true life hot mess mom

These words are from my own personal account of the past 10 years. The other members of my family mentioned here have their own perspective, however, this is MY adoption story.

Continued…

I learned right away that our children we adopted didn’t really want or need me to mother them. It started with the oldest who was well into his sophomore year of high school and so over it all. I had no idea what he honestly felt, but I listened and adjusted the best I could. The first five years were full of me getting over myself and figuring out at what degree to be there for each of them.

Insert therapy for all here.

During this season, my bonus daughter needed emergency full-time placement in our home to finish out her last two years of high school. Our house was busy. At one point we had one in elementary school, one in middle school, one in traditional high school, and one in Job Corps, 45-minutes away. When we were all together and in good moods, we actually had a really great time together with a lot of laughter.

I mean on the surface, we were a normal busy family. I posted pictures of our family all over social media platforms. We were an active family in our community. We had a daughter in dance, a son in football, and we went to church every Sunday. (I’m only mentioning that to say we were active outside of our home doing things…until we weren’t. Just keep reading.)

Honestly, while it was busy, and hard; I’d go back to those first five years again in a heart beat. It’s the past five years that have been the most challenging. When my husband and I went through our foster/adopt classes, I pictured us being the couple that could handle it. In my heart of hearts I just knew that with time and love, anyone can grow and blossom. Even outgrowing some trauma caused behaviors. And don’t get me wrong, we are handling it-it’s messy, but we are doing our best.

Our youngest son is now a young adult, and the heart break continues as we learn about his personal choices and his inability to care for himself. He’s smart. One of those intelligent people that choose to use their smarts to “live the easy life” but instead, gets him in trouble.

The words he said to me, hurtful as they were, I’ve never forgotten, but no longer hurt. If that makes any sense. I know more now, ya know? I’ve done the work to detach myself, for the most part. I still have moments where I picture picking him up, again. And I still have dreams about him. And I scan groups of individuals without housing, looking for him.

When the chaos began five years ago, we were stunned. Not sure what to say and do next, I grew silent in all social media platforms, fearing the judgement of others. My husband and I felt like we were on an island trying to make the best decision possible to not only protect our son from himself but also protect our youngest daughter/child. There were so many variables to keep in mind as we prayed about what to do next and talked with the professionals in the field.

But the toughest decision we ever had to make was also the best decision in regards to the safety of our daughter. While the tough decision protected her, it also triggered her PTSD.

Enter the 2nd half of the past decade. Two major life events were happening simultaneously. Our son was getting released from residential care after completing the program and our daughter was sharing some things that had occurred in our old house.

The mental load of the news, took it’s toll on all of us. His denial to the accusations only worsened the situation, until he was finally passed along to another residential home. We relied on the social workers, therapists, and psychiatrists to guide us through the flawed system during that time.

Once he got settled in a new place, it wouldn’t take long for something to happen and our phone to ring. As many teens with Oppositional Defiant Dissorder (ODD) do, he didn’t like the rules and ran away. The first incident, he was found and placed in our care for safe keeping. But the bed at the residential home was given to someone else who would follow the rules.

That was May 2022, and it is currently still one of the hardest months in our lives as foster/adopt parents. After he ran away, and was placed in our care by the police, we were in a bind. We could not allow him to come home with us. Not with our daughter still in the house.

Stay tuned for part 3 of our adoption story. (I will be posting my story in pieces. It’s heavy for me. But please, if you find encouragement from my story, reach out, and if you’re willing to, share your story to encourage another reader.)

Stay kind, love jes