Making Decisions

Hand-stitched dad and I are notorious for our decision making skills. We like to sit with the question, weighing up an endless supply of ‘what ifs’ and second-guessing what we (and others) want. Social workers love that we took our precious time (three years in fact) between our first enquiry and our decision to proceed. They will love it less when waiting for our answers during home study, I’m sure.

The government was not thinking of me and hand-stitched dad when they decided to reduce the assessment period to eight, six and then four months. We genuinely need time to process and adapt to what we learn about adoption and about ourselves. We are thoughtful and considerate people. We are not good at making decisions.

Age? Not an exclusion factor.

Gender? Don’t care.

The social worker from Rural Adoption Agency pointed out to us that we needed limits, otherwise we would have thousands of children thrown at us once approved. We looked up BAAF’s matching criteria form and discovered we still couldn’t draw a line.

“You need to talk about it more.” The social worker suggested. I thought to myself: we’ve talked about it plenty; what we need is a way to make decisions.

The social worker’s face took on a dreamy look when sharing a story about the magic of telling an adopted child they had been chosen. “We chose you.”

I cringed.

Based on my own experience of trauma and neglect, the last thing I wanted to hear as a child was that I’d been chosen. I would much rather have had a choice. I would have wanted someone listening to me and giving me a say in the decisions. It’s not easy getting to know a traumatised child on that level. But that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be done.

Where on the BAAF form does it say: “I would like the child who would choose me” ?

Hand-stitched dad and I were both on a natural high after the social worker left. We bounced from the kitchen to the dining room, putting away snacks and hanging up laundry. We reassured each other. “It went fine.” “Did I talk too much?” “No. Was I okay?” “Was I okay?” Yes. Yes. Smiles. Hugs. This is it. “The first step!”

We babbled excitedly about Rural Adoption Agency. I was pleasantly surprised by some of what the social worker described. It fit my impression of the agency from my research and monitoring. It’s nice when evidence corroborates like that.

Hand-stitched dad had preferred Little City Adoption Agency. But he shrugged, with a smile, “I can’t think of a reason not to go with Rural adoption agency.”

I paused and smiled. “Neither can I.”

We looked into each other’s eyes and our smiles grew. We bounced up and down together, both exclaiming in unison: “We just made a decision. We just made a decision!!!” Then we collapsed in fits of giggles at our absurdity. We smiled at each other. We held hands.

The first step.

Advertisements

Believing in yourself

For a number of reasons, Hand-stitched Dad and I were not gifted with a substantial dollop of self-confidence. This comes out in different ways.

Hand-stitched Dad is more reserved, considerate, and deferential. That’s him, through and through. He’s like that when you meet him. He’s like that when you get to know him. He’s like that, when you’ve known him for years. I love Hand-stitched Dad‘s calming consistency and carefulness. Most people agree: he’s very likable, albeit quiet.

I have an altogether different sort of consistency.

When we first meet, I will be charming. Many adopters will recognise this sort of charming. It’s the charm of someone who is too scared to fight, who just wants us all to get along, who wants you to smile and move on, who wants you to believe this girl is stronger than she is. It’s the charm of someone who has spent more time getting to know other people than getting to know herself.

It’s the charming face of trauma.

As we approach our first home visit, our confidence quakes. I remind myself: before we submit ourselves to their judgment, we opened ourselves up to our own. Our story doesn’t begin and end with trauma.  We are more than our charming faces and vulnerable hearts.

I think, ‘What if they reject us?’ but the train of thought only ever comes back to disappointment in them, because I believe in us. I think of our deepest, darkest days, and I remember: we made it through them with dignity. We lived and we are better people for it. Yes, we are made of grief, more grief than most people our age hold. But we are made of more than grief.

If I can learn how to grieve and still love, so can our child. I  may not be the most careful or considerate person. I have a hundred holes, and I will never fit in. I’m displaced. I’m forever learning my limits. But this: parenting a traumatised child. This I can do.

Just a Prospective Adopter

“As you are still a prospective adopter, you can have little real idea of what it is like actually to parent one of the most difficult children in the system, though your understanding will have been augmented greatly by being able to read these boards. ” [Bold mine]

Really, it’s never nice to be told what you are.

But that’s not what I want to comment on. I want to challenge the idea that the biggest difference between the quoted person and me is that they are parents and I am not.

If you search the scientific literature, you don’t read that traumatised children thrive best with people who have experience raising a ‘difficult child.’ You read that traumatised children thrive best with people who have experienced and resolved their own trauma successfully — presumably because these sorts of parents have genuine empathy and resilience. Experience raising a child doesn’t really factor into that equation, because people don’t need to be experienced parents to have the resources, understanding and motivation to take care of a traumatised child.

In my masters training, I was told by a child psychotherapist that “children choose” who to trust. They “choose” based on their complex experiences, or rather — how their experience of you fits into their previous experiences. It is a mostly automatic process, as people do not always have the capacity  to step back from and challenge the connections between emotions, thoughts and behaviours. As I observed child-adult interactions for my course, I saw this in practice: we are all captive to our life experiences. It is difficult to challenge our semi-automatic judgments of people, including ourselves.

I am a prospective adopter. But my ideas of what it is like to “actually parent one of the most difficult children in the system” come from my own life experiences not my adoptive status nor the amount of time I’ve spent reading adoption boards. I trust that my home study will fully explore these experiences in order to answer that very question.  I may even share a bit of my history with you here. Please don’t mistake this future disclosure of information as seeking your approval, as I don’t want or need it. The only people that matter regarding my parenting skills are the people in my care and the people who sometimes act on their behalf (aka the social workers).

