Seasons

Many years ago we were at a non-profit banquet where Tim Tebow’s mother spoke and afterwards I was chatting with her and explained somewhat apologetically that we were donors but I wasn’t a volunteer. She encouraged me that with toddlers at home and a career there would be another season for that. I appreciated those words of wisdom and encouragement and have shared them often since. 

These days I find myself in a season I could have never imagined. One full of chaos, joy and challenges, raising four adolescent boys. This season, so unexpected and unlike any other season I've ever traversed includes 

• 5-10 hours a week volunteering, mostly with Safe Families and occasionally with church or other organizations 
• 5-10 hours a week exercising, mostly running with some lifting and yoga sprinkled in 
• 5-10 hours a week driving back and forth across central Pennsylvania for sports/band pickups and drop offs, music/play/equine therapy appointments and dentist/orthodontist visits.

My time is spent trying to steady my heart rate through my mile splits and marathon temper tantrums put on by boys who are big enough to pack a punch, researching ADHD treatments, tips and tricks (October is also ADHD Awareness Month), and trying to reinvent my social life. 

Sometimes it’s lonely and loud all at the same time… how can that be!? 

I have dreams of adding 5-10 hours a week of writing time, 1 hour of connection with other moms and 1 hour of dates, but haven’t realized those hopes quite yet.  There are a few half-done blogs in my queue.  

But my point here today is simply that I think it’s important to find an occasion to stop and take stock of it all. There’s a popular meme out there that says "you are currently living one of the prayers you used to pray." And that’s true to a certain extent, at least for me. 

October is (was) pregnancy and infant loss awareness month and recently a good friend posted a friend of hers’ powerful testimony about her miscarriage. That post provided an opportunity for me to stop and take stock of my life.  It was accompanied by a photo of a women curled in a ball, or at least that’s the way I saw it. 

I don’t have any actual pictures of myself curled in a ball but there are memories in my mind like that. Memories where I’m curled in a corner, sobbing and begging Mike to think more about that adoption option I’d thrown out. Memories where we’re both huddled on the curb up the hill outside the back of Hershey Medical Center dumbfounded that it could have possibly happened again, a third or was it the fourth time. Those pictures in my mind are now a bit like a faded black and white, they’re there, but diminished in vibrancy and power. 

I thought about posting for pregnancy and infant loss and awareness month but I’m also cognizant of the fact that any picture on my newsfeed or in my camera roll is not just of me but instead includes my patch of four rambunctious boys and this might rather upset than connect with my friends struggling with infertility. These beautiful and broken people may be clinging to hope but still tender from loss or recurrent loss, emptiness and/or unmet dreams. And I wouldn’t want to do anything at all to deepen their grief or make them feel even more alone. 

All this got me to thinking about how our belonging expands as our seasons change. The places and people with whom we belong, connect, relate to and bond with progress over time, as our lived experiences are ever expanding.  While I still relate to and feel like I belong in groups of people with infertility, they may not feel that they belong with me.  

Some constants I’ve recognized so far, in my life across seasons: 

• I’m values-driven, my values give me hope, purpose and direction 
• I’m focused and capable of diligent persistence (towards those values) even in the absence of any tangible proof of progress
• The outdoors and journaling calm me down and help me pray 
• I appreciate and need community, true friendship and authentic confidants and if they don’t just show up on my doorstep, actively seeking them out is always worth it. 

I don’t think about my infertility much anymore but I still recognize it as integral part of who I am and who I’ve become, somewhat of a sine qua non. I still sometimes struggle with grief over feelings that my family doesn’t quite look like I thought it would. But the larger truth for which I’m grateful is: 

I am indeed living the answered prayers from a decade past. 

Life never is what we thought it would be. No, it’s much more complex than that. Harder, richer, louder, full of highs and lows and happy mediums, requiring self-discipline, faith and hope in an unforeseen long game with constantly changing obstacles, goals and expectations. It’s learning and relearning again and again that we aren’t in control of it all, surrendering our plans to the Creator and following in the path He lays before us even though we don’t know the route. 

My prayer today is that I have the discipline and faith that this season demands of me and that sharing my own journey here continues to inspire and give hope and belonging to all who read this, no matter what season they find themselves in. 

Therapy

A number of friends (some of whom are medical professionals themselves) have asked me for references on our experience with therapy for our children which has helped me realize that there is a need in our community for confidence and direction accessing mental health resources, especially for our little ones.  

This blog is going to be a series of anecdotes about our experiences with reference links to the resources we utilized with hopes of educating and inspiring you about accessing mental health therapies here in Central PA.  

If you're reading this and hoping for direction - get ready to work.  Therapy is work.  If you're still in the "this isn't how I dreamed it would be" stage, then this information might be depressing or overwhelming for you.  But if you're in the "taking the reigns of your own life," "something's gotta change" stage, then this might be the thing for you.  But it's going to take work.  Time, money and loads of emotional energy, in the form of getting real with yourself about your behaviors, choices, triggers and your own trauma history.  Even if the therapy you're seeking is for your kid, you're still going to have to jump in with both feet and wade into these waters.  

With therapy, our family has been able to go from surviving to thriving and yours can too. 

So here are our stories about the riding the waves of mental health, seeking to thrive:  

I was the first person to seek psychological support in the form of therapy in our family, and this was during our miscarriages, approximately ten years ago now.  There's no doubt in my mind, looking back, that my first venture to therapy should have been when I was 22, a second year medical student when I was victim of a serious trauma.  Instead of seeking professional help though, I drew inward, and one crisis became two and three, and I went through a self-destructive period of my life which had impacts for several years to come.    

During the miscarriages, as you may recall if you've been following me for some time, I began to develop phantom kicks (hence the name of this blog) which I describe as a mild form of panic attacks, and this is the reason I sought professional help.  The therapist I saw then, someone different than I see now, used cognitive behavioral therapy with me just like my current therapist is.  She also encouraged me to restart my journaling, which has been a lifelong and vital habit for me and also resulted in this blog.  She taught me mindfulness and gave me a rock to carry around in my pocket 24/7, that I could grab in an instant and rub whenever someone said something stupid about when were we going to have number 2.  By grounding myself in reality, "there's a bumpy rock in my pocket and it feels smooth," I could break the cycle of panic that had been coming upon me so often.  It was a useful tool and while I don't carry a rock or shell 24/7 anymore, I do sometimes, and it ALWAYS calms me down when I rub one.  

For our next experience with therapy, it was with our kids.  Two of our children have had at least one form of therapy (play) since they were four years old. I used to say that one of our children began the "terrible two's" when he was 9 months old.  He began throwing temper tantrums young!  He was very physically agile, crawling, walking, climbing and throwing all before one year of age, so it wasn't out of frustration of inability to get what he wanted.  He talked on time, so it wasn't really about not being able to say what he wanted to say.  But, he has always had a low frustration tolerance and feelings that seem more intense than everyone else's in our family.  

In the meantime, we began reading books and articles on challenging children.  Our favorite and the most useful, The Whole Brain Child.  We've utilized "name it to tame it" ever since!  

