By now you understand the sense of helplessness many adoptees feel when they think about their deepest wound: being separated, partially or permanently, from the people who made them. In order to help your child heal from this wound, you need to continually teach her to own her personal power and take healthy control of her own life. Your job at this particular juncture in her development will be to emulate the eagle as she teaches her young to fly.
Eagles build their nests high in the mountains or high up in a tree. They take sticks and branches to form their nests and then line them with softer things for their young. As the eaglets grow, the mother tears away the soft things that once made them comfortable. In the midst of their complaining, she flutters over them and their attention is drawn away from the painful sticks to a language in her wings. As she spreads her wings abroad, they marvel at her strength.
When they are ready to learn to fly, she stands on the edge of the nest and lays her wing down so that the eaglets can climb on. She then takes them up one at a time. They ride on her wings for a while, feeling safe and secure, and then, without notice, she gives a sudden lurch and the eaglet rolls over, beating his wings in the air as he tumbles toward the ground.
The mother keeps a close eye on the eaglet, and when she sees that her baby is at the point of desperation, she shoots downward with the accuracy of a bullet and catches it on her wing. The process is repeated until the eaglet learns to fly.
Wasn’t it the same for you when you readied your nest for your adopted child? Even though your nest was built with the sticks and thorns of loss, you did whatever possible to make your home as welcoming and comfortable as possible. You got up in the middle of the night, changed diapers, warmed bottles, soothed nightmares, and delighted over her day and night. When you saw that she felt secure with you and within your nest, you began removing some of the soft things from the nest. “You were adopted.” “No, you didn’t grow in mommy’s tummy.” “Yes, birth mommy is gone.”
In the midst of her grieving, you fluttered over her and she began to learn of your strength and your ability to protect. “I am here for you.” “I will never abandon you.” “You are safe with me.”
Now you stretch out your wing and she climbs on. Through the skies you soar together. Higher. Higher. Higher. As you soar, a desire grows within her to develop her own sense of power. “I want to learn how to fly like Mommy.”
When you are sure she has seen empowerment modeled by you, you give a sudden lurch and let her try her wings. Perhaps it’s going to pre-school, perhaps a visit with a neighbor. As you tip her off your back, the chaotic, painful feelings from the past flood her soul. The abandonment. The loneliness. The panic. She flutters her wings furiously and makes a valiant attempt to fly with a sense of personal power as you do. When she is about at wits’ end, you swoop down and carry her once again and she rests in your strength.
In time, your child learns how to gain her own sense of personal power. “I am no longer a victim!” “I have choices!” “I can feel secure in spite of the losses of the past.” “I can feel safe even when I am away from those who love me.” “I can fly!”
There is a delicate balance you must maintain when empowering your child. At times you will protect her, at others you will gently remove the soft things from the nest and encourage her to take new risks and try her wings. “You can do it!” “You can do anything you want in life.” “Your choices in the future are limitless.”
In order to help your child make the transition from the painful past to the hopeful future, you will need to teach her the importance of personal boundaries. According to Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend, boundaries are what define us. They define what is me and what is not me. A boundary shows me where I end and someone else begins.
In their book, Boundaries, Drs. Townsend and Cloud describe three stages of boundary development: hatching (Mommy and me aren’t the same), practicing (I can do anything!), and rapprochement (I can’t do everything). We will use their basic approach and apply it to adoption.
The authors preface their description of boundaries by stating that successful bonding is the foundation of all boundary building. Without it the foundation is cracked, the feeling of safety and belonging marred. A baby at this stage has no sense of self. She thinks, “Mommy and me are the same.” From this initial fusion with the mother, a baby gains her security in the world.
Think for a moment about your child. No matter how positive the circumstances, relinquishment robbed her of this symbiotic relationship. She didn’t have an extended period of time to rest in that safe, wonderful relationship after birth. The relationship ended before she learned to trust. Her wing was broken before she had a chance to fly. Because your child’s foundation was cracked before she had a chance to bond with her birth mother and thus develop personal boundaries in a natural progression, you will need to intervene in various developmental stages and teach her how to individuate.
There are three basic boundaries your child will need to learn. The first is “Birth Mommy and I are not the same.” Learning how to process the relinquishment will enable her to move out of victimhood and into empowerment. “Birth Mommy and I were the same, but now we are not.” “Her lifestyle and choices don’t define my identity.” “I am my own person.”
The second boundary is “Adoptive Mommy and I are the same.” This bond will be established with you and your child as you grieve adoption loss together. “I feel sad, too, that you didn’t grow in my tummy.” “I feel sad that you had to lose your birth mommy.”
“Adoptive Mommy and I are not the same” is the third boundary your child needs to learn. After all your labor of love to help the child attach to you and feel safe in the family, you will need to encourage him to take risks and explore the rest of the world. “I can do it myself” will probably be his favorite phrase. Eventually he will learn that taking the initiative is good. What he needs more than anything at this point is for you to mirror his emotions. Thrill at his delight. Rejoice at his exhilaration. “Wow, what a good worker man you are!” “You are really something!”
Then comes the “I can do anything” stage. This boundary development occurs from eighteen months to three years of age. There is a return to the connection with you, but this time at a different level. The child begins to interact with you as a more separate self. There are two separate people—you and he—with differing thoughts and feelings. At this point, he has gained a sense of personal power and understands that he is no longer helpless in this world.
Even though a child certainly cannot be allowed to make all the choices, she should be able to make a “no list” that is listened to and respected. “No, I don’t want to talk about adoption today.” “I don’t want to be treated any different than non-adopted kids.” “I don’t want to let my birth mother back in my life.”
Saying no helps the child differentiate what she does and doesn’t like, empowers her to make choices, and restores a sense of control over her own life.
Don’t withdraw emotionally from your child when she says “no.” Stay connected. This may require hard work on your part, but it will pay off in the long run.
I remember one morning when my then seven-year-old daughter was going off to school angry. After she expressed her anger, I told her, “I love you just as much when you are angry.” She resisted at first, but then melted in my arms. The irresistible feeling of being loved just as you are is enough to undergird and empower anyone.
Many adopted children harbor bitterness and resentment and attribute their powerlessness to relinquishment. They haven’t begun to taste the power of forgiveness.
Forgiveness doesn’t come easy and is oftentimes the last step in healing—after the hate, hurt, rage, and tears. It shouldn’t be confused with denial, nor should it come prematurely as an end run around pain. Forgiveness is the avenue to seeing a purpose behind the pain. It is the beginning of seeing the tapestry from the top side instead of the bottom. “Your birth mother probably handled her circumstances as best she could. She hurt too.” “I have forgiven my birth mother in the same way I hope my children will forgive me someday.”
My three-year-old twin grandsons often announce to me after they have done something, “Me big guy!” I chuckle and say, “Yeah, you sure are a big guy!” That is exactly the message your adopted child needs to hear from you in as many ways as you can muster.
Jean Illsley Clarke and Connie Dawson, in their outstanding book, Growing Up Again, suggest seven affirmations specifically designed for the adopted child:
I will do my best to connect with you.
You can count on me.
You can push, but I will not let you push me away.
I will care for you and for myself.
We can both tell the truth and be responsible for our behaviors.
I support you in learning what you may want to know about your history and heritage.
You are lovable just the way you are.
As your child gradually learns to live out his wholeness and personal strength, you will be working yourself out of a job. You will have given your wounded bird the gift of his own power.
Now that your child has learned that her broken wing can be mended, it’s time to build her up even further by learning how to acknowledge and celebrate her differences.