The cursor is mocking me again, flashing rhythmically in the face of my ignorance. The ubiquitous, blinking line anticipates my words, but I have none. This morning the page glows white, empty as the coffee mug beside me, reminding me that while I may seem qualified to write on the topic, I am nevertheless an adoption amateur. Sure, I can dish out advice on fundraising and agency hunting. I can quite easily construct a witty “how to” article on navigating Costco unscathed by the onslaught of obliviously inappropriate transracial adoption curiosity that seems to pool in its aisles. I can climb atop my well-worn soapbox to remind an audience that orphan care has little to do with parenting children and so much more to do with ending the cycles that produce parentless children like poverty, prejudice and disease. I can fool readers into believing that I am an adoption authority, a voice to be heard on the subject. My resume supports the assertion, but reality proves I’m a novice.
My roles as an adoptive mother to two precious children, a writer and speaker on the topic of orphan care, and the manager of a growing adoption grant fund, do not an expert make. No matter the many angles from which I observe the process and lifelong journey of adoption, I can never see it through the eyes of my babies, the ones who confronted confounding pain and abrupt loss as they emerged screaming from a womb that did not swell below my rib cage. In a mutually beautiful and devastating exchange, my children have been transplanted. And like an organ that’s been removed from one body and placed in another – there are adjustments, side effects. Both external and internal scars exist. The possibilities of rejection, acceptance, restoration and malfunction commingle. Only time will tell what results of the event. Though I explore, and diligently research, best practices for optimum healing – I remain clueless. I simply cannot understand or experience adoption in the way that my children do and yet I have sole charge of mothering them into adulthood, guarding their hearts and protecting their intimate histories in the meantime. This realization is as equally tremendous as it is terrifying.
The conundrum of adoptive parenting is to sensitively supporting our children as they traverse the peaks and valleys of their story. Often we fail the task, turning their pasts into our platforms and promptly taking membership in the “Offended Adoptive Parents Club.” While our kids quietly mature in the awareness of their beginnings, we make war against public affronts of both ignorance and innocent curiosity. We publically share our experiences, on any number of forums, commiserating on the exasperating (and sometimes sanctimonious) duty of ours to educate the imprudent world on adoptive-parent-approved vernacular and etiquette. We claim that we are fulfilling our roles as adoptive parents, that we are simply protecting our children from the onslaught of discourtesy that threatens to pollute their otherwise perfect childhoods. But, are we sincerely shielding the adoptee on every occasion? Or are we sometimes simply defending our own ideals and perspectives?
Several weeks ago an adoption video went viral. It compared adopted children to breast implants and challenged viewers to refrain from asking any question about adopted children that they would not also inquire about fake boobs. For example, “Where did you get those? Are they real? How much did they cost?” While I’ve most certainly been accosted with those very inquiries in reference to my colorful family, I did not appreciate the clip. The tone was antagonistic, devoid of grace, and the comparisons disrespectful. However, many adoptive parents did enjoy the piece. They praised it, posted it and shared it on social media. They commented about their mutual experience, offered additional associations (equating FAKE boobs with REAL adopted children!!!) and vented about the nerve of those outside the “Offended Adoptive Parents Club” who were, whether by lack of personal experience or tact, not well-versed in proper adoption lingo.
I observed the social media frenzy through the screen of my smart phone with fresh eyes, convicted by how quickly I have raised my own figurative fists in response to the sometimes-nosy, sometimes-interested adoption questions of strangers. I admit that I’ve many times found relief in the realization that other adoptive families experienced similar circumstances and sometimes even chuckled at the recounting of their peculiar and disastrous conversations. But lately, and it’s about time, my security in the adoptive parent “community” has become strained by the awareness that my children will one day become adults. Soon, it won’t matter what I thought best, or was advised by my parenting comrades, to reply to the elderly woman who pointed at my son with shaking, wrinkled hand and mumbled questions about his native language and former living conditions. What will matter most is how my adopted children would have liked me to respond, how they perceived the interaction, and what wounds were exposed from the words that were exchanged.
Viral videos, ranting blog posts and amusing adoption-related articles are largely produced by adoptive parents, for adoptive parents. These “resources” may serve to incite a good laugh, but they do little to provide knowledgeable guidance and acumen on the more delicate matters and less cultivated terrains of the adoption journey. While most of us know, with some degree of certainty, the excitement of losing a first tooth or the shame of wetting a bed long after we’ve been potty trained; not many of us have personal experience as an adoptee. It follows then, that we cannot confidently anticipate or completely empathize with most of the adoption-related issues and emotions that our children will encounter. Yet, we seldom pursue guidance from those who can.
