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<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 747808" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>My son is adopted too. He was 22 months when he came home. It was a miracle. We bonded instantly and our relationship was filled with love. I too was confused and hurt when things started getting so difficult when he was in his teens. In our case, at first it was mouthiness, mild hostility and bucking up against me. As long as I felt that he was happy and on track emotionally, I was okay. I fell apart when he became depressed. When he had no motivation. When he began to experience his life as very painful and himself to be inadequate. And then he rejected me. The pain was intolerable. The very thing that was the balm, became toxic, when it was withdrawn.</p><p>No. It was not a facade. I will tell you what I think about being human. I think we all have broken parts. I think we are often able to live for long periods, feeling like we work. Like we are able to function, and be effective and to not suffer unduly in our lives. But then things change. For some of us, we hit a developmental stage where we are challenged. It may be hormones, it may be developmental, it may be mental illness that kick in. For others of us, something external happens to us that triggers memories, or that we cannot deal with. And the brokenness that has always been there but heretofore not triggered, comes to define us.</p><p></p><p>For most of the parents on this site it is the latter thing that happens: we are hit in the face with an extraordinarily painful circumstance that we cannot bear: our child is suffering and turns against us, or presents us with a reality that we find impossibl eto bear. For our children, it is the former: they are challenged by something internal to them, that triggers early wounds, or genetic patterns are triggered, or mental illness manifests.</p><p></p><p>The babies and children they were was a true thing. But they are dealt new cards which they cannot integrate.</p><p>I am most likely of a different faith, so I cannot comment about how you may experience G-d. I will comment upon how I experience this. I believe that the suffering viewed one way is a gift of G-d. My love for my son is a thousand times richer looking back. Oh how easy it was to love my gorgeous boy with blonde curls. I have written thousands and thousands of posts here on this site. Seven thousand? I don't know. Maybe more. Eight thousand? Probably. I could write 100 times more, and this would not exhaust my commitment to him, my desire to find a way to hold all of this pain, fear, anxiety, guilt, dread...and more than that...to find the wisdom in the wound...and to find the way to be in relationship with my son and with myself in a way that contains all of it, with hope, with acceptance and with strength.</p><p></p><p>I see this trial as a way to deepen my humanity and to deepen and strengthen the best in me, which is G-d. When I consider myself as I was, I feel I was shallow and to some extent simple. I may be sad and stressed, but I am a better woman. I seek to be the mother that my son needs, who is stronger, more contained, hopeful, rooted, and able to stand on her own, without requiring validation from my son...about my worth or any other thing.</p><p>There is a simple answer which is "life happens." In my faith there is the belief that we each of us in any moment have the capacity to be both good and evil. In all good there is a kernel of evil, that can be corrupted. I think our children pass through times where they become unmoored from the good that is in them, and they get caught up. And that becomes a test for us, too.</p><p></p><p>I know in our case, I descended in some moments to some of the deepest pain and ugliness I have experienced in my life, when I felt triggered and challenged by my son's behavior. I think that going through what we go through, that's kind of normal, to touch that kind of ugliness. But we do not have to stay there. Every single second there is an opportunity to choose differently. For us, and for them.</p><p></p><p>I can see my son changed. It is a miracle. There are still some very hard things. He is homeless right now. He is not productive. He does not take care of his health as I would like, and I am afraid. His hygiene is not what I would want. He self-medicates with marijuana (which I hate). He is quirky. And the list goes on.</p><p></p><p>But his moods have stabilized. He has more self control. He doesn't start yelling at people on the street, like before. He is generally calm. He is learning that he has to accept rules, or suffer the consequences, which is to leave. He can be loving to me, after a very long time, unwilling to be so. He is not spouting conspiracy theories nearly as much or he has learned to contain it to a large extent around me. There was a time I would cut short phone calls when he started in. (Thinking about those calls, there was a time, not long ago that speaking with him was unbearable. The hostility. The dominance. (Let alone the time they were going to throw him off the train, because he spoke aggressively to the dining car attendant.) Most of all, his self-loathing seems to be greatly reduced. He expresses hope, and sometimes, self-acceptance. He speaks about some things realistically, with understanding, and even, occasionally, with wisdom.</p><p></p><p>While I am not convinced he ever had this diagnosis, he has been diagnosed bipolar, too.</p><p></p><p>What I am trying to say is that we do not know where this is going. We only see a tiny piece of what's happening. We do not know the meaning or why we are going through what we go through. I have come to see this, all of it, as a spiritual challenge, as well as a developmental one, for me. I needed to develop the resources to stand alone, and to stand in faith and hope. As I have become more able to do so, my son has been too.</p><p></p><p>I think that your questions are entirely understandable in the situations we find ourselves. But at the same time, I believe they are very unkind to you. I believe the questions have the effect of stripping away your skin, like a kind of medieval torture, when more than ever you deserve self-compassion. We, all of us do.</p><p></p><p>This is not your fault. You do not deserve punishment or self-flagellation. This is the time for us to wrap ourselves in the arms of a loving G-d, if we are believers. But that's how I think and feel, now.