Friday, December 11, 2015

History of an Adoptive Mother

So it has been awhile since I last blogged. That really isn't too surprising since I am a teacher, grad student, and mother of three school-age kiddos. The semester of the school year has passed without anything of real significance occurring. In our world, that is a good thing!

Everyone is doing well in school. We are loving our riding lessons and the great things that horses can teach us. Church is still a major part of our world and our social circle. I have one more paper before I complete my program. I have been getting healthier and feeling stronger and more fit. I actually feel like I am reaching a point in my life where I can focus more on myself again. That only took 3-5 years, depending on when I start counting. In reality, I went in to "the dark ages" in 2010 after our first miscarriage. I couldn't go out in public. I had panic attacks when I saw pregnant people and baby stuff. Essentially, I was hibernating. Was I hiding? Perhaps. I remember that I finally worked up the courage to go to Walmart, only to discover they had rearranged it so that baby items were right near the entrance. I nearly ran out of the store. Then there was the panic attack in the theatre when my husband and I went to see Salt. And the birthday I don't remember. Literally. I am not sure if I celebrated or just stayed in bed. The stress wiped all memories of that time like a magnet over a hard drive. There was the school year that I didn't start because I had a mental breakdown and flew to be with my grandmother who had just had surgery for colon cancer. That was the year I didn't even set up my own classroom. Some wonderful friends and colleagues took care of it all for me. I mean, there is literally a folder in my file cabinet labeled "first week of school," so I am sure they had some help on my end.

I had almost felt normal again after awhile. Not really normal; more like "settled." I could talk to pregnant people again, and I had a bit of a social life. Then, nearly three years ago, we brought home our kids. What a wonderful Christmas gift they were! That began the next phase of life that lasted until now. Maybe I will refer to it as "the great depression." Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love my kids. The adjustment was very difficult. In hindsight, I hadn't really stabilized my mental health fully. I was still running on fumes, depleted by anxiety and anticipation. When the kids came, we all held it together for awhile, and then we all fell apart. Adjustment, trauma, loss, grief, and stress caught up to us all. Depression hit me like a ton of bricks. I withdrew into myself and became angry and fearful. I lost my whole identity. All of my interests and pursuits were put on hold. I literally gained 25 pounds. I felt, at times, like I was folding down into myself. Yes, there were times of great joy and fun memories, but it was a difficult period.

I now feel like I am on the verge of the "the enlightenment." [I do realize these time periods do not match up with the actual historical time periods.] I am finding myself again. I went on a trip to NYC. I drove to the airport, hopped on a plane with a backpack and a carry on bag. I had my friend's address and a vague plan of how the trip would go. When I was hungry, I ate. I didn't plan anything. When I landed at La Guardia, I got in the taxi line and gave the cabbie the address. I nearly vomited during the ride, but I made it. And I loved the freedom and unpredictability. I rode the subway for over an hour to pick up my sister the next day. By myself. I was not lonely. I just listened to music and went with the flow. Then my sister and I went to Grand Central Station to meet up with another friend. We had no plans besides going to see Wicked the next day. We explored neighborhoods, checked out gelato and bagel shops, and ordered cookies at midnight from a cookie delivery place (they arrived still warm). We took in all the tourist sights that Manhattan offers in seven hours - the whole island. From the World Trade Center Memorial to a carriage ride in Central Park, Little Italy and China Town to Rockefeller Plaza. My feet were killing me, and my stomach ached, but somewhere on the Metro, I found myself again. The strong, educated woman who isn't intimidated by new people and experiences. The woman who enjoys reading, cooking, and performing. The small-town Minnesotan who has traveled all over the world. The same woman whose guts and determination were exactly why she was able to find her kids and adopt them. Somehow this woman had been lost. I am so glad she is found. Do I think that life will be easy now? No. But I feel hopeful that I can now continue to return to the woman I once was, albeit an older and less naive version.