When he was 4, he began to get more aggressive physically and verbally when he was frustrated and this set off some alarm bells.  The traditional forms of discipline which had worked pretty well with our first child weren't working with this one and were leaving us all feeling frustrated. So we saw the pediatrician again, not really sure what we thought was "wrong," but recognizing that we needed some help.   Whatever it was, it was affecting him and our entire family everyday in big and little ways.  He experienced troubles at bedtime and during the day, in routines and on special occasions; he couldn't even enjoy his own birthday party without disruption.  

Our Pediatrician gave us a seven page listing of all the local therapists and the one closest to our house was Sand Castle Counseling.  Boy did we hit the jackpot there!  They specialize in play therapy which is one of the best approaches in kids as young as four, because they don't need to want or be able to talk about their feelings or problems for it to work.  It's important to know that we do not go into sessions with our children in their play therapy.  The relationship is between the therapist and child and the parents don't participate in individual sessions.  Our therapists do separate parent sessions for us, in which the describe and explain what they're seeing in play (i.e.: power dynamics, chaos, organized or disorganized thought... etc.).  We tell stories about what we're seeing at home, they suggest why that might be occurring and we work together to identify strategies to mitigate the undesired behaviors and dysregulation.  

When you see a therapist, they might see signs and symptoms of a diagnosis and if you’re interested they can talk to you about those, but they don’t officially diagnose, and there is no risk of a lifelong “label,” if that’s something that worries you. 

Over time, with our sons therapists help, we were able to have her confirm that our son displayed symptoms of sensory processing disorder, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder and anxiety. 

Our son is a sensory seeker. Symptoms we had seen included nail biting, eating with his hands (even applesauce), wearing clothes backwards all the time, giving high fives that left your hand tingling, screeching randomly, walking barefoot all the time, and many more (all of which persist to this day). Shortly thereafter, we were referred to Shreiber for occupational therapy for sensory processing needs, and he was seen there for about 6 months, and we learned some OT techniques to help meet his sensory needs, some of which we continue to use to this day.  We learned the Zones of Regulation which weren’t terribly useful for us. But My personal favorite thing we learned there is giving him a heavy chore when he's dysregulated (like carrying something heavy in off the porch or vacuuming) which really does help him (and me) calm down.  In general, I see sensory processing issues as one small piece of the puzzle that agitates him, but I saw it as a kind of low hanging fruit that could be tackled pretty easily.  Most importantly, you don't want to force them to stop doing the coping mechanisms (like wearing their clothes backwards) if you haven't learned any substitute behaviors.  Assessing and addressing sensory needs can be useful to identify and eradicate that from the list of things agitating him. 

It is important to note that some symptoms, like nail biting for example, can be symptoms of many different diagnoses (sensory processing, ADHD, anxiety, among others), and having one symptom doesn't mean you or your child have that disorder.  No one can tell us for sure why our kid bites his nails everyday; perhaps it soothes him on multiple levels which might be why we haven't been able to eradicate it yet?  I don't think we'll ever know for sure.  

All along, we suspected he had ADHD, and both teachers and pediatricians recommended we work on the gold-standard, Vanderbilt, which is a parent and teacher survey of ADHD symptoms.  We've taken the parent side of this survey for our kids and found it useful for understanding their executive functions and how much inattention is generally considered within normal limits.  It might sound simple, but understanding that just like a person with clinical depression can’t simply cheer up because you tell them to, kids with ADHD can’t think before they act (stop their impulsive behaviors) just because you holler at them. 

Maybe you are reluctant to have your child labeled with ADHD, as I was initially. What I’ve found, however, is that understanding the diagnosis and the extent of its effects on your child’s executive function, behaviors and abilities can be key to compassion and patience. You can redirect your frustrations at their medical diagnosis, rather than your child, or their choices.

 This helps you importantly get rid of the idea that he or she is just willfully disobedient. Based on my own biases and abilities (i.e.: no one in my family growing up, including me, seemed to struggle at all to sit while eating dinner, use their utensils and not sing or talk the entire meal), I believe raising a child with ADHD is going to be a continuous battle with my engrained responses and beliefs. Parenting a child with any of these special needs requires significant changes in your expectations for your child’s behavior, and in my experience, this does not come naturally; it takes constant work (on yourself — not just them) and education. 

On the topic of ADHD, hands down the most useful resource we've found has been www.additudemag.com, which I subscribe to, follow on socials, and read articles from almost everyday.  I read them almost everyday because they serve as a gentle encouragement that I am not alone in parenting an ADHD child, that these kids have great gifts with so much to offer the world, and they provide regular tips and tricks which I like to try.  

My child with ADHD is extremely creative, he's a gifted artist and when he's in the mood, he can produce dozens of pieces of art, working for an hour or more at a time... sitting STILL!  In case you didn't know, this is called hyperfocus, and is one of the many ways in which we've learned to see ADHD through a strengths-based lens, through the help of our therapist and online community of additudemag. 

Additudemag.com also has suggestions for 504 and IEP's and countless valuable references on the site.  One frequently cited author is Dr. Ross Greene, author of The Explosive Child (I read the abridged version on Audible and found it worthwhile), who also offers virtual courses which I’ve taken and found valuable. Dr. Greene teaches us that our kids, regardless of their diagnosis, would meet our expectations if they could, and he offers new ways to address our unsolved problems.  Like the mantra "he's not giving me a hard time, he's having a hard time," this critical reframing increases the empathy in my parenting, and I don't know about you, but I need daily (or sometimes hourly) reminders on this!

Our next experience with therapy came through the son whom we adopted through foster care.  His play therapist was very quickly able to observe the symptoms of Reactive Attachment disorder through an analysis of his history, our stories and her observations of his play.  For his day to day management, she recommended we utilize Time-ins.   These were very hard to execute initially, but over time have proven to be an important connection-building and trust-building technique that is counter to traditional forms of discipline.  

You may find it useful to know that since this child is from the foster system, he's on Medicaid for all his childhood.  This is often a hurdle or barrier to treatment when you search for a therapist.  Sand Castle, like many great practitioner groups, doesn't take Medicaid.  Ultimately, we wanted to stay with them enough and have the financial resources to allow for it, so we negotiated a cash rate ($100/1 hour session) and have utilized that payment model since.  I'm sorry I can't offer much personal experience or advice on finding good Medicaid accepting therapists.  

About six months after he came into our house, things started getting really chaotic.  At this point, our play therapist suggested something significant needed to change, and that's when I resigned from my job.  But the other really big step we took was to engage in Family based therapy.  We used Jewish Family Services because they were the next available with our then foster-son's Perform Care (PA Medicaid) provider and over time we found them to be wonderful counselors and advocates.  

Many people have asked us what Family therapy is.  So here's how I understand it: 

Think of a pyramid with outpatient therapy (like play therapy) at the bottom - something most of us may need at some point throughout our lifetimes and all of us should be able to access.  At the top of the pyramid would be involuntary inpatient psychiatric admission - something hopefully only few of us will need throughout our lifetimes.   Family therapy is a step up from outpatient therapy but several steps down from inpatient treatment.  It means that outpatient therapy isn't enough to avoid a state of crisis, and if you stay on your current trajectory, that someone in the family will likely need a higher level of care in the near future.  

