Loving the Hurt Child... Part Three

More Wounds to Come

There is something so deeply moving about offering love and hope to a child who has no family.  Again, words are not even full enough to grasp the beauty and intimacy of such a privilege.  It is Hope with skin on.   

When we adopted Abby, I thought the love and hope we had and offered her would be enough.  I had this idea that our love would just erase all the wounds and the pain. Love and hope are very much vital components of life with an adopted child but it was not always enough.  It was not enough for us.  It was not enough for Abby. 

Love is not enough?  That seems to contradict so much of what we come to believe but I can tell you... it is not enough for many children.  Although it motivates everything needed in all aspects of journey, there are other things needed that I/we overlooked.  Looking back at it all now, I think it was almost like a form of denial.  I didn't want to think anything was wrong.  I wanted to think that our generous out poring of love was enough to heal over her wounds and erase her pain.  I thought she was young enough to forget it.  I think I also thought it would reflect poorly on me if my love was not enough.  Love had to be enough.  What else was there?

I did not walk into adoption blindly.  I read numerous books on adoption, completed a adoption training course and THOUGHT I had all the bases covered.  In addition to the wounds Abby received before we adopted her, (you can read about that in the previous posts) there was another pretty big one waiting for us.

When we came home with Abby, she "hit the ground running."  She slept through the night and walked around our house like she'd been there all her life.  We were floored.  We were also blown away with how quickly she was learning English.  By the time we got home from Kazakhstan with her, at 21 months old, she already knew close to 10 English words.  Her first "word" was "ball."  She would fly through a deck of alphabet cards and knew all but about four of the letters.  We were amazed.  I can not repeat this enough.  THIS is probably what made me think all the more she would be "fine." 

And then things started to unravel pretty quickly.  My husband was hired with an airline in Atlanta and so almost as soon as we arrived with her in our home, we started packing.  Within two months of getting "home" with her, we moved from Virginia to outside Atlanta causing yet another transition for her.

In addition to the move, we started noticing funny behavior after she'd wake up from a nap.  She would wake up and sometimes have eye rolling episodes.  The eye rolling would last only about a second and then she'd be fine.  But sometimes she'd do it like seven or eight times in a row.  Before we moved, we took her to the pediatrician we'd had set up for her and she suggested it was absong seizures.  She reassured us there was nothing to worry about and she'd probably outgrow them.  Something didn't settle with me but again, I so WANTED to believe everything was fine.

Shortly after the move, Abby had a new kind of episode.  She was downstairs watching Sesame Street and I was upstairs making our bed.  I heard this weird cry... almost like a half muffled cry.  I went running and she was half sitting in her little rocking chair and half hanging out.  One of her arms was in between the back spindles of the chair.  When I pulled her up to me... she was limp... that arm was limp... and she looked drunk.  Reality smacked me.  Something was wrong and I went running out the door with her to our pediatrician who was located just 5 minutes away.  If she needed help, I thought it would be the quickest way to get it.  I moved so quickly that I was only wearing a pair of boxer shorts, my husband's undershirt, and I was barefooted.  This is important for later.

On the way there, I sang, "Jesus Loves Me," to her and kept trying to get her to look at me.  I ran a red light and several stop signs and actually made it there in less than five minutes.  When I got out of the car to get her out of the car seat, she was fine.  SHE WAS FINE.  She pointed to an airplane and said, "aypane."  She pointed to birds.  I stood there... puzzled to say the least.  She had raised her previously limp arm to point at the airplane and was clear and alert as if nothing had happened.  That is when it hit me.  I was standing in the parking lot of a doctor's office barefooted, in my husband's underwear (that I used for pajamas from time to time) and my daughter was acting "fine."

So... do I walk inside looking like a complete lunatic or drive back home?  I kept looking at her.  I stood her up on the ground.  She stood up just fine... took off running actually.  LOL  I started trying to think of logical explanations for the previous episode that had sent me running into public in underwear.  Could she have gotten her arm stuck in between the spindles, pulled on it and pulled it out of socket?  Could it just fall back into place by itself?  Could that have caused her to cry that weird cry and almost pass out and become limp? My husband was gone on a trip and... well... I was standing there in completely inappropriate attire... and so I decided to put her back in the car... head home... call my husband... and get his opinion.  

I told him what happened. We decided to talk about it more the next day and take her to the pediatrician (clothed properly) and get their opinion and guidance.  