A number of adult adoptees have gone before our beloved ones. They are the forerunners for our children. But their voices are often silenced, their stories disregarded, by the throngs of adoptive parents purportedly eager to defend them. Rarely, do we consult these experienced individuals or glean from their knowledge, instead satisfied to advise one another from our own limited assumptions. Why are many adoptive parents content to overlook the opinions of actual adoptees when it comes to the adoption language we encourage or the media we promote? Have we ever stopped to consider their input or read their responses to some of our well-meaning behavior? Why is it that we are more enamored with “humorous” breast to baby comparisons than documentaries like the one detailing an Ethiopian adoptee’s desire to return to her homeland or the one following an adult transracial adoptee who is reunited with her birth family? Do adoptive parents truly want to be educated or would we rather be entertained? As long as we remain the prevailing resource in the orphan care and adoption community, our wisdom will be partial and ineffectual at best. At worst, it will be painful and destructive. It is this humbling realization that draws me to my knees.
In my quiet moments with God, while my heart whispers prayerful petitions for wisdom and experienced counsel, He reminds me of His great love for my children. As I earnestly plead with Him to teach me how to prevent the wounds of rejection and loss that threaten to assault my little ones, the Spirit speaks of Christ’s resurrection. “I have already overcome. You need only to point them to me.” He believes in my kids. The God who formed them in their first mother’s womb trusts in their ability to wrestle with the circumstances of their past and emerge victorious. Yes, He has commended them to my care and has given me grace to partner with Him in their nurturing. But, he has also equipped them personally, through the Holy Spirit, with hope, strength and wisdom for their journey. “Follow their lead.” I hear Him say and I am all at once reminded of the little child who overcame the world, not with sarcastic quips or arrogant slights, but with merciful love and humility. His gentleness confronted the most violent of assaults, His peace is what won the battle.
“The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them.” Isaiah 11:6
I am an adoptive mother, and I am a novice. With this revelation, I respectfully relinquish my prideful position as educator and choose instead to be a student. May I seek not the counsel of fellow pupils, but the wisdom of the experts, two of whom are seated at my kitchen counter. While my fingers tap into words the inadequacies of my adoption understanding, they are gabbing over milk and oatmeal. Their little legs are swinging freely from the bar stools, drumming the cabinets with alternating thumps. The cursor, still blinking, beats in time with their percussion – no longer mocking my ignorance but applauding my confession: I AM AN ADOPTIVE MOTHER, AND I AM A NOVICE.
Below are some adult adoptee resources (most are also linked within the article) to consider:
1. Girl Adopted: http://worldchannel.org/programs/episode/girl-adopted/
2. Closure: http://closuredocumentary.com/
3. Lost Daughters Blog: http://www.thelostdaughters.com/
4. Transracial Adoptee Roundtable on Viral Video: http://www.thelostdaughters.com/2014/04/adoptees-round-table-discussion.html
My roles as an adoptive mother to two precious children, a writer and speaker on the topic of orphan care, and the manager of a growing adoption grant fund, do not an expert make. No matter the many angles from which I observe the process and lifelong journey of adoption, I can never see it through the eyes of my babies, the ones who confronted confounding pain and abrupt loss as they emerged screaming from a womb that did not swell below my rib cage. In a mutually beautiful and devastating exchange, my children have been transplanted. And like an organ that’s been removed from one body and placed in another – there are adjustments, side effects. Both external and internal scars exist. The possibilities of rejection, acceptance, restoration and malfunction commingle. Only time will tell what results of the event. Though I explore, and diligently research, best practices for optimum healing – I remain clueless. I simply cannot understand or experience adoption in the way that my children do and yet I have sole charge of mothering them into adulthood, guarding their hearts and protecting their intimate histories in the meantime. This realization is as equally tremendous as it is terrifying.
The conundrum of adoptive parenting is to sensitively supporting our children as they traverse the peaks and valleys of their story. Often we fail the task, turning their pasts into our platforms and promptly taking membership in the “Offended Adoptive Parents Club.” While our kids quietly mature in the awareness of their beginnings, we make war against public affronts of both ignorance and innocent curiosity. We publically share our experiences, on any number of forums, commiserating on the exasperating (and sometimes sanctimonious) duty of ours to educate the imprudent world on adoptive-parent-approved vernacular and etiquette. We claim that we are fulfilling our roles as adoptive parents, that we are simply protecting our children from the onslaught of discourtesy that threatens to pollute their otherwise perfect childhoods. But, are we sincerely shielding the adoptee on every occasion? Or are we sometimes simply defending our own ideals and perspectives?
Several weeks ago an adoption video went viral. It compared adopted children to breast implants and challenged viewers to refrain from asking any question about adopted children that they would not also inquire about fake boobs. For example, “Where did you get those? Are they real? How much did they cost?” While I’ve most certainly been accosted with those very inquiries in reference to my colorful family, I did not appreciate the clip. The tone was antagonistic, devoid of grace, and the comparisons disrespectful. However, many adoptive parents did enjoy the piece. They praised it, posted it and shared it on social media. They commented about their mutual experience, offered additional associations (equating FAKE boobs with REAL adopted children!!!) and vented about the nerve of those outside the “Offended Adoptive Parents Club” who were, whether by lack of personal experience or tact, not well-versed in proper adoption lingo.