Here's how WellSpan depicts these levels of care:

 

Practically, family therapy means two therapists come into your home and help the whole family cope with the issues going on.  What's good about this, is that the therapists get to witness you in your environment, where my kids are most likely to display their undesirable behavior's, while you're doing your best to correct and parent.  What's bad about this is that the therapists get to witness you in your environment!  In other words, be ready to be humbled.  For me, someone who really cares what other grown women think of me, this can trigger shame/embarrassment.  The kids get comfortable with the therapists real quick, forget that they're there sometimes, or at other times "show off" for the therapists.  This can create chaos which is hard for us to manage.  But, again, the good thing is that there's someone else there witnessing it.  An unbiased professional.  And the next day, during the parent only sessions, you get to talk to them about what they observed both from the kids, and how you handled it.  Everyone in the family has goals for development; kids and adults alike.... which my partner and I really liked.  For example, they observed with us that we had different parenting styles.  We surmised that this was because we most often parent independently (one parent - 4 kids) because of work schedules.  The family therapists rightly suggested that we needed a co-parenting style.  This is something we worked on during our 9-month tenure in the program and continue to struggle with to this day.  But, we're aware of it and come back to the lessons we learned with some frequency.  

Other similar middle leveled interventions like Family based therapy include Mobile therapy and BHRS, where a Therapeutic Support Specialist can work with your child in the field, I’ve seen this most often for little kids on the autism spectrum. In these modalities of therapy, the therapist follows the kids to school and or extra curriculars where they struggle with certain behaviors and teach them and you how to adapt their behaviors to those environments. 

Somewhere in the middle of the pyramid is Psychiatry.  The main point of having a psychiatrist is to have medications prescribed.  The therapy they provide is often less in-depth and less strategy-based than a therapist or psychologist.  The psychiatrist focuses on pharmaceutical treatment of mental health conditions, and not everyone reaches this level. In my opinion, this would almost never be the starting place for mental health treatment.  In addition, medication treatment for mental health conditions should not stand alone, it should only and always be used in conjunction with therapy and behavioral / emotional support.   

When some serious abandonment ruminations became an issue, we knew it was time to take that next step, however, and began again with our Pediatrician for a referral to Psychiatry.  But, perhaps many of you have also experienced this, there is a real shortage of Child Psychiatrists out there and waiting lists can be very long.  Ultimately, we got lucky and found a new program within WellSpan Psychiatry, which we quickly signed up for.  The care has been helpful, the medications have had significant impact, and we continue to seem them bimonthly via telehealth.  

More recently, one of our children has also enrolled in Music therapy at Breakthrough. Music therapy can also have very long wait times unless you’re willing to go during the school day, which we do. In my opinion, this work is at least as important as kindergarten art or social studies. They have more boundaries and different goals than play therapy, but we’ve found it to be useful and is helping him grow. Of note, Breakthrough does take Medicaid and since his play therapy isn't getting paid for by them, they've approved his biweekly sessions music therapy for the year and pay for them in full.  

I also know many people who've had success with Equine therapy and know there are several solid local venues for this.  

In addition, I also restarted therapy of my own about a year ago at PHA of Hershey.  I was struggling with some worries, that in my own estimation seemed rational but more pervasive than they should be, about my kids’ futures. Since the very first visit, I’ve found her input, challenging questions and observations shockingly useful and transformative. All my sessions have been video visits and I haven't felt like this detracted from the experience in any way. I have loved every session. It’s promoted quite a bit of self growth, which by now you know I love. I appreciate, so much, how her insights help me see my unproductive and unkind thoughts for what they are. I’ve been able to understand their origins and honestly I’ve been able to eliminate the ones we’ve identified almost completely. I’m proud of myself and thankful for her helping me do the work! 

Unpopular opinion: When seeking out a therapist you need not search for Christian therapists or counselors.  A good therapist is going to teach you tried and true, researched and proven techniques for overcoming your anxieties, panic, grief, bad habits, deep ruminations and more.  A good therapist doesn't need to be a Christian, or profess their own faith on their website.  The power of prayer is synergistic with these techniques but it does not need to be used by the therapist for his or her techniques to work.  

In my limited experience (7 total therapists that I've encountered for myself or my kids over the past 10 years), I have not deliberately sought out a Christian counselor even once.  Every psychological and psychiatric group we've used has been "secular" from the outside, although some of the individual therapists did mention their faith in their bios.  However, all the therapists we have used have been respectful of our faith.  They understand it's a big part of our lives, a daily component, they put it on our support maps and refer to it positively in their counseling.  No therapist we've met has ever put down, discounted or insulted our faith in any way.  

In therapy, from the way I see it, one of the therapists main goals is to help the client see themselves as competent.  This has to be internal confidence, not relying on external validation, for it to be seen as true and strong enough to withstand the inevitable trials of our world.  Knowing your value and seeing yourself as a gift and uniquely talented creates a wellspring of resilience for tragedy or when unfortunate circumstances or events effect our lives.  As a general rule, faith deepens that wellspring.  In most cases, real faith, believing a loving Creator gave you those talents, loves you unconditionally, and is the source of your irrevocable value and worth helps people have stronger mental health.  

For me, with my current therapist and the cognitive behavioral therapy she has used with me, we worked together to identify grounding statements that help pull me out of unproductive thinking that creates worry and discontent in my life.  One of those grounding statements is, this is my mission. This statement brings me back to the greater purpose, the very high call, that my challenging children are in my life.  Remembering that God gave them to me so we could flourish together, because He's uniquely gifted me to be their parent - that inspires me to better when it feels impossible or too lonely, or when I'm beating myself up for falling short.  

I find further support to continue my mission and feel empowered and directed in this mission through my small group at church and through the faith-based adoption camp we attend every year at Camp Hebron.  These are other adjuncts, that have synergistically positive effects on my mental health, along with the therapy and my faith. 

Furthermore, during that medical school time when I was 22 and my life was in crisis for at least a year, my faith was very strong.  At the time, I was a practicing Catholic and in my desperation, I began going to daily Mass.  I also furiously journaled every night, tearing through entire notebooks in a few months.  I read the bible cover to cover that year, twice! All this did envelope me in grace, I believe.  I was fortunate to have these coping skills thanks to my healthy and wholesome childhood.  But, I wonder how much quicker I might have recovered if I'd also sought professional help during that time?  I believe strongly that if I would have seen a psychologist immediately after the first traumatic event, that he or she could have identified the self-destructive behaviors I was engaging in post-trauma, labeled them appropriately and helped me stop the course of cyclical crisis I unfortunately found myself in over the coming months.  My faith during that time was absolutely vital, but in the absence of professional resources and strong community supports, I truly believe I suffered quite a bit more than I would have otherwise.  

I believe the key to mental health recovery from trauma and serious challenge is both and, not either or; both faith and professional resources. 

Faith is known in the psychological world, to be a protective factor for mental health and even against suicidality in almost all scenarios (the notable exception being adolescents who are questioning their sexual orientation or gender identity, in that case it increases the risk of death by suicide).  

With that in mind, most good therapists, regardless of their own faith background, think of faith as a positive influence on their clients lives (in most circumstances).  