What I can offer you, dear reader, is the same respect, consideration and acceptance of your disclosures that I demand for mine.  I understand that we may have had different experiences; we may make different choices. But we are united by how we take responsibility for those experiences and choices: our actions, our beliefs. We strive to understand, to know more, to do better. We share our vulnerabilities and strengths, by our own choice, and in time we realise that respect has less to do with shared experiences and everything to do with acknowledging ourselves.

I empathise with the original source of the quote. They were motivated by a desire to protect the vulnerable members of their group. I am reminded again that I’m an outsider  a prospective adopter. As an outsider a prospective adopter, I have no leverage to challenge the way things are done. Strange how this experience of rejection and frustration feels a little like… a real idea relevant life experience.

Don’t worry, I have a support network in place to cope. 😉

Rural’s Viability Assessment

As we had attended an information meeting for Rural adoption agency at the end of 2012, the next step was to speak with a member of the social work team. She called in the middle of the day and asked if I had approximately an hour to complete the viability assessment.

“Doesn’t my husband need to be present?” The administrator had said we would both need to be present for the conversation.

The social worker said no, it wasn’t necessary unless we wanted to both be present. I knew hand-stitched dad would much prefer me to do the talking, so I said it was okay to go ahead. “I’ll do my best to answer for my husband.” And I made an effort to reflect on what we both might answer and shared honestly, even (especially!) when they differed.

My first impression of the social worker was that she had a bright voice and sounded kind and considerate. I wondered if she had counseling training, as she listened well. I felt comfortable talking with her.

She asked about:

  • Our names
  • Our address
  • Our contact details
  • How we found out about Rural adoption agency
  • When we attended the information meeting
  • Our ethnicity
  • Our religion
  • Our children, if any

Then, she explained about the process of adoption. I listened carefully, but was secretly pleased that I already knew everything she shared.  She specifically emphasized the need for contact with birth families. She asked for my thoughts. I said we had no problems with contact, as long as it was in the best interest of the child and “everyone involved agreed to review it as the child develops.” The social worker was impressed by this answer and explained a bit more about how contact was decided.

She then asked about:

  • Our expectations of adoption
  • Our medical history
  • Our reasons for adopting
  • Criminal disclosures, if any
  • Our knowledge of children in care
  • Our support network
  • Our work life
  • Our finances

She asked if I had any questions. I asked her for advice on timing our house move . She said that the best time is before the child is matched and placed, as any changes will be too disruptive. I was relieved that we wouldn’t be excluded from the process because we were considering moving house. There is no guarantee it will sell!

I had other questions, but the social worker sounded pretty eager to share the results: she was recommending that the Rural adoption agency proceed with our enquiry! She said that she could tell from my answers that I valued transparency and honesty.  She said that it was clear we had taken time to gather information and prepare ourselves for the next step. She said it was good that hand-stitched dad and I had different personalities and strengths as we would balance each other. She then asked how I would describe our relationship. I thought immediately of what my counselor said years ago.

“Devoted” I mused. ” ..that’s what others have told us.”   I swear, the social worker smiled.

I talked some more. I thought fondly of hand-stitched dad.  “We are not everything we want to be, but we are proud of our strengths.”

The social worker explained that her report will be reviewed by the monitoring group, who then decide whether to proceed. They have responsibility for prioritising prospective adopters’ enquiries to meet the needs of children currently in care.  The social worker advised us that we would receive a letter with the results of the review. She also hinted that there may be a wait due to the current backlog of enquiries as a result of a recent marketing drive. Again – not a concern for us, as that gives us more time to get the house sold! I told her we were not in a hurry.

The social worker finished the conversation by giving her full name and contact details. She advised us to call her if we had any further queries or wanted an update on the process. We haven’t had a need to call her yet, as we understand the process fairly well.  I may give her a call if we do not hear from them in April.

Overall, my experience of the viability assessment phone call was very positive. Despite our increasing knowledge of adoption, hand-stitched dad and I are ‘utter newbies’ and lack the confidence that experience brings. We sometimes feel inadequate as prospective parents, so it is validating to get such a positive response from a social worker regarding what we have to offer. The social worker sounded genuinely excited to meet us. She did her best to reflect our answers and provide feedback. It felt nice to have someone recognise and value our strengths, while keeping in balance our vulnerabilities.

I called hand-stitched dad immediately after the assessment, and he was amused at my excitement: “I can tell; you sound really pleased.” I chattered about every single question the social worker asked, on the phone and again at home. Hand-stitched dad confirmed that I did a good job representing both of us.

Two weeks later, we received the letter from Rural adoption agency. The letter confirmed that they would like to proceed with us and that the next step would be a home visit from a social worker. They said that they would contact us as soon as possible in April to arrange a time.

We look forward to hearing from them!

Starting this blog

Today, hand-stitched dad and I agreed to start a blog about our family. We aim to:

  • share our experiences of adoption and belonging as multi-cultural family in England,
  • meet other people with similar or different experiences of adoption, and
  • promote adoption as a means of therapeutically parenting children in need.

We have been married for just under ten years, and it hasn’t been easy. Hand-stitched dad and I struggled through several pregnancy losses and endless tests before accepting that we would not be able to conceive a family through the traditional route.  We opted not to have fertility treatments. Instead, we have spent the last few years re-building our relationship, strengthening our support network, and preparing ourselves for the biggest roles of our lives: becoming adoptive parents.

We chose the name ‘hand-stitched family’ because adoption is a bit like that for us: purposefully stitching together a family. It will be slow, hard work, sometimes painful even, but we have the confidence that somewhere out there is a child (or two) that will be better for belonging with us. So, please join us as we get to know ourselves and each other in the process of hand-stitching our family.