walk the line: some thoughts on boundaries, trust and attachment [part 2]


walk the line: some thoughts on boundaries, trust and attachment [part 2] @ Copperlgiht Wood

Manipulation and control issues manifest differently in children with a traumatic past.

The curtain rises on a new scene. Andrey is sitting in my lap waiting for a blood draw. His veins are iffy, and a nurse and a doctor are collaborating to find a good one. The needle hasn’t touched him yet.

He starts to squirm and whimper, but I can tell from the position of his mouth that he is not afraid. He’s masking for attention. It’s an expression that we’ve learned to recognize – a cover that others take for gospel truth and adorable charm. This child wells up in crocodile tears because he sees two sympathetic, doting faces looking at him and crooning.

The crocodile tears are bait, though. He sells it, and they buy it – hook, line, and stinker. I mean, sinker.

I try to explain this to the professionals that are oohing and awwing and poor babying him. It’s awkward because he’s right there and I don’t want to sound like a mean mama to him or to them.

But I’m the one that is going to take him home, and they need to understand what’s happening.

walk the line: some thoughts on boundaries, trust and attachment [part 2]

So I tell them. This isn’t genuine. Please just – no, it’s not that – do you see this facial expression? He’s not –

Oh, it’s okay, they say. They brush me off and pat his arm. They are searching for a vein, this arm, that arm, rubbing his arm, holding his hand, back to the other arm, maybe that one’s better – and they continue smiling and sympathizing. He reads, You poor baby. Your mommy just doesn’t understand, does she?

But they’re playing the game…and it’s really not okay. When they were finally done and looking the other direction, I caught him smirking.

Fifteen minutes of overstimulation and poor boundaries led to more than a week of violent acting out, upheaval, and other misbehavior in our home.

But it’s okay. They weren’t there for that.

The blood draw finished, we go to the room where he gets to pick out a small treat from an overflowing box of made-in-China trinkets. I tell him to pick one out quickly; Dad and many siblings are in the tiny waiting room and we have things to do.

“Oh, it’s okay – I told him he could have two,” the doctor says.

Oh, perfect! Thank you so much for telling my son that the limits I set do not need to be enforced! Thank you so much for showing him that you are an authority over both of us. I’m sure you’ll be happy to pay for anything that gets broken over the next three weeks and also several therapy appointments? Those must be complimentary in your services, right? And you’ll be there when it’s not just his parents that set limits, but also when there are park rules, class expectations, and traffic laws…right? Right?

Hmm. Yeah…probably not.

And you know what he did? He took three (3) trinkets from the box. My husband found them as we were leaving.

He took more than he had permission from anyone to take, because limits didn’t matter.

So. It’s not okay. If we are at the grocery store and I tell him he can only have one treat and he steals more, it’s not okay. I’m grateful that we had the teaching opportunity over some cheap plastic toys and not over candy bars from the store, or worse.

walk the line: some thoughts on boundaries, trust and attachment [part 2] @ Copperlight Wood

I spoke to them about it. We love this office and their staff, and we know that we are really on the same side. However, the week we lived through after that appointment was not acceptable and had to be addressed. Our fence had been driven though, and needed some steel reinforcements.

It was around the same time I wrote about being on the same side, and the things God impressed on me then were still very fresh:

A gentle answer brings a gentle response.

We confront successfully when we move from the mindset of someone being in trouble to being corrected in love.

We’re not perfect; we’re all learning together. We’re on the same side.

And I really tried. I tried to explain what our family went through the following week and how the boundaries that Andrey needs are essential. I acknowledged that they were not treating him any differently than our other children, but explained that he must be treated differently because his needs are different.

You don’t treat a child with cancer the same way you treat a child with a cold.

walk the line: some thoughts on boundaries, trust and attachment [part 2]

image courtesy Nancy Thomas Parenting

I was met with the disturbing combination of condescension and defense, being blown off and berated. I was shocked and disappointed…and we had to go back in a few months for another blood draw. Yay.