And another thing: Church people who tell you that if your faith were stronger, deeper or more true then you wouldn't have anxiety or depression are incorrect.  God can, but doesn't always, cure cancer, diabetes, addiction, depression or anxiety when we ask.  Our list of medical problems doesn't AT ALL reflect God's love for us, his dedication to us OR our dedication to him. 

Our medical problems and whether we succumb to them are not at all a reflection of God's power or our power, God's love for us, or our love for Him, but a universal condition of humanity, part of the fall, and a great mystery that we cannot fully understand (this side of heaven) or control.  

Mental health problems are like diabetes.  Some people are born with it or genetically predisposed (like a type-1 diabetic) and there's almost no way for them to live a healthy life without regular doctor visits and medication.  Others are faced with too much hardship (or in the diabetics case, too much sugar) over their lifetime and their resilience (pancreas) wears out, at which point they need regular doctor visits and medication to maintain a healthy life (like a type-2 diabetic).  Some of us (like me most likely) are a combination of the two.  There's no shame in admitting you're a diabetic, and there's no shame in admitting you need help with your mental health either.  

Prayer alone is unlikely to reverse type 1 or type 2 diabetes.  Prayer can definitely help you deal with the stigmata of your disease and cope with the regimens required to keep you healthy.  Perhaps most importantly, prayer and a faith community can inspire/empower/embolden you to be disciplined and follow your doctor/therapists recommendations, so you stay on track for a healthy life.  But you can get your cognitive behavioral therapy techniques from one person, your medications at the pharmacy, and your support in church or small groups.  All your support doesn't have to come from just the one source or one type of person.  

In conclusion, psychotherapy has played an invaluable role in my family's overall health and function.  I cannot recommend it more highly or the providers we've utilized and I've linked here.  If you are on your own journey with this and struggling, uncertain or lost, please do not hesitate to reach out to your primary care physician for insight and advice.  Also, do not hesitate to reach out to me, I'd be more than happy to help you navigate or answer any follow up questions that you might have, relative to our experience.  

Finally, I encourage you to share your experiences in the ways you feel comfortable.  Don’t post it all on social media, but talk to someone. Silence keeps us alone. Drawing inward and putting on your tough guy armor perpetuates the lie that you’re alone, that you can do it on your own or you’re weak if you can’t. Drop that! Our creator created us for communion, community with one another. Confiding in one another creates opportunities for belonging, and true belonging helps us all find meaning, reminds us of our value and allows healing.  We all need to get past the stigma of needing help and having mental health problems, and the only way to break that is by vulnerably sharing our experiences in "conversations" like this.  

I trust you'll do your best to treat my kids and I with the same dignity and respect you always have. I’m expecting you to refrain from judging me and my children even though I've shared some of our darkest stuff here.  Please don't pity us, or admire us.  All this proves is that we've got courage. 

I promise that I'm a safe space too, to share your struggles.  

At the top of this blog, since the day it went live, is this quote:  

"...suffering is one of the universal conditions of being alive. We all suffer. We have become terribly vulnerable, not because we suffer, but because we have separated ourselves from each other." -- Rachel Naoimi Remen

So let's stop that cycle, lets come together rather than separate ourselves.  Come together stronger!  

Post script: My therapist is a PsyD Most of the kids therapists are Masters level, and or MSW (Masters of Social work), the psychiatrist is an MD.  Here's a handy resource on the differences: https://www.verywellmind.com/therapy-degrees-2795674

Runners Log: Miles of Lessons

Recently I've gotten back into running somewhat seriously and have plans to complete my first marathon later this year.  This combined with my full-time job of mothering gave me the urge to log the lessons learned over my miles of running, for historical and educational purposes for my kids.  Earlier this year I also read Running to the Edge, and the stories from that book resonated so much it really caused me to reflect on the tremendous impact running has had on my life.  As usual, I'm sharing on the blog in hopes that these stories are relatable and can serve to educate or inspire.  

[I'll indent and italicize lessons intended for kids and simply italicize lessons that might be applicable to grown-ups.]

Running has been a foundational part of my confidence and identity since I was a child. As a child, I was always the smallest in school, mostly because of my mom and dad's small genes but also because I was always the youngest in my class, turning five during Christmas break of kindergarten year. I learned early on that "good things come in small packages" and owned that mentality.  In the neighborhood, I was typically considered the second fastest cousin, after Mikey. When I was in seventh grade, I learned that I’d gotten more than my share of slow twitch muscle fibers when I stepped on a track for the first time and ran a mile in 7:17. I joined the track team shortly thereafter and quickly became something of a local star. 

Through running, my self confidence really blossomed. Small might have left me underestimated, but not weak.  I knew I had God-given talent and this really fueled my spiritual life. I prayed nightly for many different reasons but an upcoming race was often on the list. My parents had laid a strong faith foundation.  I'm not sure why, but I set rules for myself and my prayers regarding running. I couldn’t pray to win, and I could only ask for three things. It seemed like my prayers were usually answered. 

I backed it up with hard work. Being a farm kid, I’d known how to outwork the competition doing everything my coaches asked of me, and more. Yes, I had some good genes, but I also had farm kid grit. My dad and my uncles wouldn’t let me forget that. It was a secret ingredient to my success and allowed me to develop pride over the farm, by which I was otherwise generally embarrassed. All this was formative in countless ways, to say the least. That confidence really came in handy as an 80-pound high schooler who was new to public school and felt rather invisible next to the other girls, who were so much more developed and mature, in many ways. 

I was often underestimated or ignored due to my size, but early on I claimed this as a secret weapon of sorts. Don’t worry about what others thing of you, it isn’t between you and them. 

Your body is given to you by God.  You aren't in control of the size of your body as a child.  Take good care, eat well and exercise, but don't let how you look define you; it's only a small part of who you are as a person.  If God made you tiny, know He also made you mighty, and He'll use all of you for His good works. 

Discipline and hard work that you learn through your favorite activity can be applied to anything else in your life and if you have a strong foundation as a child in this regard, the transition comes almost effortlessly later in life. 

Although I was competitive in the sense that I placed in the top few in most races, competitiveness isn’t a hallmark of my personality. My first cross country coach would get so annoyed when I’d lap other runners on the outside, verbally encouraging them, rather than insisting they get outside.  He used to joke that he was going to stick me in a cage and poke me with a stick until I stopped being so nice. The truth was, I was competitive, I wanted to win but even more so wanted to do my best. I was most competitive within myself. On the course or the track, I valued amicability more than ferocity or power.  Many people saw that as a weakness.  Later in life, I'd come to identify Encouraging as one of my Spiritual Gifts. 

It's important to have boundaries and not let people take advantage of you or put you down.  But, good sportsmanship is a bit of an underrated characteristic these days and it shouldn't be.  Winning while kind is an art form worth practicing.  Performing better than another person or team is no reason to be mean, rude or entitled.  Start now.  Learning to put others comfort before your own on the field or the track is a great way to build character that will serve you well in many aspects of your life.  