Denial started wrestling with worry.  I was pretty sure at this point something was wrong.  As a new mother, you don't want to think anything is wrong with your baby.  But the next day, Abby would wake us up in the morning with yet another horrible episode.  Once again, there was a weird cry and she was limp.  The pediatrician suggested we pack a bag and head to the Children's Hospital in Atlanta.

Something inside clicks.  I call it, "handle it mode."  Unless you have experienced it, it is hard to explain.  I personally think a lot, if not all of it, comes from the Holy Spirit.  It is just this mode of calm that comes over you when everything inside is screaming.  As we drove into Atlanta, all sorts of things were running through my mind.  Things I had been holding back behind a locked door of steal.  Now, the door was open and it flooded me.  Was this a tumor?  Cancer?  Something simple?  Something horrible?  Could it be fixed?  Would she be o.k.?  Would we be o.k.  But something inside knew there was a shift happening... things would never be the same.  Dreams and hopes started getting hazy.

I have recently written about what followed HERE.  For the sake of my readers, I won't repeat it all in this post.  In a very simple nutshell, medical trauma would follow.  It would inflict new wounds on this little one who had already been through so much.  And worst of all, the new wounds would now include us... her new parents... the ones she had just allowed herself to trust.  

We would have to spend years fighting to get trust back.  We would spend years looking for the right "tools" to help her receive our love.  We would spend years fighting for her.  It would be a very difficult, lonely, exhausting fight.  And we are still fighting it.

But before we could really start fighting to get her back... we'd lose her even more.  There was yet another blow to this battle right around the corner. 


Part four to follow...
    
 

Loving the Hurt Child... Part Two

 Playing Baby

In my attempt to get it so right... I got it so wrong.


I was so bent on helping Abby grow up... catch up... progress developmentally... that I never considered she needed to step backwards.

After Abby spent three months in the hospital, she was taken to an orphanage.  Her crib was the last one on the left side of the room, against the wall and by a window.  The walls of this large room were lined with cribs.  She was one of many.  She would be here for one year before we got to her.

I have to add here... something amazing.  In my infertility post, HERE, I mention stomping my foot and crying out to God why my pregnancy test was negative AGAIN.  On that very day, Abby was in this orphanage... waiting for me.  Waiting for us.  As I think about God looking down at her, having His hand on her, and guiding us on our path to her... I am amazed and greatly humbled.  I can see Him answering me gently, "Because she is waiting for you."

The caregivers at the orphanage held the children backwards.  Their thought process was well intended.  They thought that by denying the children attachment with them, they would more easily attach to their adoptive mommies and daddies since they wanted attachment so badly.  Well intended... but oh, so wrong.  It teaches them at a young age that attachment is not coming.  They learn/adjust/adapt to not needing it.  This actually makes attaching to parents even harder.

Abby had birth parent/s (caregivers) who abandoned her in a cafe in her car seat on top of a table.  We have NO idea if that environment was healthy or not.  But they/she left her.  Everything she knew to be true was gone.

She was in the hospital for three months (caregivers #2).  Physical contact and nurturing was likely minimal.  She lay on her back in a baby bed all day... for three months.  These caregivers "taught" her she was alone.  They taught her that caregivers don't meet her needs.

She was then taken to the orphanage (caregivers #3) where she was still alone, yet one of many.  Nurturing, movement and physical contact increased... but was still not healthy.  These caregivers taught her not to attach (without intending to).   

Enter in her hopeful... eager... and loving adoptive parents.  She was 21 months old and we were caregivers #4.  And we would be the very opposite of what she now knew to be true. 

I will never, ever forget the moment Abby came around the corner and I saw her for the first time.  The caregivers were telling her "mama... mama" and pointing to me.  I was down on my knees on the ground with open arms.  She bravely walked over... clutching a cookie in each of her hands with huge bow on top of her head... turned around (facing outward) and sat in my lap.  That moment is so telling.  Actually, many of those moments are now so telling.

I can still feel the weight of her sitting in my lap for the first time.  I can feel the warmth of her little head as I leaned down and kissed it for the first time... the softness of her hair.  I started talking to her... but she wouldn't look at me.  On our video, I can hear myself saying, "She won't look at me."

