This post is written by Kristin, Kristin is an adoptive mom, an adoptive big sister, an adoptive aunt, and the granddaughter of two adoptees.
It can be a difficult thing to not do, at times, because your child’s storyline may not be very positive. But it’s critical that we never bad mouth our child’s first family. Here’s why…
My mom taught me not to talk about people behind their back. I appreciate that lesson. It was something that she and my dad not only taught us but something they also modeled.
This journey is hard. There’s no question. When we signed up for it, we never knew loving children from hard places would take so much out of us. We didn’t realize that, even when we felt empty, we’d have to keep going. But that’s what real love is all about.
It’s a cold and dreary day in Central Indiana. I’ve got a little extra time on my hands so I decide to do something I don’t often do. Go to the gym. I need it. It’s been a long and harsh winter, with plenty of sitting around and waiting for the weather to clear, plus I pay for a monthly membership fee. I cringe even as I type those words.
Sometimes it’s hard to feel a genuine connection with our children. Especially if we have a lot of difficulties with them often. But trust that love is there. Even when it doesn’t feel like it.
It’s no secret that some types of people are easier to love. It’s no secret that some types of people are hard to love. It’s not a secret that some types of kids are easier to love. There are even some types of kids who are SUPER HARD to love. The BIG secret however, is that sometimes they are your very own children. Even if they are biological. Sometimes connections are just easier with some than others.
This is a guest post by our good friend, Natalie Brenner, who has also been a guest on our podcast, The Honestly Adoption Podcast. She is an adoptive and biological mother, as well as a blogger, and the author of the book This Undeserved Life
. Make sure you check out her blog by clicking here
Many adoptive parents are also the parents of biological children. But there is no difference, or degree, in the love they have for all of their children, adopted or bio. Here’s why…
“I just have to ask… do you love Sage as much as you love Ira? I mean, I know you say that you do…but I’m just so curious if it’s true.”
We sat on my living room floor when she asked me this. With a world of confidence and pride in my chest I was able to nod, and beam, and let her know that I absolutely love Sage as much as I love Ira.
You may not believe it by reading that headline, but our blog, which is mainly about how amazing and beautiful adoption and foster parenting is, has come under fire. A lot, actually. Finally, we’re breaking our silence and responding.
It’s not kidnapping. It’s just not.
Before I continue, I must say this: there are some people who have experienced a lot of hurt as a result of the adoptive journey. Some have had their children removed unfairly. Some have consented to an adoption only to have the post adoption plan change. A very good friend of ours was forced to place her baby for adoption as a teenager, she didn’t have any rights. These stories are heartbreaking. But that isn’t what we are talking about here.
Almost 2 decades ago, we first discussed adoption and I resisted. Thankfully, my heart changed. Today, I’m a better person because of adoption. Here’s why…
I awake early on a Monday morning to begin my typical weekday routine in my household. Quick workout at our local gym, buzz home quickly while I chug water, arrive home and wake kids up, head to the kitchen to make lunches, simultaneously start breakfast, give a check to backpacks, gently remind my kids to get up again, warm the car up for carpool, consider pouring ice cold water over the stragglers who are still sleeping, then kiss the heads of the ones who have made it downstairs in relatively good time.
Many of our children have come from significant trauma and that often prevents them from logical thinking. This can be frustrating, even maddening at times. Our temptation is to shame or lecture. But there’s a better way…
My kid had been caught red-handed. On camera, but also by the evidence spilling out of his bedroom. Literally…spilling out of his bedroom. If someone had rounded the corner and punched us square in the face, we would have been less shocked. And you better believe we saw red. Not only were we angry, but embarrassed, ashamed, and bewildered. This was not acceptable at all.
Yesterday we took our daughter to meet her birth mother for the first time in her (almost) 15 years of life. We were all nervous, anxious, and excited. But I had no idea I would be moved to tears.
The wind was whipping down the corridors of buildings along 16th street in downtown Indianapolis. Although the sun was shining bright, it was cold. A typical late December day in Indiana. I eased the car into a spot across the street from the vintage coffee shop we were meeting in, turned the ignition off, and turned to look at my daughter sitting quietly in the back seat. She smiled at me. Kristin suggested we pray before going in, and so we did.