Early sophomore year in high school, my great grandma - the one who’d traveled transatlantic as a teen from Spain to Cuba and then Cuba to NYC, immigrating my dads’ family to the US, died. It was the day of the first cross country meet of the season and I remember my dad telling me, "win it for Grandma." It was a hilly, woodsy course that I can still picture to this day, feeling her strength as I started my season off with my first win. My sophomore year continued and ultimately, was the best year of my running life.  I peaked when I was 15. 

As a southern Marylanders, our favorite indulgence was a work boat where we went out most every weekend to catch crabs. But, during spring track that year, I’d been pestering my dad whenever Red Lobster commercials came on that I wanted to try lobster. He insisted it wasn’t worth the price and crabs were better, but if I ran under 5:30 he’d take me there. A few months later, at the State meet, I came in second in 5:25, and found out Dad was right; I liked, but didn’t love, the lobster. 

As a Junior, I ran well, learned to weight lift and was blessed to be developed by some really incredible coaches. Running also gave me the gift of pride in my parents, and appreciation for them. They were known as key cheerleaders for the entire track and cross country teams; always reliably on the back stretch or a quiet and tough portion of the course, cheering for everyone, not just me.  They also coordinated our weekend treks to Fort Washington for hill workouts.  

My parents bought a treadmill and kept it in their second floor bedroom, and although I don’t remember running on it terribly often, I remember thinking the whole house was shaking when I did.  The only brand name anything I ever owned as a child we’re running shoes, my parents spared no expense when it came to my shoes. Best of all, my mom bought herself a Nike tee shirt which read, "Mary had a little shoe, it’s sole was filled with air and everyone who Mary raced didn’t have a prayer.” She wore it often, as her pride became my own. 

Child, pride from your parents is one of the sweetest gifts on earth. Soak that stuff up. And please know that it’s not the winning they’re proud of. It’s you and how you’re spending yourself, focused and determined, testing your limits and showing yourself what God made you to do. The accomplishments are nice, but they aren’t the most important part. 

I ran before sunrise and in the afternoons, at practice or when there wasn't any, and before heading to the tobacco stripping shed or field.  I'd run on backroads and main roads, trails and through farms. A dog bit me. Everyone honked at me.  It all made me feel strong.  Running put me in the local paper several times a season and took me to NYC for cross country regionals, and also to summer running camp, all of which had big impacts on my understanding of the world and my place in it. I was a big fish in a little pond. 

I ran track and cross country (CC) with some great girls (Val, Amelia, Jessie, Michelle and Shannon, to name a few) who were also talented, strong, and supportive.  But there was one girl on the CC team (Donna) who I really admired.  She was, in my opinion, pretty slow.  But, she carried herself with the same determination and commitment as myself and the other girls I mentioned. Without the chance of winning, I wasn’t entirely sure why she did it.  But, I was inspired and I would think of her again many times in the years ahead.

 

As a senior, I had some proud moments. One was wining a weight-lifting completion, benching 45% of my body weight the most number of times, I think it was 50 or 60-some times; more than all the football players and others in the class. While I ran and placed well in CC and indoor track, I suffered a stress fracture early in the outdoor track season and struggled. 

“But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint” (Isa. 40:31)

This was first bible verse I can recall committing to memory. 

Getting diagnosed was interesting, because I had “hip” pain, but it was bony - ischial tuberosity to be precise, and while I couldn’t name the bone at that point, I could touch it, and insisted it had to be broken. The doctor didn’t believe me but reluctantly ordered the X-ray, after my mom all but insisted, citing “this girl knows her body.” She’d never done that sort of thing before, but said I knew my body, and she was right. Of note, the doctor didn’t comment on my weight, which was about 90lbs at 17, or ask about my periods, which hadn’t started until I was 15 and had been irregular since, or ask about my eating, which I imagine my mother should have said was that of a horse.  I didn’t think his lack of investigation was weird at the time, but later would question these gaps in thoroughness. 

During this time, I stumbled upon an interesting quote by founder of the Olympics, Baron Pierre de Coubertin, 1908 in London:

This became my motto. 

The following year, I was thankful to be welcomed as a walk-0n to Mount Saint Mary’s college, division 1, track and cross country teams.  My first memory is from a preseason event where I felt a little surprised during the uniform try-ons to learn I was a size small, whereas most of the rest of the girls on the team were extra-smalls.  I’d never been bigger than anyone I raced or trained with. 

Division 1 (D1) cross country was everything you might imagine it could be: awesome and exhausting. I loved it. I loved the running, the girls (and definitely the boys!), and I loved the notoriety it gave us - running around campus in a sports bra everyday helps people notice you in a way I’d never really experienced back home. (Of course, I'd always worn a shirt back then.) We ran 60 miles a week and I gained 20 pounds by Christmas. A lot of it was muscle, we ran two-a-days (2-3 in the morning, 6-10 in the afternoon) and lifted too, but some of it was ice cream and waffles for dinner. I ran well at practice, but poorly at meets, and didn’t know why. 

One thing I did know, was that D1 girls were tougher, more talented, and hungrier than anyone I’d ever known before. (Hungrier, both for seconds at dinner as well as athletic achievement.) I wasn’t one of them, but I was ok with that. In indoor track I trained for the 5k and did alright and was shaping up for a good outdoor track season.

My coaches thought I’d excel in the longer distances, so I was training for the 10k, when I got 4 stress fractures in my shins. Again, no one asked any questions about my menses or my diet, but I did get a dexa bone density scan and learned I was osteopenic. When I mentioned it to one of the athletic trainers and asked about the female athlete triad, he said "you're not skinny enough to be anorexic." I knew that. I also knew that I ate twice as much as some girls on the team, and was the shortest and heaviest one. Nevertheless, the shame I felt didn’t feel quite right and it lingered. 

When something a coach or a member of your team says or does doesn't feel right, tell your parents.  Your parents want and need to know.  You won't know if they can help you if they don't know what's happening.  And if it's not a big deal, they'll help you understand it.  

Parents, let us not underestimate the societal effects on our children's body image.  Remember that anorexia isn't about being skinny, it's about control.  Our children seek control over themselves when the rest of the world feels so out of control.  Thankfully the idolatry of skinny does seem to be lessening, but for those of us with kids in sports where being light is a competitive advantage (running, biking, wrestling, dance, cheer, gymnastics, among others), it's important to keep their health in the forefront of our minds.  And finally, let's make sure they know that how they look does not influence their value or worth, not even a little bit.   

After the summer, I came back ready to run, but ultimately didn’t make it through the season, following a close friend and co-walk-on when she decided to quit the team. It’s a choice that may have been good for my future career, as I had new priorities (premed) and was clearly not on my way to running professionally.  Nevertheless, it's one I regret.  I wish I wouldn’t have copied my friends' choice with so little independent/personal discernment.  I wish my allegiance to her hadn't been greater than my allegiance to myself. 

Kids, have the self confidence to make your own choices.  Take the time you need to think about what's best for you and you alone.  Don't join or quit activities just because your best friend or love interest or the cooler kids are doing it.  Pray about it, talk to your parents, and then stand firm in your own choices with confidence.  