If this picture was not so heartbreaking... it would be pretty funny.  After holding her "outward" for a while... I had to embrace her.  I had been praying for this child for over a year.  She was now in my arms.  My. child. was. now. in. my. arms!  But this precious one had not been held like this in over a year.  The fear and panic in her eyes stab me deep in the soul.  Horror.  I was there... representing love and hope and a forever mommy... and she was scared out of her mind.

She totally was afraid to look at my husband.  One of my favorite pictures is of her in his lap... with her body and head tilted out... yet looking at him ever so slightly.  (Boo, I can't find it right now!)  She'd make a great big sigh and then quickly look away... with her little lip pouted out.  Then she would look back... for just about two seconds... sigh again... and look away.  Wanting to look... yet she just couldn't.  Wanting to let us "in"... yet so afraid.

My precious baby girl... oh so trying to be brave with cookies clutched tightly...

The orphanage allowed us to visit her twice a day for two hours in the morning and one hour in the afternoon.  This time was meant for bonding before we took her from the orphanage.  I loved they had this policy.  Instead of walking in... getting her... and walking out... she got to know us before she was taken by us from her "home."

Many of those moments were spent with her in my arms... crying the saddest cries.

She would hold onto me so tightly and just cry... for hours.

 two weary girls...

She would stop... look at me for about six or seven seconds... and start crying again.  She would not let me sit down or let her go.  I would stand and walk and bounce and sing and coo and pray... and worry.  My arms felt like jello.  I would prop my leg up on a chair and "sit" her on my leg without her knowing she was "sitting".  Knowing the inward battle she was having... the confusion... the pain... just killed me.  And we didn't even speak the same language!  I so wanted to fix it.  My desire to "fix it" has lasted to this day.

The worst part was having to leave her each day.  Even though I knew it was best... thought it was best... we kept leaving.  Just. like. everyone. else. in. her. life.  Finally, she realized we kept coming back and things started to turn.  PRAISE GOD.

It took three days until she smiled.  She was SO serious.  Her face was void of expression unless she was crying. I remember leaving after the second day of visiting and crying in the car.  I was thinking reactive attachment disorder.  I had read about it in one of the many adoption books.  And I was scared... heartbroken.

But on the third day, she fed me goldfish crackers (our biggest bonding tool!) and she smiled.  Hope flooded through me like a rushing river!  She smiled.  Amazing.  Beautiful.  Precious.

The fourth day she laughed.  We have it on video.  How I wish I was all video techno-savvy and could download it here for you.  It was one of the most precious sounds ever.  But the picture will have to do.  It is one of my favorites.  I had her in my arms, leaned her out from me, buried my face in her chest and acted like I was eating her up.  And she laughed.  And of course, I did it 20 times... kissing and gobbling up her chest, face, and neck!  And she laughed 20 times.  And there is where one of my biggest false ideas would enter into my mind and stay.  "She is fine."  "My love will heal her and we'll all just be fine."  I accepted that idea way too early.  It was what I SO wanted to believe.

During our exit interview with the lawyer, who spent a lot of time at Abby's orphanage, I mentioned the beauty of Abby's first laugh.  Her words still ring in my ears and her facial expression has never been forgotten.  "I have never seen her laugh."  She was in total disbelief.  I found it odd.  I asked her if she wanted to see this display of joy.  She seriously answered, "Yes."  I did "my thing" and Abby laughed.  The lawyers face lit up like a light bulb and the sweetest smile came over her face.  She laughed... looked at Abby... looked at me... and gave me a nod of approval.

One of the things Abby would do for years is act like a baby.  She would crawl into the kitchen while I was cooking and say, "I'm a baby... feed me."  It would make my skin crawl... irritate me... because she was eight... nine... 10... even 11 years old.  My response would be, "No, you are not a baby.  You are a big girl.   You are eight years old.  You are nine years old.  You are 10 years old for crying out loud.  You are 11!  Get up off the floor and act like an 8 year old... 9 year old... 10 year old... 11 year old!"

Abby acted like a baby because certain milestones of development were not met while she was a baby.  Go figure.  Who knew?  I had NO idea.  "Parenting a Hurt Child," informed me of this and gave several examples of children wanting to "play baby"... even teenagers!   But what this book did was offer a TOOL for parents with children who are not acting age appropriately and want to "play baby".

The answer... drum roll... PLAY BABY WITH THEM.