I observed the social media frenzy through the screen of my smart phone with fresh eyes, convicted by how quickly I have raised my own figurative fists in response to the sometimes-nosy, sometimes-interested adoption questions of strangers. I admit that I’ve many times found relief in the realization that other adoptive families experienced similar circumstances and sometimes even chuckled at the recounting of their peculiar and disastrous conversations. But lately, and it’s about time, my security in the adoptive parent “community” has become strained by the awareness that my children will one day become adults. Soon, it won’t matter what I thought best, or was advised by my parenting comrades, to reply to the elderly woman who pointed at my son with shaking, wrinkled hand and mumbled questions about his native language and former living conditions. What will matter most is how my adopted children would have liked me to respond, how they perceived the interaction, and what wounds were exposed from the words that were exchanged.
Viral videos, ranting blog posts and amusing adoption-related articles are largely produced by adoptive parents, for adoptive parents. These “resources” may serve to incite a good laugh, but they do little to provide knowledgeable guidance and acumen on the more delicate matters and less cultivated terrains of the adoption journey. While most of us know, with some degree of certainty, the excitement of losing a first tooth or the shame of wetting a bed long after we’ve been potty trained; not many of us have personal experience as an adoptee. It follows then, that we cannot confidently anticipate or completely empathize with most of the adoption-related issues and emotions that our children will encounter. Yet, we seldom pursue guidance from those who can.
A number of adult adoptees have gone before our beloved ones. They are the forerunners for our children. But their voices are often silenced, their stories disregarded, by the throngs of adoptive parents purportedly eager to defend them. Rarely, do we consult these experienced individuals or glean from their knowledge, instead satisfied to advise one another from our own limited assumptions. Why are many adoptive parents content to overlook the opinions of actual adoptees when it comes to the adoption language we encourage or the media we promote? Have we ever stopped to consider their input or read their responses to some of our well-meaning behavior? Why is it that we are more enamored with “humorous” breast to baby comparisons than documentaries like the one detailing an Ethiopian adoptee’s desire to return to her homeland or the one following an adult transracial adoptee who is reunited with her birth family? Do adoptive parents truly want to be educated or would we rather be entertained? As long as we remain the prevailing resource in the orphan care and adoption community, our wisdom will be partial and ineffectual at best. At worst, it will be painful and destructive. It is this humbling realization that draws me to my knees.
In my quiet moments with God, while my heart whispers prayerful petitions for wisdom and experienced counsel, He reminds me of His great love for my children. As I earnestly plead with Him to teach me how to prevent the wounds of rejection and loss that threaten to assault my little ones, the Spirit speaks of Christ’s resurrection. “I have already overcome. You need only to point them to me.” He believes in my kids. The God who formed them in their first mother’s womb trusts in their ability to wrestle with the circumstances of their past and emerge victorious. Yes, He has commended them to my care and has given me grace to partner with Him in their nurturing. But, he has also equipped them personally, through the Holy Spirit, with hope, strength and wisdom for their journey. “Follow their lead.” I hear Him say and I am all at once reminded of the little child who overcame the world, not with sarcastic quips or arrogant slights, but with merciful love and humility. His gentleness confronted the most violent of assaults, His peace is what won the battle.
“The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them.” Isaiah 11:6
I am an adoptive mother, and I am a novice. With this revelation, I respectfully relinquish my prideful position as educator and choose instead to be a student. May I seek not the counsel of fellow pupils, but the wisdom of the experts, two of whom are seated at my kitchen counter. While my fingers tap into words the inadequacies of my adoption understanding, they are gabbing over milk and oatmeal. Their little legs are swinging freely from the bar stools, drumming the cabinets with alternating thumps. The cursor, still blinking, beats in time with their percussion – no longer mocking my ignorance but applauding my confession: I AM AN ADOPTIVE MOTHER, AND I AM A NOVICE.
Below are some adult adoptee resources (most are also linked within the article) to consider:
1. Girl Adopted: http://worldchannel.org/programs/episode/girl-adopted/
2. Closure: http://closuredocumentary.com/
3. Lost Daughters Blog: http://www.thelostdaughters.com/
4. Transracial Adoptee Roundtable on Viral Video: http://www.thelostdaughters.com/2014/04/adoptees-round-table-discussion.html
Lauren Uhrich lives in Mount Joy, Pennsylvania with her husband, Ken, and their three children, Izzy, Norrah and Lawson. An avid writer, she is currently working on her first novel and blogs regularly at www.luwrites.com. Lauren serves on the leadership team of Threshold Church and also manages the RubyMyles Fund, providing grants and fundraising opportunities to adoptive families. Her other passions include books, beards, vegan baking, humanity, and the arts.
