Resilience – Inborn or Learned – Part 1

by:  Julie Beem

There’s a lot of talk about resilience being the antidote to trauma.  Lots of workshops, books, and training programs talk about building resilience in kids as a way to counteract the impact of trauma in their lives.  On the surface all this seems to make sense, but it’s always puzzled me.  What did people mean by resilience, and why does it appear that my child has none, even after years of parenting her?

Dos & Don'ts: An Adoptive & Foster Parent's Letter to Family and Friends

ATN is delighted to include another post from Carol Lozier.  Carol, a member of ATN's Board of Directors, is a clinical social worker in private practice in Louisville, Kentucky.  Her website, www.forever-families.com, offers a blog, free downloadable tools for families, an excerpt of her book, and a supportive community of adoptive and foster parents.

by:  Carol Lozier

Have you ever noticed that adopted and foster kids are especially cute? Their beautiful eyes, cute noses, and charming smiles often call attention to them and to their family. In the midst of this attention, adoptive and foster parents often hear remarks of how their parenting could be more effective, or possibly that they are expecting too much or too little from their child. Understandably, parents are caught off guard as they are hit with a critical comment, and sometimes are not sure how to address them.
 

BMITW

By: Jane Samuel

Last week I took our middle daughter out of town for four days to attend her close friend’s confirmation – in another country. Despite all her healing I still worried this trip would be too hard on our youngest – now ten-years-old and adopted at one.  Luckily for her – and I – she was naïve as to how far away I would be (a long plane flight) and only knew I would be back in “four sleeps.”

As I prepared to leave I thought about the distance we had covered since the days when at one, two, three-years-of-age she would have walked off with the Maytag repair man - and did in fact affix herself  to the leg of a stunned contractor as he tried to leave our house one afternoon after fixing our washer. I knew then I couldn’t leave her, even though she seemed to care less if I did or not.

Or the days at six, seven, eight-years-of-age when we moved into, “Mom, don’t leave me!!! I can’t sleep without you.” I knew then that I couldn’t leave her, because now we finally had an inkling that she did care, that she was attaching, and I wasn’t going to let her down no matter what. We didn’t even bother to go away, or hire sitters for years, unless we knew we would be back home two hours later for me to put her to bed. The times we accidently stayed out too late we would arrive home to find her still wide-awake, her ever-hypervigilent-soul waiting to see the whites of Mom’s eyes before she closed her own.

Or the past two years when she had done enough healing that she cried just a bit when I had to drive across state after state visiting colleges with our oldest. I finally could leave her, but made sure it was only for a night. And I called a lot. 

Now, last week, we were finally at a time when she could hug me good-bye as I dropped her at school and more-calmly-than-not state, “I wish you didn’t have to go. Couldn’t you just send Dad in your place?”

So I headed to the airport with our middle one, more focused on getting us to Europe in one piece - with our passports and cash still tucked safely away - than I was about our youngest falling apart.  I knew she would be okay.  That she knew I was coming back.  That – barring any tragedies – I would be back in her room to read her a story, sing her three songs and kiss her goodnight in four sleeps.

Having no ability to call turned out to be a bit more troublesome to me than I had expected. I had always been used to being able to call at the end of her school day and at her bedtime to make sure she knew I was still her mom. Now I was miles away, with no long-distance card, and limited Wi-Fi. I itched to send her a text on her new little iPod. I mourned the loss of her voice over the phone line. I longed to be able to Facetime her and let her know I loved her. The emails I sent instead to my husband seemed insufficient. I worried she was dysregulating. I worried that she would think I had left her forever.

I shouldn’t have worried so much. She did have a moment or two of upset, but calmed down, my husband dutifully reported. She did tell me after the trip that she had been afraid I would die. “Understandable,” I told her as soon as I could hold her again, “it is scary when Mom goes away. But I am home now!” And she seemed okay with that.

But the best indication that she had survived was the message on my iPad the second night I was in Denmark. I was just getting into bed and noticed a text on it from earlier in the day. “Mom. I luv u. BMITW,” it read.

