Reunion with Molly

Last week I received a notification on my phone with a message from someone I had never met. The woman who sent the message explained that she was looking for her daughter's former foster mom from when her daughter was a baby and she wondered if it could possibly be me. When I read the name of the baby my eyes almost popped out of my head and my heart started pounding . . . It was Molly! 

 

If you're new to this blog, "Molly" is the name of our second foster child who was placed with us from the time she was 4 months old till she was almost a year old. Consequently, she had lots of firsts with us: first words, first solid foods, first steps, etc. I replied almost immediately in the affirmative "Yes! We fostered her." Of course, that was 18 years ago so I was astounded when Molly's mom replied back with pictures of a gorgeous young woman rather than the sweet baby we once loved. Her face and smile were the same- but she was all grown up! 

Molly's mom explained that she was trying to help Molly fill in some of the gaps of her history, including the time she was placed with us, as Molly had heard differing accounts. Molly's mom also asked, "Do you have any baby pictures of her?" I sent her a few pictures from my private blog, which, thankfully, also included a few updates about developmental milestones. I admit that I had to come back to the "About Me" section of this blog to make sure I had the dates of her placement with us and different hearings correct.

I had a lot of questions about Molly's life as well, including her relationship with her birth parents and their status. Molly's mom was more than happy to bring me up to speed about what had happened to Molly from the time she left our home, including being in the care of a relative, being adopted (her birth parents eventually relinquished their parental rights), being separated from her little brother who was adopted into a non-familial family, and eventually moving into the same neighborhood as this woman who hasn't officially adopted her (yet), but who has been raising her as one of her own children along with her other children for over a decade now. Molly's history also included some tragedy and I was saddened to hear that. 

Over the next couple of days Molly's mother and I exchanged more information through messaging and in addition to some of Molly's hardships I learned of some of her accomplishments: She has graduated from high school, has her drivers license, and is currently working as a CNA and deciding what route she'd like to go for college. 

Molly's mom initially prefaced her initial message with something like "If you aren't interested in providing information or having contact that's fine, but if you are interested in at least answering some questions, that would be wonderful." When I told my husband about the initial message he was shocked but also as ecstatic as I was, so it really wasn't a question of "Do we want contact?" but "How is this going to work out?" In addition, you know how some people are just really easy to get along with and you just seem to "click"? That's how I felt when I was interacting with Molly's mom so I was more than happy to answer questions and things felt natural with her rather than forced or awkward. 

YESTERDAY My husband and I were reunited with Molly thanks to her mom, who, much to her credit, kept it all a secret from Molly for over a week. There were a lot of tears on my part and Molly was so delighted to see the pictures we gave her of when she was a baby, as well as to read about and hear about what she was like when she was with us. We were able to answer some questions for her and provide a clarification of events from when she was placed with us, then went back to her birth parents and then when she came back into care up to when she was placed with a relative. Molly's mom referred to finding me as a tender mercy and I feel the same way.

October 2025 Update- Part 2 (Em)

Six weeks ago tonight our oldest daughter, “Em” made the decision to leave our home and go live with her birth mom.  Since then Em has joined us a couple of times for family celebrations and last week she let us take her out to ice cream after her choir concert (which has been tradition), but other than that she has not expressed any desire to return back home.

Occasionally I still find myself automatically setting Em’s place at the table and then the realization hits me and I slowly put the plate and silverware back.  I still text her quite regularly as well- just to check up on her, occasionally to nag her about a missing assignment (because that’s my job and I just want her to graduate from high school at this point!), and sometimes just to share a silly meme.  Much like when she was living at home, sometimes she’ll respond and other times she’ll just ignore my texts.  I finally got out our Halloween decorations a couple of weeks ago and came across a cute little cloth ghost she made as a pre-schooler.  I immediately texted her, “Remember this?!” That time she actually responded back in the affirmative. 

When we were at Em’s choir concert last week I realized I didn’t know any of the songs her class would be performing as she hadn’t been practicing at home like she normally would have been. Little things like that make me feel a tinge of grief.  A few more people in our neighborhood and church congregation have now heard the news that she’s not at home anymore and those close to me have expressed their condolences.  As for Jack and Jill, they have each reacted a little differently to their older sister being gone.  One weekend Em told us she might stop by and spend an evening with her brother and sister, but then she decided not to.  When Jill find out she wasn’t coming after all she said “It’s kind of stupid how she cares more about her birth family than the family she’s been living with her whole life.”  Jack pretends like he doesn’t care, but I know that deep down he does.  She actually spent the night when it was his birthday and we got home from dinner later- and then she went back to her birth mom’s the next day.  Jack told us “I slept a lot better knowing she was home.”   Then on the weekend when he was looking forward to playing video games and hanging out with her but she changed her mind he just tried to casually brush it off and said  something like “She just doesn’t care about me anymore.”  One thing I’ve been reminded of with teenagers is that, like preschoolers, they can be so egocentric.

As for Em’s birth mother- I still haven’t heard one word from her.  Not one phone call or text to me to tell me “Hey- she’s doing alright.”  Nothing.  On days when I’m not so angry or resentful I think “I get it- she’s trying to make up for 18 lost years” because I generally try to give other people the benefit of the doubt.  But I’ve also learned over the past couple of years of opening up this adoption that Em’s birth mother has never really grieved placing Em. She never went back for counseling through the agency we used.  She had another baby girl about a year and a half after Em was born- whom she parented- and now has partial custody of.  When my husband and I and Em’s birth mom were initially figuring out boundaries and how often she and Em would be getting together in person we soon learned that Em’s birth mom was approaching it as if it was a shared custody/coparenting arrangement (as she has with her other children) rather than respecting the preferred boundaries that my husband and I had set as Em’s parents.