We waited and researched. Made some phone calls and sent out some emails to people who know far more about attachment issues than we do, and they were not only a wealth of information but also full of sympathy and encouragement. Anticipating our next appointment, we took what we gleaned from our resources and wrote a letter.

It was professional. It was kind. It was…educational.

It was our line in the sand. The substance of it is below. Adoptive parents are welcome to modify and use it.

We are learning that both Andrey and Reagan respond best to a very business-like, calm manner from people in the community. As we discussed before, any “doting” that happens to them from adults other than their parents will backfire in their attachment, and our family will likely deal with outbursts of increasingly negative, disruptive behavior for days afterward. We are helping them learn to be authentic in their interactions with others instead of triangulating with other adults, and if they are able to manipulate adults with superficial, “cute,” or otherwise masking behavior, it reinforces that insincerity.

There are special challenges to dealing with attachment issues in a setting like a medical appointment. For example, we generally do not allow other adults to touch Andrey and Reagan because it is confusing for them in the bonding process, but they obviously must be touched by medical staff to have their vitals checked, blood drawn, etc. If this can be done in a very matter-of-fact, professional manner it does not usually lead to any behavioral fallout. The best case scenario is that conversation and eye contact with Andrey and Reagan be limited as much as possible (they both have often tried to seek out eye-contact with strangers while avoiding eye contact with Vince and me) and that verbal encouragement or comfort comes from their parents only.

Please let me know if you have any questions about any of this. I apologize again for not making this clear before; it has taken us many months to discover this much about them, and every week brings new challenges and experiences to learn from. We appreciate your care for our family and for working with us to help Andrey and Reagan heal in body, mind and spirit.

It was too much, apparently.

walk the line: some thoughts on boundaries, trust and attachment [part 2] @ Copperlight Wood

“We want to be a warm, welcoming place for Andrey so he feels safe and cared for,” they said.

Except…he needs to feel that from his family, not acquaintances and strangers. And he won’t feel that from his family when the boundaries are pushed by other adults who are picking his scabs off. This makes him anything but safe.

He would happily go home with any of their staff because they’re still playing and putting gas on the fire. Helping him attach to his own home and family is the issue we are concerned with.

“We can’t let our office feel like they have to walk on eggshells every time your family comes in for a visit,” they said. “Everyone would feel like, Oh no, they’re here, no one give him any eye contact!

Seriously.

Our requests did not fit the bearings of their office and would make the staff uncomfortable.

“Maybe our office just isn’t the best fit for them,” they said. “I just really want what’s best for Andrey and Reagan; they really deserve that.”

I’m convinced that condescension is the ugliest form of pretense. It is a wounded ego oozing from an unteachable heart.

In our home, I said, sometimes we walk on eggshells all. day. long. Not a day goes by that we are not walking the line.

But our odd little family with our odd little needs would cramp their style. It was time for some…pruning.

walk the line: some thoughts on boundaries, trust and attachment [part 2] @ Copperlight Wood

So, adios. Curtains.

We walked the line right out of that pretty little office and straight into a new one, and our special needs don’t cramp their style at all.

walk the line: some thoughts on boundaries, trust and attachment [part 2] @ Copperlight Wood

It’s okay. We can still root for each other.

We can be on the same side without being on the same team. Some of us are clearly playing different sports.

walk the line: some thoughts on boundaries, trust and attachment [part 2] @ Copperlight Wood

Did you miss part 1? Find it here. Part 3 is here.

walk the line: some thoughts on boundaries, trust and attachment in adoption [part 1]

walk the line: adoptive thoughts on boundaries, trust, and attachment

Oh my goodness, did you read that? Part One of Three. My friends, we are moving on from simple posts and delving into the realm of…a series of posts. I know. I think it’ll be okay; let’s just roll with it.