I didn’t tell her I had to have her older sister decipher it. It didn’t matter. I was now BMITW status.
“Woot! Woot!” As they say here in the south. I am not only her Mom; I am officially – despite leaving her for four sleeps – the “best mom in the world!”

What’s in a Name? Part 1 – the Radish

By:  Julie Beem

The argument discussion rears its head every now and then, so I wasn’t surprised to see it come up again in an online group I belong to.  Someone in the group took offense over others in the group referring to their children with Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD) as “radishes” or “radlets”.  Then others in the group took offense at being “shamed” because they were just referring casually to their children.  And a war of words ensued.

I’d like to offer some food for thought to everyone, regardless of your opinion. 

My Life May Not Be Perfect, But I’m Not Going to Complain About it Any More

By Gari Lister

Too many mornings this spring I have found myself waking up and saying, “My back hurts, I have a headache, I’m tired.”  And I can’t even count how often I have picked up the phone and vented about something big . . . or something small.  My kids refuse to eat their supplements, my youngest throws a fit (she’s 10), my husband eats the last strawberries . . .  you name it, I vent, I complain, I whine.  Or let me correct that: I vented, I complained, I whined.

A Therapeutic Top Ten List: Why Therapists Should Incorporate Parents into Therapy Sessions

ATN is delighted to welcome Carol Lozier as a guest voice on Touching Trauma at its Heart.  Carol, a member of ATN's Board of Directors, is a clinical social worker in private practice in Louisville, Kentucky.  Her website, www.forever-families.com, offers a blog, free downloadable tools for families, an excerpt of her book, and a supportive community of adoptive and foster parents.

Today’s post is written to my colleagues -- therapists who work with adopted or foster children and their families.  In educational workshops parents are instructed:  Remain in the room during your child’s psychotherapy. Yet, most therapists are trained to do the opposite.   Most therapists meet with the parents and child separately, and then work with both parties together for a short time. While this practice is commonplace, it is not optimal for adoptive or foster families.

A long time ago, I decided to keep parents in the session.  At first, it did feel odd but not only have I become accustomed to it, I prefer it. So with that in mind, here are my top ten reasons therapists should incorporate parents into their child’s session:

Shake Off the Bad Mood

By Gari Lister

This morning I started off my day with a cascade of nastiness from my usually reasonably-fun-to-be-around fifth grader.  “I’m not going to eat those pills.  Are you serious?  Is that what we’re having for breakfast?  Well, of course, we’re going to be late because of her [the sweeter younger sister].”  First, I spent a moment thanking my yoga teacher for helping me to understand equanimity. 

Rules . . .

By Gari Lister

Experts advise that kids with developmental trauma need calm, stability and predictable limits.  And in fact I know my youngest does better when she knows her schedule, and exactly what is expected of her.  The problem is that peace, stability and a well-ordered life are not always easy to come by in a household filled with a bunch of poorly behaved dogs and cats, not to mention the children or broken appliances.   For that reason, I’m always a little defensive about our organizational dynamics.

The Manner of Goats

By Marc Deprey

I don’t know everything about goats, but I do work in land conservation and deal with landowners who face problems with invasive species of plants and livestock issues. What I do know is that goats are nature’s eliminator. They really do eat anything and everything.

Hope Overcomes Heartbreak

By Gari Lister

My post last week was scary and sad for some of you, but please do not confuse heartbreak with a lack of hope.   I have a huge amount of hope for our kids, and for the progress that we are making in helping them.  For every child like my Katya, there are many, many more children who can and who do heal.  My youngest, in fact, is a poster child for healing – at 10, she is perhaps a little odd, and she is certainly a little quiet.  But she has an amazing sense of humor, she loves to ice skate and take ballet and she can talk my ear off when she wants to – a far cry from the little girl who screamed for hours every night when we brought her home and from the 5 year old who didn’t and wouldn’t talk.  Now, yes, we haven’t lived through her teenage years, so perhaps there are crises yet to come.