I’d like to think that if I had another person’s child in my care I would encourage them (even if say, they had run away) to call their parents and let them know they’re doing okay.  If they wouldn’t I would certainly reach out to the parents and let them know- “Don’t worry- they’re in good hands.  They’re safe.”   That’s one thing we’d try to do with the birth parents of babies and kids we fostered over the years because I can’t imagine the loss and worry or even guilt they might be feeling- regardless of the reason their child ended up in state custody.  We’d try, through our actions, to let the birth families know “Hey- we’re not trying to take your child.  But we promise they will be safe and loved until they come back to you.”

The relationship between my husband and I and Em’s birth mother has turned into more of a competition rather than working together with the best interest of a child at the center.  I feel like we’re the “mean” parents who make sure Em has done her homework or cleaned her room while Em’s birth mom is the “fun” weekend parent who gets to take her to Disneyland or to do fun things without any real parenting or discipline involved.  I don’t know how long the “Honeymoon period” is going to last, but Em did mention to us, the night of her choir concert, that her birth mother recently told her (when she was encouraging her to get a job or something) “Well, when I was your age I had a baby AND a job, so I don’t have much sympathy for those who don’t work!”- something to that effect.  My husband and I were trying so hard to bite our tongues and make “Well maybe don’t drop out of school and sleep around!” come out as nicely and constructively as possible for the sake of teaching our daughter.  We sincerely try not to talk smack of any of our children’s birth parents in front of them- but considering their histories and how our children have been affected as a direct result of their actions- sometimes it’s so hard not to!

Most of the time I obviously really miss Em.  But I can’t deny that about a month ago I was extremely angry at her (and didn’t hold back expressing my feelings about it) when I realized she didn’t spend the night at her birth mother’s house- and then lied to me about it.  She turned off her location sharing on her phone* for a while after that because I was being “creepy” trying to check up on her.  Admittedly, my biggest motivation for tracking her is to make sure she makes it to school every day.  Fortunately, my husband convinced her to turn her location sharing back on so that I can see where she is for her safety.

 *Technically it is our phone because we’re the ones paying for it.  We’ve gone back and forth wondering if we should take possession of her phone (and IPAD) now that she’s an “adult” and doesn’t need us anymore, but we’re pretty sure if we did her birth mom would just get her new ones and we want to keep the lines of communication open.

Em is always more than welcome to come back home- but she is the one who has to want it first.

October 2025 Update- Part 1 (Jill)

Jill spent eight weeks in her intensive outpatient treatment and is now back in “regular” school full-time. Technically, the last two weeks she spent only 3 and a half hours twice a week at her IOP and then the other three weekdays she would spend the entire school day at her old school.  We decided to go that route so that there was a bit of a transition and not too much of a shock or burnout from going back to regular school full-time all at once. 

I also contacted the school counselor before she returned to school to set up regular check-ins with her and met with her teacher and the principal in person about updating her 504 and giving them a summary of any concerns and ways to be of support to Jill.  However, before meeting with the principal and her teacher I was required to meet with the Student and Family Resources Director on the district level at the district offices who met with Jill and I (since she’s been out of school for most of the first term) and he documented that she did, in fact, qualify for accommodations and would be returning to public school full-time.

I’ve never had a child who qualified for an IEP before, but after receiving assessment results from a speech pathologist at Jill’s IOP the last week she was there, they recommended she get some testing done and have accommodations put in place for receptive language. So, after more testing under the direction of the school psychologist she’ll most likely not only have a 504, but an IEP as well.  Jill has been a chatterbox since she was preschool aged and has never had any problems with speaking or forming sounds, but I guess things like picking up on social cues/nonverbal communication and taking things literally rather than figuratively (indicative of autism) can fall under the category of speech/language concerns.   

I should probably be used to it by now, but when I was looking at Jill’s discharge paperwork I started feeling a little overwhelmed and sad because there wasn’t just one diagnosis listed- but multiple: depression, anxiety, ADHD, and autism.  I think raising a child with just one of those challenges could be difficult, but then when there’s several overlapping symptoms all at once it just can feel a little . . . discouraging.  Jill hasn’t even entered junior high yet and I worry what things will look like in the future when I use how she is currently as a baseline.

As for continuing care we can actually use the staff at her outpatient treatment center for medication management which will be slightly easier than working through her psychiatrist every three months or so.  We have also decided to have her continue seeing the therapist she saw for individual therapy at her Outpatient program for ongoing therapy (for now at least) since they have a good relationship and she “fired” her last therapist for siding too much on issues with mom and dad.  Jill’s therapist at her IOP was very knowledgeable about autism and even recommended some good books and resources for us, including this book.

However, her therapist also suggested that we might try to find a clinician more knowledgeable about adoption issues.  I laughed when I got a list of some providers who fit that criteria and immediately noticed that a couple of them were my former coworkers.  I have no doubt they would be great, but that would also be slightly awkward for my child to complain to them on occasion about how mean her parents are and how much she hates her family, etc.

Speaking of adoption competent therapists, last month (after completing a final exam) I completed a yearlong professional Training for Adoption Competency (TAC) for mental health practitioners and other adoption professionals under the Center for Adoption Support and Education (CASE).  We discussed, in detail, the seven core issues of adoption and best clinical practices for clients impacted by adoption (adoptees, birth parents, adoptive parents, grandparents, siblings, etc.)  Although I currently only have one client who is a transracial adoptee, I had a lot of success in working through some of the chapters from this book with her:

I recently recommended this book to another adoptive mom as well.

Loss and Hidden Sorrow

 I started writing this yesterday and was able to finish this morning before my first appointment.

There’s been a lot of loss the past couple of days in our nation and in my heart.  Today is 9/11 and there’s a collective grief and outpouring of reverence as we remember the lives lost and how the world has changed since then.  Yesterday there was a political assassination in my own state, and then just hours later I got word of yet another school shooting. Such tragedies can serve as a call to action for change and either bring people together in unity or create more division.

