There have been times in these last 4 years that I have wished that we had
never adopted Anna. Even now I wonder why writing that last sentence does not
bring a greater waive of guilt upon me. But to understand the whys and hows, you
will need to journey back to a time when our family did not have Anna and did
not know the power that one 9-year-old could hold over a family.
There was, once upon a time, a family of 5. Two parents and 3 wonderful
children who had been adopted from different countries. This family was very
well adjusted. They had just purchased a new home, and mother was now able to
stay at home with her children. Each child was well bonded to his/her parents,
and the parents counted themselves as very fortunate in being blessed with the 3
most wonderful children on earth. This was my family. Our children were ages 6,
7 and 10 when we first saw the picture of Anna, a waiting child described as
happy, outgoing, witty, friendly and eager to please. Our 10 year old had been
wishing for a sister closer in age to herself, and we were not opposed to
adopting again. This child, being almost 9-years-old, seemed like a good match
for our boisterous, energetic family.
Although we had adopted before, and in fact our 10-year-old was age 7 at
adoption, this new adoption brought me much anxiety. Part of it was the idea of
upsetting the birth order of the children, and part of it was simply the
unknowns involved with adopting a child of this age. Still, her beaming smile
and dancing eyes in photos eased my fears and with excitement we moved forward
with the adoption.
Many months later, at the end of 2000, my oldest daughter and husband
traveled to adopt our new daughter, Anna. They would be with Anna in her
birth-country for nearly 3 weeks.
Four days after leaving, my very tired husband called to say they spent the
last 2 days visiting Anna at her orphanage. She was a pistol and very anxious to
leave the orphanage behind and come “home” (to the hotel) with her new dad and
sister. I tried to pry out of my husband what exactly our new daughter was like,
but all he would say is that she was outgoing and seemed very happy. My
10-year-old summed it up to me with, “Mom, she doesn’t act 8 years old. She’s
like a baby!” I really didn’t know what to make of that…
As the days went by and Anna came to stay with my husband and daughter at the
hotel, more and more I began to feel a sense of unease about this adoption. Each
time my husband called, it was with a fresh and frustrated report of the days
events. Anna was making phone calls from the hotel while he was in the shower,
or Anna threw a fit when he wouldn’t buy her a trinket. Anna, it would seem, was
a handful. The final straw came one day when Anna left the hotel room and an
hour long search ensued, finally finding her “hanging out” in some shops near
the hotel. She yelled at and berated her new father with an obvious scorn. Back
in the hotel room a translator was called. Anna would not give any reason for
her actions except to say her father was mean for not buying her the items she
had wanted in the shops. The next weeks Anna was never let out of sight. The
adoption was completed and a very tired little group landed at the airport in
our home city.
Through all of this, I truly felt it was just a matter of my husband being a
“softy”. I am the stronger parent in our relationship and I believed it was just
a matter of getting our new daughter home where I could demonstrate a loving
environment with good boundaries. Boy was I in for a big surprise!
It is to my great fortune that we had adopted another older child before
Anna. Although the first older child adoption hadn’t been without wrinkles, it
was a progressive and very satisfying bonding experience. Our oldest daughter
had few adjustment issues and was eager to be loved and give love. However, she
had demonstrated, however gently, the culture shock, language issues, and
sadness that come with any older child adoption. I was well prepared for these,
thank God. What I was not prepared for is some of the damaging things that had
been done and said to our newest daughter while she was still in her
orphanage.
Apparently, the older children in her orphanage are led to believe that when
you are adopted by Americans, your life is a golden road filled with all the
toys and games you could ever desire. You will never have to go to school, do
chores, and of course you will have your way in any and all things. So deeply
was this belief ingrained in Anna, that the crushing reality of her new home
sent her into an absolute tail-spin of despair. A trip to the grocery store
could have her lying in the aisles absolutely screaming and crying because I
would not buy 7 cans of beans instead of 6. Meanwhile, I would stack the other 6
cans back on the shelf, attempting to send the message that if this behavior
continued to be exhibited, she would get nothing. OH! How many times I would
need to repeat this process for the lesson to sink in!
