Tears of Transition

Change involves pain, especially for a child who has been adopted.

I knew that it was inevitable. Yet in my hopeful naivete, I thought we had somehow avoided it. Of course, we didn't. It was simply delayed.

When we began our journey into adoption, I remember being told that an adopted child will carry the scars of abandonment throughout his or her life and that these scars would be experienced most deeply during times of transition. Change brings uncertainty. That uncertainty is accentuated by the fears and anxieties rooted in having been separated from one's caregivers. By the time they are placed in their forever families, most adopted children have endured abandonment at least twice, first by their birth parents and then by their orphanage or foster home. No matter how young they are when these separations occur, and no matter how necessary and even good the separations were, the scars left upon these children are deep and lasting.

Not surprisingly, children who have been adoped crave routine and predictability. They need to feel some control over their lives to combat the subconscious fear that everything could be stripped away, as it once was. A major life change results in a loss of that predictability and perceived control. It's scary. It's scary for an adult who can understand and process the hidden fears and feelings, even an adult who has not faced such severe abandonment. How much more frightening it must be for a child who has.

Well, I suspect that a transatlantic move qualifies as a major life change. I expected to face serious reactions during our relocation back to America, especially from our four adopted daughters. But we threw a curve ball into the transition...we extended it by traveling the US for two months before settling into our new home and life.

All of our children fared amazingly well throughout our cross-country journey this summer. We were constantly on the go, seeing new places and meeting new faces almost every day. As we entered the van, someone always asked, "where are we sleeping tonight?" Honestly, the kids held up so much better than Jim and I did. From the oldest to the youngest, they met the adventure of each new day with courage and enthusiasm. I was pleasantly surprised and happily willing to accept it.

Somehow I forgot about all of the trauma that such changes were brewing in the hearts of my children.

We've been in our new home for one month now. About a week ago, I started to notice certain behaviors appearing, behaviors we haven't faced in quite some time. Angry, defiant outbursts, hyper-emotional reactions to little things, overpossessiveness of objects and people, cruelty to siblings, stolen food, soiled underwear hidden in drawers. Tough stuff, yucky stuff, stuff a frazzled mother was not quite prepared to confront.

At first, I didn't recognize it for what it was. I just wanted to extinguish the bad stuff as quickly as possible so that I could get back to unpacking and lesson planning. Why did all of this misbehavior have to happen when I had so much else to do? Frustrated and weary, I judged the behaviors without looking into the hearts whose pain had borne them. I should have known better from the start, but thanks be to God, the eyes of my heart are now open wide.

And so, the boxes can wait. The lesson plans can wait. Right now my top priority is to create a stable, loving environment, a place that my children will know as home. Not necessarily a physical place, but a place of the heart. I must find a way to carve some peace out of this chaos, because they absolutely sense my stress and preoccupation and it terrifies them. I must become their steady anchor. They need to know that no matter how much bad stuff they throw at me, I will never abandon them but will love them forever with all of my heart. Because I am their mother. By God's grace alone.

In Him who is the source of my strength, I have strength for everything.
Philippians 4:13