On a personal level, tomorrow is the death anniversary of my mom.  I’ll have time to visit her grave before I go to work. Hers is a loss I share with my siblings and other family members, so we can be of support to each other and lean on each other, if needed.

The past couple of days I’ve been experiencing a loss that isn’t publicly known.  Only my husband and children, a couple of my siblings, and a trusted church leader are aware.  This one is an ambiguous loss- because the person who has been “lost”- my oldest adopted daughter- is still alive- but she has chosen not to physically be in our home anymore.

I’ll back up to how we got to his point. This was my Facebook status from a couple of years ago:

                                     

Over the past couple of years our daughter has had an open relationship with not only her birth mother, but with birth siblings.  She’s been able to meet aunts, uncles, a few cousins, and grandparents she was previously unaware of.  I mention these relationships because 20 years ago when we started our adoption journey the focus in our preparation and training was on the “adoption triad”- meaning adopted child, birth parents, and adoptive parents.  However, now I prefer using the more updated and inclusive term “adoption kinship network” because adoption involves many more people than just parents and child. 

Something my daughter never had before opening up the relationship with her birth family is older sisters, and now she does! How cool is it that my daughter was able to be one of her half sister’s bridesmaids at her wedding?  How fun for my daughter that she gets doubly spoiled with gifts and baskets and stockings during Easter and Christmas? 

For the most part, things have been “good” for my daughter with her open adoption experience, but my husband and I have faced some challenges.  What started out as an invitation to keep things open with her birth mother has morphed into more of a coparenting arrangement, not respecting our boundaries, and on more than one occasion, going behind our backs.

Ideally, a successful open adoption brings to mind words and concepts like “sharing” “mutual respect” and “multiplication of love” (rather than something finite that can be divided up into smaller pieces).  But without boundaries, open communication, and mutual respect things can turn into resentment, jealousy, and competition. 

I think what’s most surprising to me is that I’m generally a pretty chill, kind person and I’ve always been good at sharing.  But things have transpired over the past year that have made me realize I’m not as good as “sharing” as I thought- especially when I feel like my role as a parent is not honored.    

I could go into a lot more detail, but this is not the place to do that.  That is what friends or therapy or sisters are for, right?

This is the text I got a couple of days ago which broke my heart.

                                           

What I thought might be an overnight visit or just a couple of days is now indefinite.  I realized my daughter’s intentions when she returned to the house with two empty duffel bags provided by her birth mom. 

As I discussed things with Jack and Jill after my oldest daughter packed up more clothes and belongings and left the house, they tried to downplay things, with statements such as “It was bound to happen sometime.” And “It’s okay- she never spent as much time with us and would prefer being with her boyfriend, anyway.”  Were they trying to protect their own feelings or were they trying to comfort and console me in a way?

18 years old but with still a year left of high school and no drivers license or job is an awkward stage to try to leave home. I say leave home instead of “run away” because it’s not exactly the same thing. But it does bring up similar panic and concern in a parent’s heart.

I reminded my daughter that she’s still on our insurance, I still have to take her to dr’s appointments, and even though she’s 18 years old my husband and I are the only ones who can legally excuse her absences from school or check her out of school.

This year a young woman from my state ran away from home-twice- (fortunately she turned herself into a police station the first time) and some of the comments left online were so incredibly judgmental- such as “I wonder what’s going on in that home to make her run away twice!”  “It must be her parents fault”, etc.

If you’ve never had a child suffer from mental illness or trauma (and adoption is trauma since it’s born from loss) then please refrain from making any judgements.

I know that things could be much more worse.  Although my daughter’s birth mom has not yet attempted to communicate with me or respond to my texts, I am in daily contact with my daughter (at least via texting) and I know that she’s safe.  She expressed that she will still join us for family celebrations.  

But it hurts that she’s not home.  

Nobody will be bringing me a casserole or card expressing "I'm sorry for your loss", because the loss is not known to others.

Ambiguous Loss

 As a mental health therapist I’m familiar with Elisabeth Kubler Ross’s Stages of Grief.  I am also well aware that grieving is not a perfectly linear cycle of steps but that grief can manifest itself in many different ways and can jump all over the place. 

I have also learned, through personal and professional experiences, that some losses- like death- are somewhat easier to understand and process because they’re so final and so public.  When you lose someone to death, there is an immediate outpouring of sympathy.   Having lost both of my parents and both of my in-laws over the past three years- [four of them within three short months of each other]- my husband and I have been on the receiving end of that kind of support. People learn of the loss and express their condolences because they want to be of help.  But what happens when people are unaware of a loss or it’s not a typical “I’m sorry for your loss- here’s some flowers and a casserole” type of loss?

There is a different kind of loss- ambiguous loss (also known as disenfranchised grief) which is a little more complicated because it refers to not a physical loss of someone, but grieving someone who is still alive.  A couple of examples which relate specifically to adoption and foster care are: 

1) The tremendous loss and grief children in the foster care system can feel when being split up from their siblings or separated from their parents. 

2) An adopted person or birth parent (especially in closed adoptions) grieving the loss of their relationship and/or role in the life of their birth parent or child.  Even though the person is still alive, they may not be around or even acknowledged. 

3) Foster parents grieving the loss of their foster children after they leave the home and are either reunified with family or placed in a different placement.  In this case I have sometimes chided myself and felt like I don’t have the “right” to grieve because the child was never mine to begin with and I’m the one who signed up for it in the first place.  Nevertheless, thinking of those babies and children who have been a part of our home and who aren’t here anymore hurts deeply.