When Anna first came home to us, it became very apparent that she did not
have the maturity of a just-turned 9-year-old. In fact, she didn’t even relate
to our 7-year-old. In maturity she was closest matched to our 6-year-old child.
Her personality, described as outgoing & friendly, could only be described
by her new family as bossy, abrasive, destructive and sneaky. Her method of
“fitting in” to the family was to divide and conquer. Since she did not like 2
of her siblings, she set up a system of ignoring them, breaking their toys and
ordering her 6-year-old sister not to talk to them. Lying was as 2nd nature as
breathing. Though it all, I counseled my children as best as possible, and
viewed these behaviors as “orphanage survival behaviors”. Dealing with them
would take more patience than I ever know I could possess. Our other children
found themselves horrified when she once dropped her pants and urinated in the
drive way. Her face was never more than a ½ inch above her plate as she loudly
ate her food. Her incessant whining about who had what, “Why I not have? Why you
not buy for me? Anna needs! Anna needs! Anna needs!”
I knew this was all behaviors that could be dealt with. With time and
patience, Anna would learn. However, it quickly became apparent that the
greatest obstacle might be insurmountable. Anna appeared to have absolutely no
desire to bond to us. Her complete abhorrence for her father was apparent. She
couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him (and no, she was not abused in
her orphanage, she just had no use for her father). She told her sisters he was
big, mean, old, fat etc. I asked her one night, “Anna, what is it you want from
this family? We want you to love us.” Her response was simply, “I love it when
you buy me things. I like my sister.” And the truth was, as much as she did not
like us…….we did not like her. I realize how horrible that sounds, but the
simple fact of the matter was this: This was an extremely unlovable kid.
Defiant, whiny, loud, stubborn, disobedient, and irritating. It wasn’t that hard
for my husband and I to admit to each other the truth: This Adoption was a
Mistake.
Once we admitted that, the next step was asking, “What is the solution?” The
answer to that question is what this story is really about. Because if you have
made it this far, you may just be thinking, “What an awful family! How could
they not love a child that was now their daughter??” I know what you are
thinking, because I would have thought and asked the same thing before Anna
became our child.
By the time we asked this of ourselves, Anna had been home a year. We had
decided to teach her English at home (it was mid-school year when she arrived)
and give her time to adjust before sending her to school. Although we began with
just 15 minutes her day, Anna would cry, actually sob, and repeat over and over,
“Watch TV! Want to watch TV! You are mean, mean mother. Very bad! Bad!” TVs had
been on all waking hours in her orphanage and Anna had never attended school.
Her obsession with watching TV, I felt, contributed to her inability to tell
reality from fantasy. It’s hard to explain, but she just could not tell what was
real or not. By the end of the summer we were up to about the 1st grade level
and Anna had learned English at lightning pace. I could tell there was a bright
mind in there that had never been tapped.
Now almost 10 years old, she was still at about a 6 year old level in
maturity. With our oldest daughter struggling in school, we made the decision to
keep her and Anna home for a year to give them each a chance to “catch up”. I
re-doubled my efforts to show Anna affection, be fair, and bond with her. And
so, after that first year, my husband and I found ourselves with the all
important question: “What do we do with a child we do not love and who does not
seem capable of attaching to us?”
Our first decision was NOT to disrupt. We would raise Anna as our child to
adulthood and do the very best we could with her, expecting very little in
return.
Our second was for my husband to avoid contact with her, as he had completely
lost all patience with her antics.
Our third decision was that I would continue to “pretend” to love her.
Our 4th was to continue homeschooling her, limiting her ability to cast us
aside like so much garbage for her fantasy of a “good family” that was out there
somewhere.
There is not much more to say about the next year (her 2nd year home). She
learned that obeying the rules meant privileges, disobeying meant a loss of the
things she found fun. She learned, though with loud wailing, to do her chores.
She never failed to cry and sob while cleaning her room or putting her plate in
the sink. She learned to read and do math, though the tears flowed with any
attempt to have her write sentences or engage her in any school work she deemed,
“NOT FUN!” The rest of us learned to ignore her fits and accept that she would
always be here, regardless of our feelings.
In her 3rd year home, the changes began so slightly, so very, very quietly,
that had she not been constant with them, I very well might have squashed them
without ever even knowing they were happening.