Ultimately, however, stepping down from the team, promoted growth in me.  As I reflect now, I wonder what I said when I returned home and had to explain why I wasn't on the team anymore?  I'm sure I was asked frequently how the glory days had passed? Although I cannot recall specifically, I imagine that I admitted I wasn’t running well, which was probably hard given the enormous portion of my identity that it had made up.  I was a little fish in a big pond now.  That being said, I think this might've been birthplace of the authenticity I’ve so dearly needed and cherished over this most recent decade.  

Choosing to end a season of life and leaving an activity behind doesn’t mean you’re a quitter or a failure.  Moving on when it’s time is healthy and mature.  Especially when it comes to sports, many children peak (like I did) when they're in their teens.  Less than 2% of all college athletes go pro and depending on the sport, 1/100 to 1 in several thousand high school athletes end up in professional sports.  

I didn’t have what it took to run D1 and I'm thankful I was able to admit that and move on.  Looking back, I’m thankful that my pre-pubertal body hadn't shackled me (via scholarship) to something my post-pubertal body couldn’t produce (competitive D1 running results). 

Through the rest of college, I ran and biked causally. It was then that I believe that my legs became my primary vehicle for exploring my love of nature, and how the joy of being outside became a primary driver for my runs and rides. My spiritual life also remained strong during this period, and I remember one of the first times I ever felt like God didn’t answer my prayers was when I got back my MCAT scores (the medical school assessment test). I felt devastated by their results but later thankful God still had a plan when I was accepted to LECOM. 

In medical school, I was a little fish in an entirely new kind of pond and I struggled here a lot more than I expected to.  However, I’d built some resilience that helped carry me through.  I started going to a gym where I focused on lifting, and picking up guys. I enjoyed this quite a bit.  

During third and fourth year rotations and starting Residency, I got back into running more.  As always, running relaxed and empowered me, I would pray and “solve all the worlds’ problems” out there on the roads. On the treadmill, I’d do sprints by Hail Mary's. It was a big part of my spiritual life. By then, I was in a mentally healthier frame of mind and aware of how my body image suffered over the years. I stopped buying magazines so as to avoid the sight of “perfect” bodies and I got rid of my scale; and I'm proud to say, I haven’t had one since.

I also stopped wearing a watch while I ran because it really didn’t matter how fast I ran, and this freedom helped me enjoy running more. For example, as a teenager I’d never run a 5k as slow as 24 minutes. But as I aged, this became more like a lofty goal, and that was hard to reconcile; it took away some of the fun of the exercise, having once been great but no longer. I need to mourn that, shed it, and become a new runner, and that was easier without a watch. Who cared how fast I ran? Plus, I had a pretty strong internal pacer and more than my share of slow twitch fibers, who helped me run consistent, albeit slow. 

Around the time of residency graduation, and the start of my marriage, I ran a few half marathons and was in pretty average shape.  Being in the healthiest relationship of my life, I also began feeling great about my body image. I trained my then puppy, Ruby, to run, and we had fun. 

I ran consistently until my second pregnancy, which we lost. The loss was genetic and unrelated to exercise or my body habitus, but I remember realizing before we lost her, that my weight was under my usual and starting drinking chocolate milk like it was my job. This stuck with me and as the miscarriages progressed, I gave up running almost entirely, afraid that if I got too light, I’d miscarry or not ovulate. I was doing NFP and had taken my temperatures daily for a few years and knew for a fact that I ovulated almost every month, but even that objective data couldn’t withstand my anxieties and fears, so running was a rarity.

As I look back on this time period, I wish I'd run more then. I wish I'd been brave enough to put myself first, although I know that sounds weird.  Running is certainly not more important than child-bearing or rearing.  But looking back, it's easy to see that my mental health would have improved if I'd had the courage to keep running.  

In the superficial sense, I also wish I'd tried for a marathon during my early thirties because trying now in my early forties is probably going to be so much harder and slower!

After 'baby 8,' my seventh pregnancy, which I carried to term, I was 37 and sure I was done having babies, but in the worst shape of my life. Work was busy and running was hard. When I tried to get back out there, it was always in short bursts. Running slow while feeling old wasn’t as fun as I’d expected. 

And then came the pandemic. About four months in, I got sent to work from home and struggled for dozens of reasons, not the least of which was that for the first time in my life I was truly sedentary. Weight piled on, but it didn’t matter since I never saw anyone.  

Ultimately however, the weight wasn’t the reason I started running again, it was the stress.  I was still old and slow, but I got back in the habit, and quickly fell in love all over again. When the pandemic isolation felt heavy, being with the trees helped; when all the world seemed so out of control, breathing in the clouds helped. 

And then we brought in our foster son, and what had been an already chaotic and challenging season of life became unrecognizably difficult.  I was carrying many burdens of modern motherhood, in addition to the fact that I’d thrust my family into discomfort like we’d never known before. Most of my relationships were strained. I was running some, but feeling guiltier than ever, another burden I just couldn’t bear. 

That June (2021), I found myself longing for a drink, an alcoholic drink that is, and that was never something I’d felt before. Although I’d binge drank a bit in medical school and residency, I was never a weekday drinker at all.  Additionally, I didn’t drink at all during the years trying to conceive.  As a historical note, I have a few second degree relatives who suffer from alcoholism and my mom was a perfect example of sobriety for my siblings and I throughout our lives. She always avoided it, knowing she might have the addiction gene, and avoiding any such temptation or slippery slope. I was reminded of this, knowing that just when I felt I “needed” it the most was exactly when I knew I had to avoid it the most. 

So, I turned to the roads. I needed to run. 

Soon after, I made the grand decision to resign from work, and two months later the kids went back to school. Immediately, I hit the roads and picked up where I’d left off so many years before. I'm not sure if it was the base I'd built during the pandemic, or just sheer desperation to feel in control of something in my life, but it didn’t feel as hard to get in shape as it had before. 

I got map-my-run, started timing myself, and eventually bought a Garmin too. I’ve been able to make these incremental changes and get stronger slowly without feeling obsessed. Although I will note that when deciding on a marathon training plan, my tumultuous history with running was evident.  I couldn't stomach a "beginner" plan, although I am in every sense of the word a beginner marathoner (having never run any more than half the total race distance before starting to train).  Ultimately, I made my own plan, a sort of hybrid between the intermediate and beginner plans, which sat better in my psyche.  

Throughout this last year of running, my predominant emotion is gratitude.  I’m just so thankful.  After my infertility and some other medical problems, I'd begun feeling disappointed in my body, like it betrayed me, more than once.  But through running I've come to feel more balanced, remembering my many gifts; not taking them for granted.  I realized I'm neither old nor slow, and I need to try and eliminate those unhealthy thoughts from my internal dialogue - I'm just out there putting one foot in front of the other, doing my best.  Now, I try to intentionally recognize and appreciate the strength of my body, feeling blessed it is as well as it is and praying it stays so for many years to come.  

I'm thankful I have more than my share of slow twitch fibers which give me endurance to enjoy many miles.  Thankful the endorphins can flow and naturally relieve my stress.  Thankful that I’m able to let my sorrows and frustrations out on the roads and trails, breathing in the trees and clouds instead, unleashing my prayers into the wind. I know my running is a gift, not the articles-in-the-paper kind of gift anymore, but still the kind that gives me confidence, and stamina for the rest of life.