A few other examples of disenfranchised grief not related to fostering or adoption could be divorce, miscarriage, or grieving over someone with dementia or a traumatic brain injury.  I feel like I lost my mom more than once due to her Alzheimer’s the last couple of years of her life.  As hard as it was to lose her to death, I became so frustrated and angry and sad that I lost her even before her passing when she was living, on the occasions that I felt she was not the same person I had been raised by.  

One of the reasons I’m talking about ambiguous loss is because over the past couple of years I have felt some very real losses over how I expected my children to be contrasted with the reality of some of the challenges that they’ve had to face and will continue to face.  These challenges- like Jill’s autism- aren’t always known to others so it’s a type of loss of hidden sorrow that my husband and I keep to ourselves without others necessarily knowing.

I can tell you for certain one thing that makes these losses even more apparent- and that is when I compare my children to other people’s children who appear to have no struggles at all.  I think it was either Eleanor or Theodore Roosevelt who said” Comparison is the thief of joy.” And I 100% agree. 

For Jill’s 4^th grade year I was sure to give her teacher a head’s up of any concerns I had and she did pretty well academically, but struggled a bit emotionally and socially. Her attendance was good until about April when she started getting burnt out again- which seems to be a pattern over the past couple of years.   I also vividly remember an email I got from her teacher one day which was sent to me telling me how well Jill was able to pay attention and finish her work one particular day.  I literally breathed a sigh of relief when I received that email because it stood in sharp contrast to a couple other emails I’d received (and at least one phone call home from her teacher on one occasion and the vice principal on another occasion) when Jill had gotten in trouble.

Last school year (5^th grade) we decided to enroll Jill in a private charter school which had smaller class sizes and a teacher’s aide in every classroom.  We believed she would get some more individualized attention for her needs and she did really well (with the exception of a couple of incidents at the end of the year requiring emails home from the principal and vie principal!)  I was really proud of Jill for making the transition to a new school, new classroom, new teacher, new rules and new dress code0 but especially since she didn’t know anyone.  However, for this school year Jill decided she wanted to spend her last year of grade school at the local elementary where most of her friends are.  I can’t blame her. 

We were planning on Jill going back to her regular elementary school this fall, but we had some rough patches with her behavior during the summer (including, sadly, some incidents of self-harm) so in the past couple of weeks we had a change of plans.  We withdrew her from her local elementary school temporarily- where most of the other kids in our neighborhood would be going, and after researching some different options, we were able to get her into an Intensive Outpatient Day Treatment Program during the day which specializes in kids with autism.  We are extremely fortunate that our insurance will pick up the cost, the commute is less than twenty minutes and that they had an opening for Jill to  be admitted the exact same day that classes began in our school district. 

Jill has successfully completed her first week of her IOP program and is doing very well. We get a write up of her progress each day and all of he medication management is taken care of by the nurses and staff at the center while she is there rather than her psychiatrist.  This has advantages as she went through some medication changes during the summer (when her focus didn’t have to be as high due to school not being in session) from a stimulant ADHD medication to a non-stimulant medication because of some side effects.  Go figure, she ended up recently going back on her original stimulant medication because the benefits outweighed the side effects.

 Jill will be in her intensive outpatient program for 8-12 weeks depending on the progress she makes.  She only spends about a couple of hours a day on actual school work an the rest of the time doing various groups (The OT room is awesome!) for therapy.  She sees an individual therapist at least once a week and will have family therapy once a week- which is important.  I know as a therapist with my children and adolescent clients that you can’t just drop them off to a therapist with the attitude of “fix my kid” without having the support and education of involved parents and understanding how parenting styles and family dynamics affect child. 

Jill was a little worried about what she might tell other kids when she returns to her regular school about where she was during the first couple months of the schoolyear, but her therapist explained to her that she could just tell them “I was at a different school” which is not a lie as the school portion of the program is an actual accredited school who will provide her teachers and next school a transcript of the work she completed.  I do worry that she might not have all the cushy advantages of her current program at her regular school (plenty of breaks and snacks and not a batted eye when she plays with fidgets to regulate or chews on her chewelry), but I’ve also been told that a staff member or two of the IOP can meet with her regular school when she’s completed the program to give an update and suggest which accommodations or teaching methods work well for her, so her 504 can be fine-tuned.

Autism Level 1 Diagnosis

Three weeks.  That’s how long Jill lasted doing online school in our home (2 1/2 years ago) until she complained about missing her friends from school too much.  By the time she transferred back to her local elementary school (after Spring Break) there was just a couple of months left of the school year and with the aid of regular check-ins from the School Counselor and accommodations from her 504 Plan, Jill was able to push through to the end of her Third Grade year.

I was looking back at some emails I had written to her teachers and the school psychologist during that time and my memory was refreshed that although Jill was able to attend about 70% of her online classes with my supervision, she would have meltdowns whenever it was time to complete an assignment.  There was also increased aggression as evidenced by more than one hole kicked in her bedroom wall and a large picture frame in our kitchen with a corner of the glass frame missing  from when Jill threw something at it in frustration and it shattered.

2022/2023 was a tough year for Jill- and for me as her parent.  In addition to the transition of schools, she started meeting with a psychiatrist [rather than just her pediatrician] for med management when we realized she would most likely need more than just ADHD medication throughout her life.  She also switched therapists when the therapist she had been working with suggested that Jill could benefit from a “higher level of care.” 

For Jill’s 4^th grade year I was sure to give her teacher a head’s up of any concerns I had for Jill and she did pretty well academically, but struggled a bit emotionally and socially. Her attendance was good until about April when she started getting burnt out again- which seems to be a pattern over the past couple of years.   I also vividly remember an email I got from her teacher one day which was sent to me telling me how well Jill was able to pay attention and finish her work one particular day.  I literally breathed a sigh of relief when I received that email because it stood in sharp contrast to a couple other emails I’d received (and at least one phone call home from her teacher on one occasion and the vice principal on another occasion) when Jill had gotten in trouble.

