As I begin this chapter, I am reminded of one of my favorite children’s books, by Margaret Wise Brown, called The Runaway Bunny. I believe it illustrates one of the adoptee’s hidden fears: that he will be too much to handle.
The story commences with a dialogue between a baby bunny and his mother when the baby bunny announces, “I am running away.”
“If you run away, I will run after you, for you are my little bunny,” the mother replies.
“If you run after me,” the baby announces, “I will become a fish in a trout stream and I will swim away from you.”
“If you become a fish in the trout stream. I will become a fisherman and I will fish for you,” the mother lovingly counters. The book illustrates the mother bunny, knee-deep in a stream with waders on, fishing basket slung over her arm, pole in hand, and a carrot as bait at the end of her line.
And so the story goes, until the baby bunny finally stops running and says, “I might just as well stay where I am and be your little bunny.”
Some adoptees are a lot like the baby bunny. They announce in many ways to their parents, “I am running away.”
Where does this urge to run away come from? you may be wondering. And how can I be like the bunny’s mother, neutralizing his fears through constant reassurance of my commitment to him?
In order to help you understand the fear of being too much to handle, let me share an experience I had while listening to a speaker, herself an adoptee as well as a professional in the adoption field.
The counselor told a story about one of her adoptee clients. The girl’s weary parents had come to the end of their rope. They had tried everything they knew to reach their teenage daughter, yet she defiantly resisted. Her walls seemed to grow higher and higher. Years of counseling didn’t seem to help, and instead of moving toward maturity, she was stuck in rebellion. Professional intervention at a specialized attachment and bonding center was their last stop before she would be put in a detention home for girls.
The counselor described the teen’s body language on that particular day. Slouched down in her seat, arms crossed, lips tight, and brows furrowed, she covertly communicated, “I am running away. Just try and reach me.” A little bit like a runaway bunny, wouldn’t you say?
Filled with wisdom and compassion that can only come from personal experience as well as training, the counselor went for the jugular.
“So,” she said nonchalantly, “how long have you been too much to handle?”
The girl, startled by the question, timidly replied, “For a long time, I guess,”
The counselor then shared her similar feelings as an adoptee, and, over time, successful therapy ensued as well as relationship-building with the parents.
What was it that the counselor did to make those mile-high walls crumble? How did she know what to say? I believe the counselor knew a subconscious thought that plagues adoptees: If my emotions are too strong, then I will be too much to handle … and where would that leave me? I will be abandoned once again.
The therapist also knew that children respect strength and courage when combined with love. When she went for the jugular, she displayed courage, yet when she shared her own experience, her love and nurturing were evident.
Dr. Connie Dawson, the counselor in the above scenario, sums up her belief when she says, “If parents aren’t strong and lovingly true, I (the adoptee) may push them around in an attempt to strengthen them, or not trust their ability to teach me what I need to know to become strong and true myself. I need to know that I am not too much to handle.”
When I heard Connie relate that story, tears began to flow, but I didn’t know why. Now I know that I too had feared being too much to handle as a child. It dawned on me quite innocently when I heard one of my fellow-adoptee friends say that her psychiatrist had referred her to someone else “because he had done all he could for her.” Upon hearing this, my thoughts turned immediately to my relationship with my counselor, whom I had been seeing for eight years. What if he told me he was at the end of his rope with me? What if I were too much to handle and what if he referred me on to someone else? I would feel abandoned once more. Panic washed over me.
During our next appointment, I stuttered, “Am I too much to handle as a patient? Would you ever send me on to another therapist because you couldn’t do anything more for me?”
When he realized what was happening, he said, “No … you will never be too much to handle. I want you to be my patient.” He neutralized my fear with his commitment.
“Really?” I said, choking back the tears.
“Really,” he said. “I am here for you.”
As I look back on that incident now, I laugh, but am convinced that it was this fear that held my walls of defense intact over the years.
