"Oh God, I can't do this. What do I do?"
This is the thought that fell like an anchor in my churning stomach last week as my newly adopted pre-teen son was in the middle of a dysregulated episode; he was tearing up family pictures with a pale face that was void of emotion while I looked on hoping that his behavior would be confined to this room today. I prayed silently that he wouldn't escalate his emotions to self-harm this time. I cycled through the TBRI training we've had over the past several years, trying to think of a magic tool that could end this uncomfortable situation that was compounding my stress from an emotionally hard week. I thought about some of the regulation strategies (like these), but knew that in my son's case, he isn't there yet. He didn't have the wherewithal to take steps to self-correction. He was in the middle of fight or flight, and he was escaping through selective mutism and he was fighting (thankfully, safely) with the tearing of the photos and his hasty dismantling of his Legos, which he later attempted to bury in the backyard. Why? I have no idea. Dysregulation is often baffling and seems to make no logical sense. And on top of all that, it can leave a parent feeling hopeless, helpless, angry, and regretful.
As parents, particularly as adoptive parents, we don't like to acknowledge hard, negative emotions. We don't like to admit that we have moments of regret or desperation. But the hard truth is that those emotions happen. And that is okay. I'm sure we've all had moments at work, in various situations, where we wanted escape and hastily considered options we'd likely never choose, whether that is to quit your job, tell off your spouse, or ram your car into that person that cut you off at the red light. As much as we'd like to deny it, we feel things sometimes that can seem so wrong, or *gasp* even evil.
Adoption, particularly older-child adoption, is hard. It is sacrificial. It is exhausting. Our kids are broken, hurt, dealing with thoughts and emotions that we can seldom understand. And in this moment of dysregulation, this moment of my son behaving erratically and angrily, I felt lost. I felt those nasty, embarrassing negative emotions. So, what did I do? How did we resolve it? I chose control and empathy over personal comfort. That is what we do for our kids. This is how they learn control. By seeing us maintain our 'calm.' We don't have to lie about it, either. In fact, I told my son in a calm, loving tone that these moments make me afraid too. I softly explained that I get angry and just want the uncomfortable part to be over. But, that life isn't easy, and we learn to make it through it. I modeled self-regulation. But, guess what? That didn't end it. That magic tool I wanted so badly doesn't exist. Some things have to be lived. They have to be felt. They have to run their course. And this was one of those moments. In the meantime, I gave him a model of control, spoke softly and empathetically, offered loving proximity and contact as he would allow, maintained silence as he needed it, and stood guard to protect him from himself (and others from him if necessary). Inside, I was a storm of uncertainty, frustration, and inadequacy. Outside, I was his anchor that he wasn't aware he needed.
Some may read this and think, "I could never do that." Others may feel this confirms their reservations about adoption (or fostering or hosting, etc). But let me tell you, you can do so much more than you think. It isn't about how capable you are NOW, but how well you prepare yourself for these moments. We often look at training and education as simply an obligatory means to an end. But in the case of parenting kids from hard places, our preparation is an investment that goes on to mean the world to a child in our care. We choose to be uncomfortable so they can learn to manage their discomfort. We choose to hurt, so they can learn to heal. We choose to know feelings of inadequacy and helplessness, so they can learn autonomy and personal industry. This is the love that Christ demonstrated to us on the Cross of Calvary, and it is the love that his Word challenges us to show this world within our daily lives, whether to the orphan, to the widow, or to the neighbor on the other side of the tracks.
This is my anthem in our current transition: "And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up." (Galatians 6:9, ESV) The continual investment is draining. This morning, in the last half-hour, my son has asked me if I love him about 30 times, about once every minute. Not to be funny, but because he feels a constant need for affirmation. That we love him, that we will never leave him, and that even when times are hard, we will be his refuge. He is rebuilding his sense of trust, and he needs and deserves the love and patience that helps him to do that. Whether it is saying 'I love you' a million times a day, or dealing with a snoring 12 year old sleeping next to you in order for him to feel safe, or enduring the difficult and painful moments of his dysregulation, this is our charge. To care for those who are in affliction. God gives us the strength. He causes us to endure. He gives us grace where we fail. We are able, as the apostle Paul did, to boast in our weakness, so that His strength is shown perfect. We may not be able, but God ALWAYS is.
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