Perhaps the hardest part of that year and the weeks she did online schooling in particular, is when the psychiatrist we took her to was under the impression that Jill’s symptoms of aggression, increased irritability, and mood swings could be pediatric bipolar disorder, which manifests much differently than adult bipolar.  Consequently, we were counseled to take our child off of her ADHD medication as stimulants could possibly make things worse for her- and she was put on an antipsychotic and a few other heavy duty medications.  It would have made things much easier if we could have been able to answer the psychiatrist’s question of “Any family history of bipolar disorder?” when all we know for certain is that substance use disorder is prevalent on both sides of her birth parent’s families. 

 I can’t remember how long it took (a month or two?) till we came to the conclusion that Jill’s new medications weren’t really doing anything- besides causing some weight gain- and we could tell she needed to be back on her stimulant medication so that she could actually focus during the day and keep regulated. 

Growing up (and even until much of my adulthood) I always figured that whatever doctors say is what you follow because they are the professionals and they are always right- right? So you can imagine the couarge it took for me to take Jill back to her psychiatrist and say, “I don’t think the medications are working- I’m not even fully convinced she has BPD- and we really want her to go back on her ADHD medication which helped her as she’s struggling to focus.”  I guess I was expecting the worst-case scenario of me being lectured or gaslighted, and then second-guessing myself, but the psychiatrist was actually calm about things and assured me that I know my child best and that sometimes the best doctors can do is offer up an educated “guess” for diagnosis and treatment- but there is always room for error.  I was relieved when Jill could go back on her ADHD meds and seemed somewhat “back to normal.”  If you’ve parented a neurodiverse child or one who struggles with depression or anxiety, you know that medication can be a Godsend!

In addition to finding a new psychiatrist who offered a second opinion of what might be going on with Jill (No diagnosis of pediatric bipolar, but the confirmation of lots of anxiety and ADHD) the psychologist who did Jill’s neuropsych evaluation (and who also became her new therapist and was consequently able to observe her more) eventually updated her neuropsych evaluation at the beginning of 2024 with the diagnosis of Autism Level 1- requiring supports.  The main advantage and purpose of having an updated diagnosis was so that Jill could have as many supports as possible in her schooling- in addition to applying for disability in the future, should she need to as an adult. 

The diagnosis of autism probably shouldn’t have come as a shock to me given Jill’s sensory processing issues (resistance to brushing her hair or being bothered by loud noises being the most common) and some slight noticeable differences when compared socially to her peers, but it did, in fact, come as a surprise and I would be lying if I didn’t describe it as an unsettling discovery.  I can sum up the last couple of years with these short sentences: I went through a grieving period when we received that diagnosis and had a lot of mixed emotions. I still do have mixed emotions, and I still experience a sense of “loss.” 

In my mind, I associate children with autism as rocking back and forth constantly, flapping their hands, and some not even talking at all.  That profile doesn’t fit my little girl.  And yet, I have known ever since she was about pre-school aged that Jill has always been a little extra sensitive about things and something was a bit different about her.  I just chalked it up to in utero drug exposure or of having a more sensitive disposition.  I have since learned that autism presents differently in females- largely in part to their ability to “mask” things so well- and that females are often diagnosed with ASD much later in life compared to their male counterparts. 

Sometimes, even now, I question her diagnosis and rationalize “But she can make eye contact and she has a sense of humor!” And then I’m reminded that although she can make friends and socialize, she would be content to be surrounded by animals (stuffed of real) rather than people and that interacting with a screen is much preferable to her than interacting with people.  And her bluntness- or lack of censorship- is probably the most embarrassing quality of autism as her parent.  I recently learned that she showed up to a church youth activity and when one of the leaders asked her how she was doing she replied, “I’m just here for the food.”  She wasn’t trying to be funny, but was just being brutally honest.

Over the past couple of years since Jill was diagnosed with autism, I have learned that autism truly is a spectrum and that there is variation from individual to individual.  I have learned more about the different levels of autism- Levels 1, 2, and 3-  and I also had a lot of strong feelings stirred up when RFK was appointed U.S. Secretary of Health and Human Services, given his background with supporting unfounded theories linking autism to vaccinations, but more importantly, the underlying message that anti-vaxxers seem to convey that it’s better to have a dead child than a child with autism.  Yikes.

In addition to sharing her new diagnosis with her teacher at school and the school counselor, Jill benefitted from going to occupational therapy to help with her sensory issues, which, in turn, helps with her emotional regulation.  We have two swinging chairs in our backyard- one hanging from a tree and one on our patio- and she loves to swing on those.  I admit that I would also feel a bit guilty taking Jill to her OT appointments when it was evident that some of the other children there had much more severe needs than she did.  I would just smile warmly at other parents when I would see a child stimming loudly and noticeably or occasionally running around the lobby with an occupational therapist chasing behind them before they escaped out the door.

Sharing Jill’s autism diagnosis with her teachers and pediatrician was easy enough, but for some reason I still struggle with deciding which family members or neighbors or members of our church congregation to tell.  I know logically that there’s nothing “wrong” with being on the spectrum, and yet I feel overprotective of my child and don’t want anyone to treat her differently or judge her.  It’s a learning process for sure.  For some reason I feel fine telling people “My child has ADHD” or struggles with anxiety, but there seems to be a stigma surrounding autism.  I’m still learning how to effectively parent my child and advocate for her needs, so please be patient before heaping any judgments upon me.

There are a few other things the past couple of years besides parenting one AuDHD child which have truly humbled and challenged me as a parent, including the discovery over the past couple of years that more than one of my children is on the spectrum (that’s something I’ll have to save for another post) and also learning that there is a large intersection between neurodiverse individuals and identifying as LGBTQ. 