I was a skeptic.  Really?  How is letting my 11 year old play like she is a baby going to help her?  Is it not reinforcing behavior that isn't age-appropriate?  I kept reading.  The book gives several examples of parents who used this technique with great success.  One mother of a teenager turned her daughter's day bed around to make it a "baby bed-like" space.  She climbed into the "baby bed" with her teenage daughter and played baby with her using baby toys she had bought at the store.  This mother only had to do this on a few occasions before her daughter never wanted to play baby again.  Whatever deep need had not been met before... had now been met... and she didn't "NEED" it anymore.

THIS seemed too good to be true.  I read it at least three times.  My mouth actually may have been hanging open as I thought about this concept... this technique... this therapy... this hope.  I found myself actually looking forward to the next time Abby wanted to be a baby.  And it came.

Abby had just been disciplined for misbehavior.  It had been a BAD episode of defiance and control battles and disrespect.  It was a bad one.  After she/we cooled down, I went into her room to talk to her about it.  We were both sitting on her floor.  After just moments of talking... "I'm a baby," she said, and she crawled towards me.  This was it.  This was my moment to play baby with her.  Filled with HOPE and eagerness, I replied, "Are you my baby... my sweet baby girl... my Abby?"  To this she replied with a baby noise of "Uh huh," and put her hand up on my face.

"Do you want to lay in my lap little baby?" I asked.  Another "Uh huh," and she was in my lap.  As I stroked her face, I told her what a precious and beautiful baby she was.  She soaked it up like a dry sponge dropped in an endless ocean.  "I am so blessed to be your mommy.  You are my precious baby and you are so cute and smart," I added.

Then I noticed.  Even though she was soaking it up... she wasn't looking at me.  Eye contact is another area of struggle with  Abby.  The book had also made suggestions about this and so I went for it.  "Can I see your beautiful brown eyes, little baby?"  She slowly gave me her eyes.  "There they are, I love seeing those brown eyes... they are so beautiful," I cooed to her.  As I gazed into her eyes cooing words of baby affirmation, she gazed back at me like never before.  There she was... I could see her... the real Abby inside... deep inside... desiring and allowing love, nurturing, affirmation, and attachment!

In the past, I had demanded eye contact.  "Look at me with your eyes," I would say.  She felt threatened when I did that.  And she would never look longer than two to three seconds before looking away again. Now, by asking her in a cooing voice and playing baby, she did not feel threatened... but nurtured.

After about 5 minutes of this interaction, she jumped up and asked if we could play a game.  I was shocked and tried to roll with it.  I asked if we could play beauty shop and she giggled with delight and put about 15 hair bows in my hair.  I was almost in a daze. 

I kid you not... I did this sort of thing with Abby three times and she has not "been a baby" since.

BLOWN AWAY.  SMACKED.  THANKFUL.

I would have NEVER played baby like that with an 8 year old... 9 year old... 10 year old... 11 year old... had I not read that book.  Reading other examples of almost the exact behavior of my child and reading how playing baby worked with them is what convinced me to try.  And it worked.  I ACHE inside with the wish I had only known this earlier... when she was eight... when she was three!

I know Satan wants to steal my joy in what has happened now with that regret.  But you know what?  It has happened now... this year... and I am here... with you... and God will use it... someway...for at least ONE PERSON/ONE CHILD reading this NOW.  If more than ONE is helped, encouraged, or given hope... THEN I DANCE ON MY ROOF TOP AND GIVE HIM ALL THE GLORY I CAN EXPRESS TODAY!

God's GRACE... to get us here... UNENDING & ABUNDANT!  Her name is... Abigail (Her Father's Joy) Grace.  Love that.

Now I have to follow this up with a warning.  Be careful of what books you read!  I read at least three to four books on adoption before we adopted Abby and one book, in particular, told me MAJOR BAD MOJO... advice that I followed with all good intention and it caused more damage.  Mercy.  Makes me want to sob just thinking about it. 

But God is walking us through some healing now.  And I get the bonus of getting to share it with you.  What a gift!  I am so glad you are here.  Deeply glad. 

Part three will be coming soon...

Loving the Hurt Child... Part One

source

Deep pain amidst great hope 

I read a book this year, "Parenting the Hurt Child," by Gregory Keck and Regina Kupecky.  I could not put it down.  It was written for my daughter.  I was written for us.  It was written for so many.

I have sometimes shared the heartbreak, challenges, and joys of parenting, loving, and fighting for Abby.  It is the single most thing in my life that has aged me, stretched me, depleted me... and strengthened me.  It is the very single most thing in my life that has driven to and kept me going to the foot of the cross.