My renewed commitment to fitness is well timed, as I’m raising 4 boys who will soon outweigh and outrun me.  We’re setting an example of healthy living and I’m proud of that. 

But mostly, I see this running as a gift to myself. One I should have never stopped giving myself. One I hope I’m able to do for many years to come. 

Some days, my run is the best part of my day, and at first that made me feel guilty. Over time I’ve begun to shed that guilt. Perhaps in part due to the mission-driven approach we've taken to our parenting, if I'm being honest, raising our four special boys is stressful more often than not.  Or maybe that's just true for all parents.  Either way, I now recognize that it's perfectly healthy to admit that I need and deserve my own personal happiness, in addition to but distinct from the large amounts of value and joy I gain from my family. Now I’m more present and mindful, and just so thankful to be able to have a joy and/or peace filled run as part of my day. 

This year, as a resolution of sorts, the word I chose is pray and I’m praying I’ll become more and more mentally tough, patient, wise, and resilient; possessing equanimity. I’m hoping through commitment to prayer and running, that I’ll be able to steady myself in the challenges that linger ahead. 

As my marathon draws near, I’ve been impressed how during the long runs, my mind struggles more than my legs or my lungs. Self doubt (in addition to plantar fasciitis) is my biggest obstacle. I’ve also enjoyed how much marathoning is the perfect metaphor for mothering.  When you get to those middle miles, ain’t nothing easy about it. And that's part of the fun - pushing forward anyways.  Growing through the tough stuff.  Believing in my heart and feeling in my body that I am faithful, strong and steadfast, even if this journey doesn't go like I plan. 

In summary, what do I hope for my kids and their athleticism: 

Child, I am proud of you, now and always. Use your God-given abilities to their greatest potential. Maybe you'll be small like me; maybe you'll peak early like me; maybe you won't.  Either way, don't let it define you. Develop a good work ethic and stay committed, allowing your favorite activity to grow in you many characteristics that you will be able to use in future aspects of your life. Be on guard against becoming obsessed, know that this activity is only a portion of your life and let's work together to keep it a healthy portion. Use it to stay healthy, both physically and mentally. Be a role model for sportsmanship and cultivate a positive attitude on all the teams you ever have the privilege of participating on. Be successful and proud, and give God the glory for all your achievements. I cannot wait to watch and support as you discover and hone your talents! Never forget, YOU are God's Masterpiece!  

Ephesians 2:10:

For we are God’s masterpiece. 

He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, 

so we can do the good things 

he planned for us long ago.

Breakthroughs

It’s been 16 months since we became a family of 6 through kinship foster care.  What an intense time it has been. 

During this time, I have wanted to blog here more than I have.  My partner and I see education as one of our core values and part of our family mission.  And so, I long to leverage this platform to inspire and educate my friends, whether it be faith-based approaches to adoption, infertility, putting values into practice, mental health, medical marriages or women in leadership.  I feel invigorated by sharing and hopefully propelling others in healthy and meaningful directions.  

As a leader, I've come to find that authenticity was the value I hold most dear.  Authenticity is being true to yourself, not false or copied but genuine and real. Within the confines of the patient safety movement this is the most essential ingredient to effective teams and quality work.  

To me, authenticity means speaking the truth.  I call myself a walking confessional at work, this is part of my style, my persona and I believe it to be an effective tool and thought leaders across industries agree (Amy Edmondson's The Fearless Organization is an inspiring text on this subject).  Being real on the job, telling true stories, being forthcoming with my failings were my hallmark.  This pattern of behavior inspired others to be authentic too, which breaks down the walls of silence which make healthcare, and so much of our lives, so dangerous.  If we had a significant error that led to harm or death, I'd be careful not to let the PR team "pretty it up" too much.  By telling the truth and owning our mistakes, more truth could come out, allowing us to get to true root causes and real solutions.  I knew the power of this habit and saw the results it could produce everyday.  

Authenticity is is a key value I strive to practice in my personal life too.  It's the one thing I really dislike about social media, so much of it seems fake, copied, unreal.   Yeah, I want to look pretty in any picture I post online, but I also want to look like myself; round cheekbones, weedy garden and all. 

In a recent blog, I mentioned how humbling trauma-informed parenting feels.  That's the truth.  It's getting it right a lot of the time and also getting it wrong much more often than we care to admit.  It’s knowing that those times when you don't get it right, you might be retraumatizing a kid who's already been through too much.  My words and actions.  It's exhausting and sometimes it’s rewarding, but not always. 

I'd like to be brave and authentically share bits of such details with you regularly.  Because then, I believe, my friends will know that this is what adoption looks like in our family, and that I'm a safe place to share if you’re struggling too.  I'm a student of Brene Brown and believe all that vulnerability is the key to intimate and real relationships. 

That’s why I began this blog some ten years ago, after all. My therapist encouraged the idea, and sharing the dark web of emotions I suffered during my miscarriages brought healing for me and connection with so many of you. It’s been a great gift. I’ve similarly been inspired by others who share their triumphs of overcoming of challenges. We learn from one another, develop community and thrive in our belonging. 

Through all this I’ve become a bit of a spokesperson for adoption, and I embrace this identity.  

As this blog continues and my life transitions from infertility to a mother of four complicated boys, I wonder, how can I share our new stories?  These stories are dominated by the kids and also some dark emotions.  Healing and learning could transpire through that as well.  But, perhaps my sons don’t want to be the poster children for adoption? Maybe they don’t want to be a spokesperson for mental health. My choices now have to respect and prepare for that possibility later. 

There’s great tension here, it's hard to strike the right balance.  Unable to find the right words, I opted to not write a Christmas letter this past year.

If I only write about times where trauma or sacrifice are on display, it may seem complaining, ungrateful, unfaithful, or even worse, like I'm looking for praise. On the other hand, sharing solely the good times feels inauthentic; in it's least harmful forms it's an unreal and slanted view of our lives, and in it's worst, it's exclusionary and makes others feel less than.  In both of these ways, social media can tempt us into over sharing, for promotion of our own authorship or follower-count.  I want to steer clear from all that. 

I also worry if I go into detail about the non-preferred behaviors my kids are displaying, or tell you how often these challenges occur, I worry that I'm objectifying my children.  The internet is forever.  And these kids are human beings who deserve dignity and respect.  So, how do I balance their dignity with my authenticity?  

I think this is a major challenge facing society today.  How do you become an advocate for those who are undervalued or judged in our society without objectifying them and stripping them of their privacy?  

This is particularly important with children and with adopted children.  Theirs is not my story to tell; it's one of the first things you learn in adoption education courses.  One day, they'll be teenagers or adults and they'll want to be the author of their own story.  Adopted people deserve to share their family history and story in the ways they feel comfortable, just like the rest of us.  While I do tell friends and family in confidential conversation about our struggles, I don’t want to “tell” everyone through the internet.  I'd hate to use this platform to journal our struggles and triumphs in parenting special children now, for the potential educational value of sharing, at the expense of my children's resentment later.  It's just not right.  