A few other miscellaneous things I’ve learned over the past couple of years which I didn’t expect to have on my Parenting Bingo Card:

1)      *What AuDHD stands for (Autism and ADHD co-occuring)

2)      *The association of hypermobile POTS (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome), Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, and neurodiversity

3)     *. The difference between furries and therians- Google it. Or not.Actual screenshot from something I Googled in November 2023:

4)      *The difference between a 504 and IEP (Jill doesn’t qualify for an IEP, but she does qualify for a 504).

5)      *The intersectionality of neurodivergence and being LGBTQ

I have found that, similar to having a child with autism, having an LGBTQ child definitely brings out the Mama Bear in me in terms of protecting and advocating for my child’s needs.  This is obviously a sensitive and personal topic worthy of a whole separate post or two.  Although such challenges can feel lonely and alienating at times, I am so grateful to have been able to find support and learn from other parents going through similar experiences.  Any good parent just wants their child to know that they are loved- no matter what.

School Refusal & An Updated Diagnosis

How ironic that in my last post (written almost 2 years ago exactly!) I expressed my frustration about supervising my kids in online learning due to the pandemic.  In just a couple of weeks my youngest child (whom I refer to as "Jill" on this blog) will be completing the last term of her school year enrolled in an at-home online curriculum rather than in her regular public school where she's been attending for the past couple of years.  

Jill has had some challenges since she was about preschool age relating to ADHD and anxiety, but when she had her first neuropsychological evaluation done as a preschooler, the psychologist basically said it was too early to make an official diagnosis for ADHD and it would be more effective to wait until she started school to see if patterns such as lack of focus, inattention, inability to sit still. etc. were prevalent in a school setting as well as at home- or if she would grow out of it.  Although her focus and attention span have improved since kindergarten, Jill still lags behind her peers in some areas, emotionally and cognitively.  It's a good reminder to me that kids coming from traumatic backgrounds, including in-utero drug exposure, can sometimes be about half of their chronological age in some areas of development.

Last year we were thrilled and relieved to see some of Jill's ADHD symptoms improve thanks to medication.  She also benefitted from counseling, not just to deal with ADHD/anxiety coping strategies, but to process some of her feelings of grief/loss/identity surrounding her adoption.  I am so grateful for trauma-informed therapists and teachers!   I breathed a sigh of relief when I learned that Jill's 2nd grade teacher last year was a former caseworker for DCFS before she started her teaching career because when I gave some background on Jill's particular challenges and shared that she was adopted from foster care, her teacher immediately "got it."  Jill's current therapist is very patient and has helped her begin to create a narrative (with my help of what information I know) of her adoption story and to clarify some of the questions and misunderstandings she had about how she came to be in our home and family.  I laughed out loud when, during a counseling session with Jill and myself, the therapist turned to her and asked "Who can you go to when you have questions?" (Inferring to go to me) and Jill immediately replied "Google!".

Over the past year, Jill has shown some additional troubling symptoms related to sensory processing issues (not wanting to have her hair brushed, sounds being too loud, etc.) as well as defiance (towards my husband and I but, thankfully, not towards teachers or other authority figures) and sometimes aggression that seemed to appear almost overnight, so my husband and I were thinking "What is going on now?"- just when we thought things were manageable.  I was honestly afraid that our daughter was developing Oppositional Defiant Disorder and I would imagine the worst-case scenario in my mind of her being in juvenile detention before she graduated from high school, if she graduated from high school, that is, or, given her genetics, becoming a homeless drug addict.  

Long story short, Jill had an updated neuropsychological evaluation completed in the Fall by a clinician whom I hand-picked as she had done very thorough evaluations on some of my former clients.  Although some of the diagnoses and findings of Jill's particular evaluation didn't come as a surprise to me, and I was relieved that she wasn't diagnosed as having ODD, there was one diagnosis at the bottom of the page which I had never heard of before which left me scratching my head: Pathological Demand Avoidance Syndrome (or PDA for short).

The most likely reason I was unfamiliar with this diagnosis is that it isn't officially recognized in the U.S. (and therefore, not billable, like Sensory Processing Disorder)  but PDA is recognized in the U.K. as a profile of autism without a stand alone diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder.  Unlike other criteria for ASD and forms of autism, individuals with a PDA profile have little problems with verbal communication, using their imagination, but they do have a rigidity in following demands which is caused by anxiety.  Anxiety- that is the most important thing for me to remember when Jill has a meltdown and goes into a state of fight or flight (yelling, hitting, throwing things, etc.): She's not just "being a brat" or defiant- she is in a state of panic and fear.  

Although logically I know that I need to calm my child down when she's in this kind of a state and empathize with her (or at least validate what she's feeling so that she can feel a bit safer) and model being calm myself,  it is much easier than it sounds- especially when there's plenty of time announced ahead of time for making a transition and there's been a 25-30 minute battle brewing about brushing hair or getting dressed in time to make it to the bus stop in time for school (so that my husband and/or I can consequently make it to work on time after getting the kids off to school).  Sometimes I remain calm during meltdowns, but many times I make things worse by yelling- or even in my body language- making an irritated or "mean" face which triggers my child further.  It doesn't help when my child is hitting me or yelling at me, either.

Thanks to Flourishing Homes & Families for these helpful graphics:

I have a mantra that "It will all work out" which I use especially when I'm not sure if I quite believe it yet.  Because of Jill's school avoidance and subsequent missed school days this year, my husband and I have had to take turns missing work on the days that Jill refuses to go to school.  I admit, I feel like such a failure when I have to call the attendance line at her school and excuse her absence when it's not a broken arm or the flu but "a meltdown"- because most people aren't empathetic to that reasoning unless it's something they've experienced themselves.  It's equally embarrassing when I have to tell my supervisor at work that I can't come into work (again) because my youngest child is refusing to go to school and my spouse is unable to miss work that day.  