Grab your popcorn or coffee (or both) and enjoy. This is not just for the adoptive parent. This is not just for the prospective adoptive parent. This is not just for the person that comes into infrequent contact with adoptive parents or their children on the third Sunday, Tuesday, or Friday of every month.

This is for you. This is for me.

This series will address some of those questions from the fishbowl that no one wanted to ask in the last post. Here is our heart-deep battle with the curtains drawn aside. Our home probably looks different from many others, though adoptive parents will find many similarities.

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We’re not perfect. We’re learning. And we’ve noticed that the only people who are convinced they have it all figured out are those who have never adopted…or had kids at all. Been there?

So I ask that you peek in our fishbowl with eyes of grace. Because we do, too.

The curtain rises. Six children, two cats, and one mama are in various stages of play, school work, and chores. Welcome to our living room.

walk the line: some thoughts on boundaries, trust and attachment @ Copperlight Wood

We’ve had some extremely clean floors lately.  They’re just lovely. As you may have noticed from this post, our standard operating procedure around here is to assign extra chores to kids who need some extra discipline, and it’s beautiful two-fold: in theory,  the house gets a little cleaner; in practice, small hands are kept busy and (mostly) out of further trouble…for the time being, at least.

One of our favorite assigned chores is scrubbing the floor. The wonderful thing about this is that most of our floor is made of beautifully large squares of faux tile that make this an easy assignment with clear boundaries to delineate.

I point them out and count them as I walk the line: one, two, three, four. Turn left: uno, dos, tres. Multiplied, that’s twelve easy squares. A child can see exactly where he’s supposed to scrub. Simple…right?

Enter the child healing from attachment and control issues.

walk the line: some thoughts on boundaries, trust and attachment @ Copperlight Wood

He scrubs half of the squares he is supposed to, and 93 others outside the lines. He’s thinking, “Will this work? Can I make the rules? What if I do this – it’s not what you said, but sort of what you said, and I’m still doing my own thing? Can I be the boss? Because, look! I did extra!! Doesn’t that count?”

Nope. Negatory, dude.

Cue sound effects. Sobbing and whining. It wavers for a second as he checks to see if I’m paying attention. This is a child headed for Broadway, already working on his first Tony.

Meanwhile in the next room, Reagan is standing on a chair where she had been playing with the other kiddos. She needs to get off the chair now, but she, too, is sobbing and whining, refusing to…just…sit down.

That’s all.

She’s squatting, her bottom only an inch from the seat. Without words, she is begging for someone to help her get down.

And no one helps. No one even offers.

It is so hard for people to understand, because it doesn’t make sense in the eyes of traditional parenting, but those of us parenting children who come to us via adoption are parenting children who have hurts that people can’t see. If our children had a visible wound, then others could see it and would understand not to ‘pick the scab’ off so to speak. Our kids have wounds that others can’t see, so they don’t know when they are ‘picking the scab off’.

  • Amanda, adoptive mom

We’re not cruel; we’re refusing to play. We know that she knows what to do: sit down, slide off. We know that crooning over her or helping her do something that she is able to do herself will just throw gas on the fire. (Remember: just because it’s wet doesn’t mean it will put the fire out.)

What is cruel is that for almost seven years it was easier and faster to do everything for her – brush her teeth, get her dressed, move her where she needs to go – and when we brought her to the hotel she had no idea how to even sit in an adult-sized chair at the restaurant. Regular, non-baby toilets terrified her. She was an untrimmed plant that ran wild, but spindly.

walk the line:  some thoughts on boundaries, trust and attachment, part 1 @ Copperlight Wood

So we work all the time, every day, on small skills. Zipping. Snapping. Feeding herself without most of the food landing on the table, the clothes, or the floor. Using a real napkin to wipe her hands on at meals, instead of running sticky fingers through hair for the same purpose.

walk the line: some thoughts on boundaries, trust and attachment @ Copperlight Wood

She has learned so much and she knows what to do now. The battle is deciding to obey, and then actually doing it.