As I have been thinking about "Abide" lately and walking with and resting with her... I have come to see that my walk with Abby has been the first thing to pull me away from "Abide".  It should have been the first thing to keep me there.  I think the timing of things God reveals to us is simply fabulous... purposeful... sovereign.

"Parenting the Hurt Child" not only drew an almost identical picture of my child and her struggles, it offered ways to help her... real ways that are effective.  It offered hope.  It offered tools.  I have been begging the Lord for the right tools for years.  My tool box arrived in this little book.  And I am now attempting to use some of them... even though they rub against the grain of my soul sometimes.

You see, parenting a child with deep rooted pain, fear, and insecurity is not like parenting a child without those things.  Some people wonder why we don't just do this... or this... or that.  They see it work on other children.  It worked on their children.

The answer is what works for one... many... does not work for all... especially a wounded child.  In our effort to discipline and love them... so often we reinforce the pain already there... instead of "changing" them or their behavior.

For years my effort has been to get to her heart.  I felt if I could get to her heart, I could get to her... the real her.  But Abby has a high wall around her heart... and she often guards it at any cost.  We have tried so many parenting techniques, reward systems, natural consequences, and even spanking.  Nothing has penetrated that wall if she didn't want it to.

It has exhausted me... caused me to doubt and blame myself... and damaged our relationship.  

One of the things Abby would do for years is act like a baby.  She would crawl into the kitchen while I was cooking and say, "I'm a baby... feed me."  It would make my skin crawl... irritate me... because she was eight... nine... 10... even 11 years old.  My response would be, "No, you are not a baby.  You are a big girl.   You are eight years old.  You are nine years old.  You are 10 years old for crying out loud.  You are 11!  Get up off the floor and act like an eight year old... a nine year old... and 10 year old... 11 year old!"

You see... my response was out of fear and lack of knowledge.  Oh... it saddens me deeply... that lack of knowledge.  And fear... Abby lost all abilities at three years old.  She could not walk... could not talk... could not eat... could not hold her head up.  She was in a vegetative state and often having 30+ seizures a day.  When God so generously restored her, healed her from THAT... I worked so hard to teach her to walk again, to talk again, to dress herself again, and to learn.  This FIGHT instinct became engraved on my spirit and I spurred her forward... always forward.  "You can do it... you can do it... you can do it."

But I was missing something so crucial.  It brings my spirit deep sorrow to know I had it so wrong in my effort to have it so right.

Abby was abandoned on a table in a cafe in Kazakhstan at the approximate age of 9 months.  Then she was taken by the police to a hospital.  A nurse measured her head... took that measurement and gave her the age of nine months.  She was a "foundling."  "Foundling" is a term for abandoned children.  They found her on March 18 and gave her the birth date of July 18.  Breaks my heart we don't have her real birthday.

Abby stayed in that hospital, on her back, alone, barely touched, barely nurtured... for three months.  This is what is done in her birth country so the child can be found if family members come looking for them.  No one came looking.  Think of a baby you know who is nine months old.  Imagine them being left in their car seat on a table... in a cafe... and then taken to a hospital where they lay for three months.  The development stage here for attachment is crucial at nine to twelve months old.

Devastating.  Tragic.  Deeply damaging.  

We have no idea what her life was like before she was abandoned.  But for those three months... her little baby brain, heart, and spirit were broken.  She found out way too early that people leave.  She found out way too early that people would not meet her needs.  She found out way too early that she was all she had.  She had to find a way to survive.  And she did.  Without even knowing it... she started building a tiny little wall... around her tiny little heart.  She would protect herself since no one else would.

She was giving me the "signs" for so long.  And I just didn't see them.  I just didn't know.

But we have had break through.  And I praise the Lord God on high for His mercy... His patience... His faithfulness... and His love.
 
I know what I have learned is helping us... helping her.  And I know it will be helpful to other parents out there.  I hope you come back... for part two of this beautiful story... as it unfolds.  I am so glad you are here.

More on Abby and her struggle HERE.

Psalm 91~ "He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.  I will say of the LORD, 'He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust."  

"For He shall give angels charge over you, to keep you in all your ways.  In their hands they shall bear you up, lest you dash your foot against a stone."
 
"He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him and honor him.  With long life I will satisfy him, and show him My salvation."