I am fortunate that although I do work outside of the home, I am not the primary breadwinner for our family and I don't have to work.  Because of this and other reasons, I gave notice at one of my part-time jobs (hospital social work during daytime hours when my kids are in school) that I would be quitting soon.  However, instead of taking some time off for self-care and/or adding more clients from my other part-time work (doing therapy), I will be staying home during the day monitoring Jill while she does online schooling.  Although part of me feels it will be a good opportunity to connect with each other and for her to spend more time with me, part of me is also resentful when I think "I'll be missing out on seeing more clients/bringing in more money or even getting some exercise or sleeping in when my body needs extra rest."  Parenting has never been about fulfilling one's own wants first, and I realize it's not so black and white and that I can have time for my wants and needs while supervising online learning again, so I need to remind myself "It will all work out."

For any other parents or caregivers out there dealing with school refusal, I think this is a helpful guide if your child isn't too deep into fight/flight/freeze mode and feels calm enough to open up with you (and vice versa):

Emotional Burnout from Online Learning

Remember when I used to write on this blog regularly- or at least more than once a quarter?  Me neither!  I think I have a couple of good excuses though.  

    Excuse #1- Since I last posted- 7 months ago- I’ve had to study for and pass the most important test of my professional career.  

    Excuse #2- I started working at a new workplace – initially meeting clients in person, then meeting virtually when COVID cases rose, and now that I’ve been able to receive my vaccinations, I’m meeting both in person and virtually for those clients who prefer to continue meeting that way.  

    Excuse #3- I’ve been balancing working part-time with overseeing my children do online schooling at home.  I might also add that ALL of my children have varying degrees and subtypes of ADHD- Good Times!

Everyone has been affected differently during this pandemic.  Some have suffered financially, others have suffered physically or lost loved ones and those around them to the virus, and many have suffered emotionally with increasing levels of depression and anxiety.  One of the most difficult and unexpected parts for me of 2020/21 has been parenting- more specifically, trying to balance the physical health and safety of my children (and the health of those within our household and others around us who are higher risk) with their mental well-being.  It is undeniable that whether a child is particularly social or not, social development with peers makes up a huge part of their identity formation and mental health needs.

Two of my kids and I made it through three-fourths of the year doing online learning.  By February (just last month) we were all BURNT OUT.  However, I’ve been feeling more secure knowing that I’ve been vaccinated and that both sets of my children’s at-risk grandparents were able to be vaccinated as well.  We made the decision to send our youngest child, who requires the most supervision doing online learning and was showing the most adverse effects of not being in an in-person school setting, back to school just last week.  I have to admit that my own mental health was a contributing factor to sending her back to school as well!

We decided that our other kids can push through another month doing online learning at home to make the transition easier since it will be the start of a new term by then.  It is already SO much easier for me to be involved in their studies with one less high-maintenance student at home! I am also feeling some guilt lifted because I am able to spend more one-on-one time with my middle child who has typically become accustomed to fending for himself or taking the initiative to get assignments done while I focus my attention on his younger sister who is in need of more direct supervision and guidance.  That’s another thing I’ve discovered- each child is different and there are some cases where a child might thrive, for various reasons, in a virtual classroom or being homeschooled, while another child could seriously suffer emotionally or fall behind academically. 

As for kids “falling behind” in school because of the pandemic, I highly recommend heeding the following counsel written by retired educator Teresa Thayer Snyder, which went viral.  If you don’t have time to read the entire thing the biggest takeaway is ““When the children return to school, we will need to listen to them. Let their stories be told. They have endured a year that has no parallel in modern times.”

“Dear Friends and Colleagues:

I am writing today about the children of this pandemic. After a lifetime of working among the young, I feel compelled to address the concerns that are being expressed by so many of my peers about the deficits the children will demonstrate when they finally return to school. My goodness, what a disconcerting thing to be concerned about in the face of a pandemic which is affecting millions of people around the country and the world. It speaks to one of my biggest fears for the children when they return. In our determination to “catch them up,” I fear that we will lose who they are and what they have learned during this unprecedented era. What on earth are we trying to catch them up on? The models no longer apply, the benchmarks are no longer valid, the trend analyses have been interrupted. We must not forget that those arbitrary measures were established by people, not ordained by God. We can make those invalid measures as obsolete as a crank up telephone! They simply do not apply. When the children return to school, they will have returned with a new history that we will need to help them identify and make sense of. When the children return to school, we will need to listen to them. Let their stories be told. They have endured a year that has no parallel in modern times. There is no assessment that applies to who they are or what they have learned. Remember, their brains did not go into hibernation during this year. Their brains may not have been focused on traditional school material, but they did not stop either. Their brains may have been focused on where their next meal is coming from, or how to care for a younger sibling, or how to deal with missing grandma, or how it feels to have to surrender a beloved pet, or how to deal with death. Our job is to welcome them back and help them write that history.

I sincerely plead with my colleagues, to surrender the artificial constructs that measure achievement and greet the children where they are, not where we think they “should be.” Greet them with art supplies and writing materials, and music and dance and so many other avenues to help them express what has happened to them in their lives during this horrific year. Greet them with stories and books that will help them make sense of an upside-down world. They missed you. They did not miss the test prep. They did not miss the worksheets. They did not miss the reading groups. They did not miss the homework. They missed you.

Resist the pressure from whatever ‘powers that be’ who are in a hurry to “fix” kids and make up for the “lost” time. The time was not lost, it was invested in surviving an historic period of time in their lives—in our lives. The children do not need to be fixed. They are not broken. They need to be heard. They need be given as many tools as we can provide to nurture resilience and help them adjust to a post pandemic world.