In order to tolerate her hatred, my husband insisted that when he walked into
a room where she was, she must say, “hello dad”. At first she refused and
continued to ignore him even when he spoke to her (which she had been doing for
2 years). He would then say, “Hello Anna”. If she did not respond, she went to
her room, alone, for ½ an hour, a true torture in her estimation. She finally
broke and without exception would start saying, “hello dad” when she heard him
even come close to a room where she was. This led him to respond, “hello, Anna,
what are you doing?” It was murderous torture for her to give even a 3 word
response, but she would do it. This went on for months.
In the meantime, I had grown so accustomed to being tough on Anna, being
strict, watching for her to step out of line, waiting for her to talk back,
throw a fit, or defy me in some way, that when she finally, quietly made up her
mind just to do what was asked and expected of her, I didn’t at first notice it.
It just suddenly came to me one day when I saw her helping to do the dinner
dishes (her chore 2 times a week) without complaint, that she hadn’t been
whining as much….in fact, she had been completing her homework assignments
without crying for…hmmmm….weeks? How could I have missed this? And so, I began
to watch Anna in a different way. That is when I found out the most difficult
truth of all: My heart had hardened towards this child.
It began the next morning. The girls were getting out of bed, giving me hugs,
and I just wanted the hug from Anna to end as quickly as possible. In fact, I
found myself almost pushing her away! That same afternoon I found the lunch
table a mess and assumed it was Anna. I was ready to start her chastisement when
her brother admitted it was he who had not cleaned up the table. How quick I was
to blame our “difficult child”. That night, like every night, I lay down next to
each child and let him or her just speak to me…..I noticed in myself a familiar
rushed feeling as I lay next to Anna….I did not like feeling her next to me. OH!
What and who had I become? Could I despise this child so much as to abhor her
touch? The answer was simply, yes. Yes, I could. And Yes, I did.
Anna, it seemed, was changing. I had been pretending to love her. Telling her
I did, making sure she got hugs. Making sure she was warm at night, putting
concern in my voice when she was hurt. We had vacationed as a family, and in
every way tried to make her feel accepted as one of the family. But yes, I was
also very hard on her in other ways. Still, this pretend love was the closest
thing to “real” that she had ever had in her life, and it had been going on for
almost 3 years now. Anna was responding to this. And I was a fool not to see
it.
As the next months came and went, I found myself making sure that I noticed
Anna’s efforts, her attempts to control her behaviors, and her shedding of
negative and disrupted traits that she no longer ‘needed’ in this new family. I
prayed for God to soften my heart towards her, and I shared these happening with
my husband. Our conversations about Anna became more positive and we started to
relax our vigilant watchfulness towards her. My husband made more of an effort
to tolerate Anna’s silences and discomfort with him, and to praise her for just
about anything. It didn’t happen over night, these many changes.
It’s been over 4 years now. Anna is now 13 years old. Her maturity level is
at about a 10-year-old level now. She’s independent, but willing to listen and
try advice. She loves to read books and is only allowed 1 hour of TV per day.
She knows why and understands (and yes, accepts) why this is, and the other
children must obey the same rule. We are more open with each other now. We talk
with each other about improving our relationship, about her dreams and hopes for
the future. Anna is part of our family now in a real way.
Do I love her? Yes, in a way I do. I feel a great affection and respect for
her, and the love is growing over time. It wasn’t an easy love to come by. But
it is rooted now in fertile soil. We have weathered the biggest storm. Anna
still won’t go off and do something with her dad alone, like the other children
love to do, but she enjoys “Dad night” when my husband gives me a night off and
takes the kids out for dinner and to the movie rental store once a week. She
makes him cards and eagerly shows him her artwork. She gives him hugs, willingly
now and that is something I would never thought would happen.
And so I will end this story as it began. There was, once upon a time, a
family of 6. This family was very well adjusted. They all had helped each other
to grow and stretch in new and wonderful ways. They learned together about
patience, love, faithfulness, dedication, forgiveness and hope. When the storms
came and the wind blew, this family learned to bend together, but did not break.
And all the grafted branches made the tree that much stronger.
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