Friday, February 18, 2011

The Words Bleeding Me—Compassion




            There never has been an emotion so disturbing to me as a mother, as feeling no compassion toward my own children.   Before adopting our two Ethiopian children I had read of families who struggled to attach and much ado is made of attaching and bonding in adopted children.   I have even had a friend or two who struggled with attaching to their biological children for several months after giving birth.  But the substance of non-attachment was one I could not grasp.  I had no frame of reference.  No emotions to give it shape.  Like being told to make a paper-mache doll with only a form and no physical materials, nor instructions for applying these missing materials and actually create something— this is what I held in regards to attachment; an idea I saw straight through with no meaning.

Once home, it didn’t take long for all that substance to surface.  And surface it did—like a wounded soldier pouring his blood over the battlefield, frantically ripping clothes to stop the bleeding.  The materials of non-attachment were overwhelming me—anger, resentment, regret, loss, physical discomfort and lack of compassion.  No compassion.   Still, my chest is tightens as I write it.   Horrified that I could experience such ugly sentiments towards children, let alone children I had chosen to mother. 

His crying didn’t move me.  Her protruding belly from malnutrition only frustrated me.  Their mood swings and ugliness towards my three biological boys angered me.   The clinging to my husband, the laughing in my face taunting, “No love Mommy.  Only love Daddy!”  Running to any other parent for attention, affection and acceptance.   The outlandish tales of a rosy existence in Ethiopia.  The refusal to eat—or the hoarding at every meal.   Touching them, holding them and comforting them made me desperately uncomfortable.  I could have been hugging one of my mother-in-law’s cactus plants with more ease.

            No compassion. 

            Oh, what a horrible mirror it is which reveals a shallow love! 

 Of course, that is not true.  Such a mirror is the best kind, but at the moment of revealing, it may as well be shattered glass broken over one’s head.   All those years of loving my children, I took for granted.  I assumed I knew what love was.  I assumed I had a heart of sacrifice.    I remember looking into each one of my son’s eyes the day in which they were born, knowing that if I had to die in that moment so they might live…. I would plunge the knife myself.

The first time I looked into the eyes of my Ethiopian children…they were empty.  Empty, pathetic eyes which looked right through me.  But by the power of God Almighty, the many witnesses and my signature on the dotted line…I could have driven away and never come back. 

No compassion. 

For a time, I held it in, terrified to confess my horrible secret.  Finally when I did reveal my ugly truth, not many knew what to do with it.  “I think you show great compassion by not letting them continue to live in their woundedness,” one friend encouraged, after an exhausting day of feeling like all I did was discipline them.  Others just listened—sometimes crying with me, sometimes admitting this is why they would never adopt themselves. 

Maybe it was the last statement which sparked just enough indignant emotion to dare believe compassion would come.  Who am I to deny these two a full, loving home, opportunity to truly live and experience all God has for them, all because of my insecurities?  Is God not big enough to change me?  Did He not know me and all my below-the-surface shallowness before we ever walked through adoption’s door?  Wasn’t He the one who gave me a compassion for the widow and the orphan in the first place—a compassion which bled enough to act? Though it was still struggling for position with fear and guilt, compassion began pulling forward.  I started praying for compassion to take hold.

Somehow I believed that I would wake up one day and just “feel” deep, overwhelming compassion and once I did, it would stay.  I would always “feel” like their mom, and there would be no more of this shallow love nonsense.   Apparently the mirror still shatters easily over my head.  Compassion is in constant competition with residual guilt and fear.    But it knows its proper ground and the battle is well fought.

I recently read a passage from Psalms 103:

Praise the LORD, my soul;
   all my inmost being, praise his holy name.
2 Praise the LORD, my soul,
   and forget not all his benefits—
3 who forgives all your sins
   and heals all your diseases,
4 who redeems your life from the pit
   and crowns you with love and compassion,
5 who satisfies your desires with good things
   so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.

I have not traveled the roads of post-adoption very well.  But after 19 months, I am encouraged.  I see that I am “crowned with love and compassion”.  I didn’t crown me, God Almighty did.  He forgives my insecurities, He heals my shallowness of heart.  He redeems my life and I wear a most glittering crown of precious jewels.  I am satisfied with His goodness and thankful for the bleeding time, which has brought forth compassion-- whether I feel it always resting on my head or not.

….Now, if only the frown line on my forehead would be erased as my youthful energy is being renewed like the eagle’s.  Oh well, that’s what bangs are for, right?

8 comments:

Amy said...

This is EXACTLY what I need to read today. Thankyou for sharing your heart and opening yourself to the world. I think of your family often.

jody said...

YOU ARE NOT ALONE!!!! I just want to encourage you in that. I have written a similar blog post about 6 months after we came home (which was about 22 months ago), and that was a while ago. I STILL struggle, and we brought home our daughter as a baby so that is not always the "perfect" scenario either. Yes, some of the feelings have changed,love comes a little more readily than it did, but it has just not been the easy road I expected, I guess. The reading of blogs and the online community can be great, and at the same time so destructive-b/c if you don't fit the "sunshine and rainbows" mold, you feel like a failure, like the chief of sinners and what kind of mother can i be???? but that is the work of the enemy, sweet lady, and we are NOT HIS. So yes, it is hard, and yes, it is worth it, and YES, many days I need to remind myself that through gritted teeth :). But, you are NOT alone, not only do you have Jesus walking right alongside you, you have other adoptive parents out there who get it, too :) Please feel free to find my contact info on my blog and get in touch if you need another mom who "gets it" to vent/cry/share with!!

jillybean1023 said...

Thank you! We came home almost three years ago with our girls from ET. I felt as if I was a monster...a person I didn't know...I hated myself and all my feelings. Eventually, I turned to attachment counseling for our daughter but ended up counseling myself for the first six months. I drudged up all the insecurities of my past....he helped me to understand, not excuse, but understand why I was so angry. I wish I could say things are totally better...not. But so much more improved. This is a terrible secret in the adoption community that needs to be shared. God used these girls to sift some major yuck out of me. It has made me a better person and I would do it all over again. Thanks for your honesty!

Joe and Deanna said...

Yes, I too appreciate your honesty and openess. We are still in the homestudy process, so those feelings you shared scared me somewhat. However, I now feel like I know what to do with my waiting time.....PRAY for the Lord to begin to prepare my heart, help me walk through at least some of this now. I soooo appreciate this. THANK YOU!

Deanna
http://joeanddeanna.blogspot.com/

Amy said...

Thank you for sharing so openly. I have struggled with how honest to be in "public" not out of pride but out of wanting to be protective of my son. I'm grateful for your words.

Shannon@BooksDevoured said...

You are so brave. I can not imagine how hard that must have been to write, much less live through. I hope that you are having a wonderful week with your family this week!

Rob_T said...

Oh Shari- I love your post. Thank you for having the courage to write it.

Rob and Candy said...

ops- I was logged on as Rob--- it's really candy who posted the comment above.
hugs