</p><p></p><p>Let me say it again in a different way. Let's be kind to ourselves.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 747808, member: 18958"] My son is adopted too. He was 22 months when he came home. It was a miracle. We bonded instantly and our relationship was filled with love. I too was confused and hurt when things started getting so difficult when he was in his teens. In our case, at first it was mouthiness, mild hostility and bucking up against me. As long as I felt that he was happy and on track emotionally, I was okay. I fell apart when he became depressed. When he had no motivation. When he began to experience his life as very painful and himself to be inadequate. And then he rejected me. The pain was intolerable. The very thing that was the balm, became toxic, when it was withdrawn. No. It was not a facade. I will tell you what I think about being human. I think we all have broken parts. I think we are often able to live for long periods, feeling like we work. Like we are able to function, and be effective and to not suffer unduly in our lives. But then things change. For some of us, we hit a developmental stage where we are challenged. It may be hormones, it may be developmental, it may be mental illness that kick in. For others of us, something external happens to us that triggers memories, or that we cannot deal with. And the brokenness that has always been there but heretofore not triggered, comes to define us. For most of the parents on this site it is the latter thing that happens: we are hit in the face with an extraordinarily painful circumstance that we cannot bear: our child is suffering and turns against us, or presents us with a reality that we find impossibl eto bear. For our children, it is the former: they are challenged by something internal to them, that triggers early wounds, or genetic patterns are triggered, or mental illness manifests. The babies and children they were was a true thing. But they are dealt new cards which they cannot integrate. I am most likely of a different faith, so I cannot comment about how you may experience G-d. I will comment upon how I experience this. I believe that the suffering viewed one way is a gift of G-d. My love for my son is a thousand times richer looking back. Oh how easy it was to love my gorgeous boy with blonde curls. I have written thousands and thousands of posts here on this site. Seven thousand? I don't know. Maybe more. Eight thousand? Probably. I could write 100 times more, and this would not exhaust my commitment to him, my desire to find a way to hold all of this pain, fear, anxiety, guilt, dread...and more than that...to find the wisdom in the wound...and to find the way to be in relationship with my son and with myself in a way that contains all of it, with hope, with acceptance and with strength. I see this trial as a way to deepen my humanity and to deepen and strengthen the best in me, which is G-d. When I consider myself as I was, I feel I was shallow and to some extent simple. I may be sad and stressed, but I am a better woman. I seek to be the mother that my son needs, who is stronger, more contained, hopeful, rooted, and able to stand on her own, without requiring validation from my son...about my worth or any other thing. There is a simple answer which is "life happens." In my faith there is the belief that we each of us in any moment have the capacity to be both good and evil. In all good there is a kernel of evil, that can be corrupted. I think our children pass through times where they become unmoored from the good that is in them, and they get caught up. And that becomes a test for us, too. I know in our case, I descended in some moments to some of the deepest pain and ugliness I have experienced in my life, when I felt triggered and challenged by my son's behavior. I think that going through what we go through, that's kind of normal, to touch that kind of ugliness. But we do not have to stay there. Every single second there is an opportunity to choose differently. For us, and for them. I can see my son changed. It is a miracle. There are still some very hard things. He is homeless right now. He is not productive. He does not take care of his health as I would like, and I am afraid. His hygiene is not what I would want. He self-medicates with marijuana (which I hate). He is quirky. And the list goes on. But his moods have stabilized. He has more self control. He doesn't start yelling at people on the street, like before. He is generally calm. He is learning that he has to accept rules, or suffer the consequences, which is to leave. He can be loving to me, after a very long time, unwilling to be so. He is not spouting conspiracy theories nearly as much or he has learned to contain it to a large extent around me. There was a time I would cut short phone calls when he started in. (Thinking about those calls, there was a time, not long ago that speaking with him was unbearable. The hostility. The dominance. (Let alone the time they were going to throw him off the train, because he spoke aggressively to the dining car attendant.) Most of all, his self-loathing seems to be greatly reduced. He expresses hope, and sometimes, self-acceptance. He speaks about some things realistically, with understanding, and even, occasionally, with wisdom. While I am not convinced he ever had this diagnosis, he has been diagnosed bipolar, too. What I am trying to say is that we do not know where this is going. We only see a tiny piece of what's happening. We do not know the meaning or why we are going through what we go through. I have come to see this, all of it, as a spiritual challenge, as well as a developmental one, for me. I needed to develop the resources to stand alone, and to stand in faith and hope. As I have become more able to do so, my son has been too. I think that your questions are entirely understandable in the situations we find ourselves. But at the same time, I believe they are very unkind to you. I believe the questions have the effect of stripping away your skin, like a kind of medieval torture, when more than ever you deserve self-compassion. We, all of us do. This is not your fault. You do not deserve punishment or self-flagellation. This is the time for us to wrap ourselves in the arms of a loving G-d, if we are believers. But that's how I think and feel, now. Let me say it again in a different way. Let's be kind to ourselves. [/QUOTE]
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