How Many Kids Do I Have? . . . Month Two as a Throw-Away Mom

By Gari Lister

Our oldest daughter, Katya, has been gone nearly two months.  She packed the car with everything she could find, changed her phone number, blocked us on facebook, and disappeared into the urban Dallas wilds.  In many ways, our life is back to normal, and I have adjusted to my new status.  Only a few weeks ago, I couldn’t stop myself from pulling away from the little girls in subtle ways.  I finally realized I was petrified they too would throw me away, walking away without a backward glance.  I’m mostly now able to accept the risk.  

Are Dead Children the Benchmark for Adoption?

by: Julie Beem

This whole Russian adoption ban issue is ridiculous! 

There, I said it.  I suspect many of you were thinking it.  A knee-jerk political reaction designed to make Americans in general, and American adoptive parents in particular, look like violent, evil monsters.  The Russian government uses the deaths of 15 Russian-born adoptees as the fuel to stop thousands of adoptions and to insist that they be allowed to come to this country to provide oversight on our adoptive families.

How Possible is the Impossible?

By: Nancy Spoolstra

Last weekend I saw the movie “The Impossible” with my husband and very pregnant daughter. The movie is about a family of 5 that miraculously survives the Indian Ocean tsunami intact … no family member perished. Most families were not nearly so fortunate. The movie is all about relationships. I don’t think there was a dry eye in the house … at least among the movie-goers who were healthy enough to be in relationship with one or more other people. I left that theater wanting to hug each and every member of my family who is near and dear to me. And it forced me once again to examine the dichotomy of my family dynamics. 

Why I hung up on my son

by:  Nancy Spoolstra

It has been nearly five years since I regularly blogged at adoptionblogs.com, and I have been excited to resume blogging, although on a less rigorous schedule. So it was surprising to me that I was struggling to get this first blog written. I think I wasn’t quite sure how or where to start. As many of you understand, five years can be a long time and a big change in our families ... or, it might be five years later and the same old, same old. In my case, I am five more years down the path of redefining my life without the daily reality of breathing the same air as one or more children with severe attachment issues.

It Doesn't Hurt to Laugh

By Anna Paravano-Frise

Ok, let’s face it:
“Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t.”  (Hershey’s)
Kind of like that nutty guy on the ceiling in the movie “Mary Poppins” who sang, “I love to laugh!” I really do love to laugh! I love anything and anyone that makes me laugh. BC (Before Child), I really bought into the notion that “laughter is the best medicine.” Life can be such a serious business so I made it a point to watch comedies and comedians as a way to release stress, fight depression, or simply have fun. Yes, I loved a good drama but when times got tough, I used laughter as one of my coping mechanisms. 

Science tells us laughter is a good way to change our body chemistry – literally “changing our minds,” if you will.  Adding some levity to our lives can actually improve our health and the overall quality of our lives. So, laughter was one of the really basic and cheap ways I found to take care of myself in the down times.
Since becoming a therapeutic mama to a traumatized child, opportunities to laugh, joke, etc. came few and far between.  

I'm Perfect...I'm a Failure

By Julie Beem

LuLu and I build gingerbread houses.  We build them for the annual competition at her virtual school.  She’s a serious competitor.  Prior to the houses we built for the last competitions, I had absolutely no gingerbread house experience.  It has been a trial by fire – and a lot of work!  But the interesting thing is that it’s been a fruitful adventure and one that showcases some of her talents.

Attachment -- Barbie Style

By Gari Lister

Our attachment therapist a long time ago suggested that if my girls had a difficult time with my massaging and touching them, I could have them rub lotion on me.  Well, I started out with lotion, but I have three girls so . . .  the lotion turned into nail polish, and the nail polish turned into hair styling, and the hair styling turned into makeup.  Every so often, one of my little girls runs into the bathroom and runs out with a lotion or a blush or a handful of hair accessories and gives me a hopeful look.