It’s a universal struggle that, if we’re honest, we adults are not immune to.

Another day, two more extra chores for the boy. I vaguely say “Scrub under and around the table,” and he is fine – by my reckoning, he does about 25 squares worth. He’s happy. He’s done. Next chore please?

The next one is more specific: This area, I tell him, pointing out the lines of an easy 3×4 rectangle, only 12 squares.

This is met with feigned panic and torture. Shocked sobbing at the injustice of it all. Whining and crying for ten minutes while scrubbing only part of the assigned area (and quite a bit extra). Ten minutes of constant wailing becomes almost like unheard white noise in the background until it’s abruptly ended with a chipper, “Now can I be done?” that betrays the smoke and mirrors.

I check. From the sheen of water on the ground I can clearly see that he scrubbed exactly two-thirds of the assigned area, and most of the rest of the room.

The boundaries are terrifying. Someone is laying out rules…and it is not him.

walk the line: some thoughts on boundaries, trust and attachment @ Copperlight Wood

He thinks he is seeing a cage, but what he is really facing is a fence to keep him from going over the cliff.

It’s not limited to children from orphanages – some adults struggle with this, too. They started as children who never matured in the way of boundaries. In trying to ram their way through fences on other people’s property, they give themselves headaches when they meet someone who walks the line.

Hoping to find a pushover, they are sorely disappointed when they find themselves over the cliff instead.

It’s often revealed in the double-standard.

I can feel this way and be tolerant, but if you disagree with me, you are intolerant. I can say what I think because this is a free country, but if you say something I disagree with, I’ll call it hate speech. And, by the way…you’re the one that’s judgmental and narrow-minded.

Heads I win, tails you lose.

I refuse to play. I won’t croon, I won’t cry, I won’t enable, and I might not even argue. I’ve learned to set a boundary and walk the line, and not let others cross it.

But I might laugh as they keep trying to drive through the fence.

walk the line: thoughts on boundaries, trust and attachment @ Copperlight Wood

Curtains. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here.

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Related resources:

one year later: adoption faqs, part two

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A year ago we were in Spaghettia, in 90-degree heat, in the middle of the first week of living with Andrey and Reagan. It was their first week of living with us, with a family, outside the orphanages they grew up in. On this day one year ago I wrote a post that was in Q&A format, but it was mostly just me saying “I don’t know” to a bunch of questions that we all had at that time. At least we knew that we didn’t know very much.

We also knew pretty quickly that we missed the honeymoon stage with them, unless the two-hour car ride from the orphanages to Sofia counts.

(It doesn’t.)

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We know a little more now than we did then. We are still learning so much, all the time. In many ways we feel light years ahead of where we were a year ago, and in other ways, we feel…discouraged. Just being honest.

So, a year later, I have an armful of questions that some of you have asked and I think I have better answers than I did before. Not necessarily happier answers, but more informed answers, and they all pretty much revolve around this issue of attachment. I’ll start with the easiest ones first.

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Question #1: What are their favorite foods?

Answer: Pretty much everything. Andrey loves pizza and will overeat to the point of throwing up (true story). Reagan refused several foods at first but has finally come to terms with chicken and eggs and will now eat anything, including food off someone else’s plate or crumbs from the floor. We keep the cat food out of reach.

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Question #2: How are their English skills?

Answer: Really great. Andrey picked up English within the first few months and can speak it very well (though often with a thick accent and grammatically incorrect tenses and such). Reagan can understand it but her speech is still very toddler-ish and garbled. That’s the quick answer. However…

Much of the garbling/poor pronunciation from both of them is intentional. There are many things that we know they can say very clearly but they will often intentionally refuse to say it clearly so that you’ll ask them to repeat themselves. In the same vein, they will also often say “What?” when you speak to them – not because they didn’t hear you, but because they want you to repeat yourself. This is an attachment issue; it is a way for them to try to be in control and also command your attention for longer.