Just as the baby bunny rebelliously announced, “I am running away,” I believe many adoptees do the same thing almost every day in a variety of ways. Keith Reiber states, “Anger, fear, shame or sadness are the four basic emotions. When a child is hurt, he feels sad. Sadness makes him feel vulnerable, so he becomes afraid that he will be hurt again. Fear also makes him feel vulnerable, so the child will cover his fear with anger or rage. To help the child work through his past he must be free to express his feelings without being punished or ridiculed. He will learn that if he has a big feeling (one that threatens to overwhelm him), Mommy will be there to love him and care for him. Thus, he will learn to trust.”
Whether it be in a marriage, friendship, or counseling session, many adoptees run from strong feelings. They get close to the center of the storm (emotionally speaking), and then run in the opposite direction.
Ronald J. Nydam, Ph.D., writes in an article entitled “Relinquishment and Intimacy” about an adopted man who came for counseling because his marriage of twenty years was failing. “For reasons he could not understand, he seldom said the words ‘I love you’ to his wife. Over the past few years he had fallen into some kind of love with his twenty-eight-year-old secretary. As days and months progressed, this quasi-affair deepened. He was both excited and terrified by the feelings he had toward his secretary and puzzled why his marriage seemed to mean so little. Marriage counseling went nowhere for months … until the story of relinquishment and adoption came up. After years of resisting the power of these stories, this man came in and presented his yellowed, forty-one-year-old adoption papers, which included a physical description of his then twenty-eight-year-old birth mother. When he said that this description matched that of his secretary, awareness dawned and he wept deeply. With tears, he asked, ‘Why didn’t she love me?’”
I can’t tell you how many adoptees I have met in support groups only once because the transparent sharing of the group triggers too many strong emotions. They opt not to return rather than express their feelings and then move on. They are afraid of the intensity of their own emotions. They feel overwhelmed.
One twenty-seven-year-old man who recently divorced his wife described this tendency to run away in relationships. “She really is a fantastic woman. I couldn’t ask for more. The divorce is not about her, it’s about me. I just can’t stand the feelings I have when anyone gets too close to me.”
When another member of the group asked how it felt, he said, “It feels like I’m being smothered. I have to get out.”
Adoptees can also run by disassociation. They check out emotionally and stand aloof from the pain. They are like a bystander, watching something traumatic happening.
I personally went through three therapists, until I finally was referred to one who was trained in Gestalt therapy (which to my untrained mind means that they hold your feet to the fire and make you feel the feelings). She was a master at spotting disassociation. Whenever I checked out emotionally, she would call me on it. “Where did you just go?” she would say. With her help, I learned not to disassociate from the strong emotions, but to face and feel them. As a result, I am healthier emotionally than ever before. No longer am I afraid of strong feelings, but welcome them as opportunities to grow.
As a parent, you can help your child not to run from strong emotions, but to verbalize them and find healing.
Defensive behaviors are a sign that something needs to be addressed within your child. Is he projecting an I-can-handle-anything behavior when a certain topic is broached? How does he act when you interact with him on a painful topic? Withdrawn and sullen? Does he stare into space, perhaps running—through disassociation—to a safe place within himself?
Just as the teenage girl’s therapist confronted her about her fear of being too much to handle, don’t be afraid to talk about this fear with your child when the time arises. Ask, “Do you ever feel afraid of being too much to handle?” Also, hold his feet to the fire when/if he disassociates. “What are you thinking about right now?” Your questions and sensitivity to his need will be a validation of his adoption issues on a deeper level.
Demonstrate to your child that you are very adept at recognizing his basic needs and that you are committed to him forever. Say in as many creative ways as you can think of “I am here for you.” Before long, your child, like the baby bunny, will come to you when he experiences a strong feeling. And like the mama bunny, in various situations you can remind him of your “forever” relationship with him.
In the next chapter, we will be talking about another way that fear may manifest itself in the life of the adoptee, and how he needs you to hang in there and respond to him wisely.