On the other hand, if I stay silent about the mental health challenges we have in our household, we miss opportunities for connection, belonging, support and for inclusion of others with similar struggles into our community.  Silence perpetuates the stigma. Silence keeps us alone. 

So, this is my attempt to share an honest and useful selection of stories that bring good educational value without much risk of objectifying or embarrassing my children, or glorifying myself.  

So, what have these past 16 months been like? Well, this has been the hardest year of our lives, didn’t seem like the best Christmas letter intro, but it’s the truth. It’s the only thing I’ve known with 100% clarity some months. 

Its been chaotic and challenging. They're busy, entertaining, mischievous and exhausting.  All of us are wading through our own unique waters of trauma, sacrifice and conditional and unconditional love each day. 

During the past 16 months, our tightly knit family became stretched into a new and unfamiliar form.  

On a macro level, here was our year: 

• 4 months of honeymoon period 
• 4 months of escalating and unraveling 
• 2 months of reengineering 
• 6 months of steady progress leading us to now 

On a micro level, it’s important to note that all six of us have gone through escalation, impulsivity, and reengineering; I’m not just talking about one or two of us.  This may have occurred when we were the targets of another individual’s anger, or as we each grieved our collective and individual losses. 

Most months we average about 15 hours of therapy and adoption visits per month. We have several therapists and social workers engaging with us each week and month, helping with formal diagnoses and oft-changing behavioral challenges. 

This has been sacrificial and forces us to put our pride aside. While we feel like we embarked on this journey eyes wide open, it nevertheless has asked more of us than we expected. We’re completely committed, but that’s not to say they’ve been easy. It’s a lot of silent dues-paying now, with the hopes of big payoffs in terms of children’s character development later. 

In the purely logistical sense, these frequent appointments mean skipping play dates (my kids all-time favorite thing) or cutting them short and coming in early, for therapy visits, every week. It means everyone we know well knows we’re in therapy and seeing at least one therapist every week; which is honestly a little humbling for me. (I wasn’t exactly embarrassed to need therapists, but let’s just say that the move to feeling proud we’re getting the help we need has taken some time and effort.) 

These frequent appointments also mean having a team of professionals advising us on our responses to certain behaviors, asking questions that get us curious about our own tendencies and inclinations, and suggesting that we work on our co-parenting style.

This takes a weird combination of grit and absolute desperation for God’s help in everyday moments. It’s also a weird combination of tiring and joyful. I often use the work rich to describe this time. What a year. I’m often at a loss for words. 

The biggest lesson I think I’ve learned through all this has been to slow down, to fill our days less close to brim full, to allow enough time for the children to transition successfully between events.  This is counter to my and my husbands natural inclinations. Perhaps I should have mentioned that my second-favorite value is efficiency. I really value, admire and seek speed. 

And if I’m being honest, the pace I like to keep and was in the habit of keeping when I was working full time before, it’s a bit selfish. It was for my glory, the glory of “having it all.” Juggling so many priorities, being efficient with my time, was a survival skill. When my nanny was working, I had to laser focus on myself and my agenda, so that everything could get done before dinner. I didn’t mind the aggressive pace and the focus helped me accomplish my goals, so it was actually rather comfortable for me.  But when I had to readjust to much more time with the kids, running their daily schedule and focusing entirely on executing my goals for them, I quickly learned that my old habits didn’t serve us too well. 

A popular quote the team has shared with us which really help transform our thinking is

He’s not giving me a hard time, 

he’s having a hard time. 

This new mentality is hard to sustain, but it upends our selfish perspective and keeps the trauma-informed approach at the forefront.  Full agendas with efficient transitions - that modus operandi doesn’t work for families with special children. We certainly aren’t seeking perfection but we can’t even come close to happy or successful when we rush. Action packed days just don’t work; they’re a recipe for disappointment for this team.  At first, I resisted the change, but eventually (after enough failures) I realized there is so much more joy and peace in a relaxed pace. And guess what?!  I don’t have to choose busy, it’s a popular choice that I can and do reject. 

What’s this look like in real life? Cue the utter reliance on God for patience. Plus some practical changes: some serious decluttering of the schedule, letting go of my to-do list. Lots of 5 minute warnings, setting of timers, and something called the sock box (a box of socks in the mud room near the shoes, for kids who forgot to bring socks down when they came). 

Slowing down and spacing things out allows my kids the chance to excel. They don’t always excel, even with what I feel like is more than adequate time, but it’s a lot more likely. Me weighing them down with my disappointment about us being late or forgetting to bring something to our next outing certainly won’t help them thrive. It’s a burden they shouldn’t have to carry. Although we do fail regularly, we are trying hard to avoid causing shame or using shame as a way of shaping our kids behavior, due to its unhealthy long-lasting effects. 

So what dividends have all these therapy appointments, and slowing down of the expectations earned us?  After 16 months, I think I can say that we are now in the midst of a series of small breakthroughs. 

Here’s an example of a tough moment turned positive: 

Our family-based therapists were at the house during their weekly visit and we had finished an ecomap activity.  The boys had moved on to target practice with nerf guns and no one was taking turns in good order.  This ended with some swings between a few boys requiring separation by me.  Everyone was frustrated.  In the past, this sort of incident might’ve continued to escalate, and creating chaos and tension that would have lasted 30-60 minutes. But on this day, several minutes later, one boy came out of the office with this letter: 

This note almost brought us all to tears. It was one of the first gestures of genuine kindness and remorse for hurting someone he… cares about. 

Darn. Whew. 

Thank you, God. Thank you!!

This one nice note turned out to be the first in a series of small acts of kindness that are forging new bonds. It’s taken 16 months, but a few times in the last 1 month, the youngest two have talked about how the boys are “becoming friends.”  They occasionally give each other real compliments and genuine apologies.  

The canyon between long loved brotherhood and newly forced brotherhood is less wide.  Our family team is really bonding. All this progress also has us ready to “graduate” from family therapy soon (which will lighten up our committed hours per week significantly).

Without a doubt, we’ve got a lot to be thankful for. The hard work and intentionality has transformed each of us individually and as a whole. 

If I’m stepping fully into my authenticity, here, I think I hesitated to write here because of my uncertainty and doubts. We’ve had faith throughout this past year, but it’s still been a dark season, and that has made it hard to authentically share, especially in an uplifting way. Now that the chaos has stabilized, I think I’m able to see more light, which makes sharing on the broader platform easier. 

As peaceful moments are becoming more regular, I’m more excited to share what we’ve learned, and we’re all embracing this new family a little more tightly.  We’re getting comfortable and settling in.  Like in any community or brotherhood, there will always be tough moments and bad days.  But as we enter this next stage where the adoption becomes final, I think we’ve all got a lot of hope for tomorrow. 

I’ll leave you with these words from Jordan St. Cyr, in Weary Traveler, which have encouraged me recently. 

Weary traveler
Beat down from the storms that you have weathered
Feels like this road just might go on forever
Carry on

You keep on givin'
But every day this world just keeps on takin'
Your tired heart is on the edge of breaking

Carry on 

Weary traveler, restless soul
You were never meant to walk this road alone
It'll all be worth it so just hold on
Weary traveler, you won't be weary long
No, you won't be weary long