about it. It is hard to come to terms – because we don’t know what they are. What is truth? What is Lies? What do I tell my sons – when all I want to tell them is the truth – a truth even I don’t know. Ghana is so entwined with the trauma they experienced and I endured it is hard to seperate the good from the bad. They often don’t want to talk about it – and I don’t either.It is getting slightly better – a year and a half later.For example, last night I was lying with the boys – our power was out for 4 hrs – and the humidity was intense here in the south. We were in the dark and sweating – and we started to reminiisce about Ghana’s hot sticky dark nights. About all 3 of us sharing a small bed and kicking one another in our sleep and not wanting to touch the other because it was so hot. The boys actually fell asleep to our reminiscence. I walked out of their room thinking – there WERE some good times and we can focus on them. But it is still hard – I keep praying that time will temper this feeling and that one day there might be desire instead of fear.Praying with and for you, for these childrenand our families!!!Thanks for posting the hard stuff and the wonderful stuff.!!!

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