It is also incredibly irritating. (smile)

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Question #3: What attachment issues do you face and what are you doing to remedy them?

And also,

Questions #4-5: What has been the hardest adjustment for you and Vince as parents? What has been the hardest adjustment for the kids?

Nevermind. Let’s just skip those.

Kidding. But also…(you guys just don’t let up, do you?)

Question #6: How are you finding healing and redemption through the hard times?

Um. Chocolate.

And one more, a question we are constantly asking ourselves…

Question #7: When can you come over and play?

I’ve sat here just staring at these questions and I’m not really sure about the best way to answer them. There is living in a fishbowl, and then there is displaying your scars. One speaks of current issues, exposure, and sometimes murky water; the other is survival, victory, and triumph. Both can be ugly, but one bears the comfort and softening that time brings.

There are things I want to tell you that can’t be said in the clear water of a fishbowl yet, so we wait for scar tissue to form before we can show them.

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I started writing a post on attachment a couple of months ago, and it’s turned into 3000 words and counting of something I didn’t expect. I’ll be posting it (or parts of it) as a series soon. So without repeating myself too much from the posts in the past or that post to come, let me just say that the biggest thing we are doing is trying to like them.

Because – can we be for real? – it’s not easy to like children that are used to manipulating and lying for survival. It’s very hard to believe the best in children who have learned to be sneaky, false, and deceptive as though their very lives depended on it. The farther we get into this, the more we have learned about behaviors that we did not pick up on even six months ago…and we fight a feeling of continual distrust and jaded skepticism toward them that doesn’t feel healthy.

We want to believe the best. We pray it for them all the time. But we would be utterly foolish and irresponsible to give either Andrey or Reagan the benefit of the doubt on issues of safety, trust, or boundaries.

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Andrey and Reagan are learning to trust us, and to some extent, we can tell that we are making progress because they are fighting tooth and nail against it. Against us. They are used to temporary, perfunctory relationships with caregivers and superficial, shallow interaction. This is why they seem to thrive around strangers, acquaintances, and public settings, because the cursory exchange happening on the surface with strangers and acquaintances is all they’ve ever known and it is comfortable for them…like a warm, stinky, full diaper – and equally therapeutic.

Many people still don’t understand the boundaries that Andrey and Reagan need, and we are still learning to communicate their needs and boundaries to others. And, for crying out loud, people are just so nice – which is wonderful – but it turns kiddos with attachment issues into unrecognizable creatures after they get back home, like gremlins who’ve been fed after midnight. This is why we avoid many public settings, and I don’t take the kids anywhere on my own yet…even my closest friends’ homes…because there’s just too much to watch for.

(Partly, this is just me. Vince will take all six kids to Target because he’s a thrill seeker. In contrast, I am a homebody who gets the shakes if I have to be in Walmart for more than an hour, with or without kids.)

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Our persistent intimacy in their lives pushes them out of their comfort zone. Often, they would much rather smile at strangers at the store than hold my hand or answer me when I speak to them. Frequently – almost every Sunday, still – they would rather stare at acquaintances than hold eye contact with their parents. We are here for them, for good, forever, and the nasty unhealthy diaper is coming off, however slowly. They fight and kick like a baby who doesn’t want to be changed.

It’s only partly an analogy. I’ll avoid the gory details and suffice it to say that sometimes they purposefully try to be repulsive so as to…repulse us. To push us away.

They need us to like them, though. Just as His kindness leads us to repentance, our favor over them brings out goodness that has been buried. Love isn’t the issue – we know that love is a verb, and we are choosing to love, to clean, to discipline, to smile, to supervise, to hold, to praise, even when we don’t want to.

The real battle is heart-deep, in theirs and ours. Feelings can’t be trusted, but they do matter. It is winning the battle to like them, to enjoy them, to see the beautiful…that makes or breaks us at the end of every day.

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