Being a teacher is an essential connection between what is and what can be. Please, let what can be demonstrate that our children have so much to share about the world they live in and in helping them make sense of what, for all of us has been unimaginable. This will help them-- and us-- achieve a lot more than can be measured by any assessment tool ever devised. Peace to all who work with the children!”

 Another thing I’ve had to work on while my kids have done remote learning this past year is chilling out and lowering my academic expectations for my kids.  This has been something that has been especially hard for me because I tend to be a perfectionist about checking everything off of a “To Do” list.  Unfortunately, sometimes my intention and approach comes across as a “Homework Nazi” to my kids and backfires, causing more stress and shame for them.  I am reminded that any additional stress or shame they might feel is the very last thing my kids need right now growing up in the middle of a global pandemic.

Back in Mid-November (even before Thanksgiving) my family put up the Christmas tree and our decorations and my kids made a paper chain counting down the days till Christmas.  We were in much need of early Christmas cheer and something to look forward to after a year full of disruption and disappointments.  Today after my little boy gets his online learning done he’s going to make another paper chain- this one counting down the days left till he can join his friends and classmates at school again after being separated from them for over a year.  For him, it will be like Christmas!

Trauma is "Too Much, Too Fast"

I’m considering this post my personal emotional check-in/answer to the question I posed at the end of my previous post.

Back in April I was feeling “overwhelmed” (if I had to choose just one word) when I wrote this post.  Everything was “too much, too fast”.  I’ve been through hard times before and I’d like to think that I’m more patient than the average person, but lately rather than feeling overwhelmed I’ve found myself feeling annoyed and irritable.  I hate the uncertainty in the world and I’m sick of feeling “trapped” inside.  And then, of course, I immediately feel guilty for feeling that way because suffering is relative and there are those who actually are in a trapped situation- kids in abusive or neglectful homes who could benefit from the safety net of public schools opening, women in domestic violence situations who can’t as easily get away from their perpetrator, or the children and families still in detention centers or living in cages.  A cage has got to be the epitome of being trapped.  

My heart is usually drawn, first and foremost, to children and youth who are suffering.  I have admittedly never been interested in working with the elderly- as needful a population as they are.  However, I must admit that I’ve become much more aware of the mental and physical trauma that the senior citizes around the world are currently facing- not to mention financial concerns.  If anyone has a right to complain about lack of connection, feeling trapped, or facing the realistic possibility of death from COVID-19 it’s the elderly. 

I have two elderly parents right now in their late 80s who, fortunately, are still able to be very much connected to and supported by their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren.  Although my parents have some risk factors in addition to their age, their health is currently stable.  My in-laws, however, who are roughly the same age as my parents, have faced some unique challenges over the past year including having to sell their home of decades and moving into an Assisted Living Center where they could both have access to 24 hour care since their children were not realistically able to provide that to them. [That’s the condensed version of the story anyway- omitting numerous falls, an emergency brain surgery, children taking turns to care for them in their home, and a convalescent period at a rehabiliation center before one of them was able to transition to Assisted Living]. 

My in-laws have adjusted well to their new living situation, but they are both currently struggling with feeling “trapped” as their facility has been on lockdown the past several months.  As upscale and nice as their particular facility is, I overheard my mother-in-law liken the helpless feeling she had of not being able to have visitors in her suite or not being able to leave the facility except for medical appointments and other necessities as being in prison.

Last month I was having a conversation with my mother-in-law (we can visit with them outside their windows or through glass if we want to go in person) and it became evident to me that in addition to the new stress and uncertainty she is facing surrounding COVID restrictions and precautions, she is also still grieving her former independence and home.  Speaking of her home she said, “I don’t believe I’ve ever shed more tears over having to say goodbye to my home than I even have over a living person who has died.”  I hadn’t quite understood the enormity of her grief and loss until I heard her say that.  Because the circumstances leading up to selling her home and moving into an Assisted Living Center were due to an unexpected event and her transition happened within months without much time to process everything, it fell into the category/definition of trauma being “too much, too fast.” 

When I heard my mother-in-law express her grief I also thought of the thousands of children in foster care who- at a moment’s notice- are moved from their homes without time to say goodbye, are given a garbage bag to collect their essentials, and are placed into a stranger’s home in cases where they can’t be placed with relatives.  “Too much, too fast” certainly applies to refugee families who are willing to leave their homeland under dangerous circumstances without much except the clothes on their backs in order to escape poverty, violence, exploitation or government oppression. 

On a personal level of experiencing “too much, too fast”, since I wrote an update four months ago, a couple of significant things have happened in my life.  These aren’t necessarily bad/traumatic things, but they have required much effort and encompass a lot of CHANGE:

-              - I finished up my Masters Degree in Social Work!  Which means, among other things, that I will have more time to read and write just for fun than for a graded assignment or research.

-                -I had a virtual job interview and I will be starting a new position in the Fall doing what I did at my last internship- providing therapy to children and adolescents- most of whom are in the foster care system or have been adopted.

    -Our family moved into a bigger home.  We’ve been looking for homes for three or four years now so although our move wasn’t necessarily unexpected or due to financial hardship or job loss, we certainly didn’t envision that our next move would coincide with a pandemic! 

-       Because we now have more space, we are in a position to house elderly parents, if needed, or to host another foster child or two.  (The prospect of housing not just one but two elderly parents certainly influenced our decision to start the school year out virtually rather than in person).  Although I still feel like we’re getting settled into our house, I am also aware that other populations- including the elderly, children in foster care, or refugees- are at particular risk for going through “too much, too fast” without needed supports in place.  I don’t know for certain who exactly will be joining our household over the next year or two, but I’m a firm believer that if you have more than you need, then you share.