The Social Worker Comes Tonight

Tonight is our last post-placement visit with our adoption social worker. When we adopted, Lesotho required a social worker visit and report at three months, six months and one year. (I think this has changed a bit now that they are under Hague.) So, now that Paul has been home for one year (!) tonight is our final visit.

I honestly don't remember much about our three-month visit. I was in a bit of a haze. I'm sure I was nervous - this was a brand-new-to-us agency, so we didn't know the social worker yet. After "the summer of constant togetherness" we had all gone back to school so between my two jobs I was working what felt like all the time plus dealing with Paul's anxieties plus overanalyzing our family attachment plus hoping Sam was holding it all together because I hadn't really paid much attention to her for the last three months (and would the social worker ask how Sam was doing and how would it look if I said, "Sam? My daughter, you mean? That Sam?") plus waking up at 5:30 EVERY SINGLE MORNING. I know I was nervous because it was the middle of the week and I CLEANED THE HOUSE. So that was weird.

But it felt like a relief to sit down and talk about what we were learning about Paul and what we were learning about ourselves and how much fun this was and how scary and hard this was and maybe we were going a little crazy? "No, not crazy. Family. You're going a little family." And it was like a deep breath. And at six months again we got to share what we thought was going well and what was NOT going well and was it trauma stress or just regular kid stuff and she said, "Yes, both together probably" and we agreed at how impossibly hard it was to replicate Dr. Purvis's calm, soothing voice when your child is TRIGGERING YOUR OWN STRESS and we practiced, "Whoa, buddy, try it again with respect" and we laughed because we did NOT sound like Dr. Purvis AT ALL but that was okay because we were working this thing as best we could.

So because I tend to overanalyze I've been wondering how I'll answer the social worker when she asks, "How are you?" The tendency, of course, is to say, "I'm fine, and you?" because that's how we operate in a civilized society when no one really wants to get too messy under the surface. But one thing I love about our social worker visit and our adoption support groups and our dear friends - it's an opportunity to get messy under the surface. So how will I answer?

1. How am I? "Well, I'm reaching out." I know I need more opportunities to share my messy under the surface and to walk with friends through their messy under the surface. I'm an introvert, and I work with people all day, so once home I tend to want to put the kids to bed and turn off my phone/email and curl up with a book. I'm not good at calling people or making plans or reaching out. I'm also not always good at listening once I'm home because I've been listening all day and once home I just want to FIX THIS LITTLE PROBLEM AND BE DONE WITH IT ALREADY. And it's hard to just listen. But when I do, when I make time to share life with someone who wants to share life with me, and when we can listen to and be honest with each other, I'm better for it. A better parent and a better person. So that's one thing I need to work on.
2. How am I? "Well, I'm learning." One thing I both love and fear about this journey is that I'm learning to accept my children right where they are, to LOVE them unconditionally, and also to ACCEPT their thoughts, feelings, perceptions, values even if those are different from what I think they should be. This is so hard. I'm well-schooled in cognitive-behavioral therapy and behavior management with consequences and rewards. And so when my son gets mad because his favorite shorts are dirty and I won't wash them right this second and says, "I hate you! I want a different family!" my heart clutches and I immediately start to overanalyze (Does he hate me, really? Do we have some ambivalent attachment issues going on? Or is he just being mean and trying to get his own way. And seriously, how spoiled is THAT to demand I wash his shorts on command. Laundry isn't even MY job in this house. That's it! I am DONE with this backtalk! There will be CONSEQUENCES!) But I'm learning, with Paul, that the consequences or the lectures or the cognitive-behavioral stuff don't work until I've accepted where he is at that moment. So when I wailed about what to do with this because he can't walk around saying he hates me every time his shorts are dirty my counselor friend encouraged me to go all empathy on him and put those active listening skills to use IN MY OWN FAMILY. "Wow, it sounds like you are really upset about those shorts. It seems like you are mad at me because I am not going to wash your shorts?" And when I can do it - which isn't every time or even often - it helps. It takes time, but we sometimes get to the point where we can get to the real hurt, the real issue, and then he choses a different pair of shorts and gives me a hug and tells me he loves me and then we can talk about the consequences of hurtful words. All without my doing a single load of laundry.
3. How am I? "Well, I'm stressed sometimes." What's hardest about this journey for me is balancing the need for limits and discipline and quiet with the above need for acceptance and empathy and play at a particular moment for a particular situation for each particular child. Gah! And I'm working on trying to accept myself when I screw up that balance. Like on Saturday night when he got all grumpy and dysregulated and annoying and hate this, hate that after what was a fun but overstimulating day and I was all, "I AM NOT EVEN GOING TO DEAL WITH YOU RIGHT NOW SO JUST HUSH!" Because I was tired and whatever with this. WHATEVER. And he shut down and got all sullen, which elicits quiet but not the kind of quiet that heals or helps, and I knew this with a cold knot of guilt deep down but I was still all whatever, I don't care, it's quiet. And later, much later, I read, "Parenting a child with developmental trauma leaves a parent at risk of excessive stress and secondary trauma," and I'm all, "Really? You think, Dr. Know-it-All?" because I tend to use sarcasm as a coping skill. And then I read, "It's important to be kind to yourself. Support is a lifeline, essential to your own well-being. Seek support. Make time to relax. Forgive yourself."  And I'm all, "Okay."
4. How am I? "I'm grateful." I am grateful to be married to one of the calmest, most easy-going, yet playful men in the world. He just gets it, intuitively, this parenting-of-Paul thing that we're doing. So while I'm getting all overanalytical and empathetic and trying to channel the Dr. Purvis voice, Trent calmy hauls Paul to the couch and begins scratching his stubble beard all over Paul's stomach and Paul laughs hysterically completely out of his bad mood. He knows when to listen, when to ignore, when to correct and when to tickle. He's the child whisperer. And he's also really good looking, too.
5. How am I? "I'm amazed." For the last year I've had the priviledge of getting to know an incredible, smart, hilarious, annoying, exasperating, strong-willed, sensitive, curious, adventurous, brave little boy. This little boy whose world has been shattered and pieced back together is willing to risk heartbreak every time calls me mom, tells me he loves me, wraps me in a hug. Learning to love him the way he needs to be loved and seeing his willingness to love in return has taught me so much about myself. This has reached deep inside of me and shown me my hurts, my insecurites, my stressors, my inadequacies. Which isn't all that fun, but which allows God to heal and support and encourage. The redemption journey of parenting amazes me every day.

So, I'm fine. And you?