My daughter browbeat me with insults, so I hurled one back. “Bitch,” I blasted from inside my head. She couldn’t hear me, but satisfaction oozed from my body. My hurting heart eased. A moment of joy even touched my spirit.
A smile then crept on my face. Not a warm, friendly, comforting smile. Rather, a sarcastic smile. One that pokes a nerve. My daughter eyeballed my face and thrusted her hands on her hips. “I hate you,” she screamed. My heart softened and tears welled in my eyes.
Shame replaced the void where satisfaction sat. Why do I do this? I questioned myself. Is it a stress reliever? Is it a survival tactic? Is it revenge? Maybe it’s all of these, but I’m the parent. I know better.
I’ve travelled this road before. It’s a muddy road that messes up our relationship. The fleeting “high” isn’t worth the fall. I love my daughter too much to let my thoughts harden my heart and fracture her self worth or our relationship.
I’m intentional when I fight this battle. I’ve been known to fall off the bandwagon but redirecting my thoughts on truth, restores me. Here are three redirection strategies that I’ve found helpful: Continue reading “3 Strategies To Strengthen The Mind When Facing Insults”
The scissors flew past my face. “I hate you,” my daughter screamed. “I wish you were dead!”
My spirit withered. My daughter didn’t want to go to bed, and I didn’t have the energy to fight back. You’ll have a consequence later,” I warned. I dragged myself to my bedroom, closed the door, and planted myself in front of it so she couldn’t get in.
My daughter fumed. She kicked and pounded on my door. “Let me in,” she demanded. “Let me in! Let me in!” I refused. “Scaredy cat,” she mocked. Still, I didn’t budge. She scratched the hallway walls in anger. I took a deep breath. My emotional energy drained. I yearned to be alone.
Perhaps, if I’d felt strong, I could have picked up my screaming, kicking, wailing child and sent her to her bedroom for a time out. Maybe, if I’d felt strong, I could have reflected on her emotions and tried to reason with her. Or perchance, if I’d felt strong, I could have at least stood up to her so she’d see I was in charge. But on this day, I was anything but strong. I felt weak. Overwhelmed. Spent. And frightened.
“God, help!” I cried. And then I phoned my husband and texted a good friend: I need a miracle.
Continue reading “Christ’s Power Made Perfect in Weakness”
Fear rips my heart and tears me to shreds when I let it consume me. I have struggled with fear all my life. Why then am I not drowning in it when parenting my adopted child? After all, she comes with baggage – a history of neglect, difficulties attaching to people, prenatal brain damage due to alcohol and drug abuse, Tourettes, severe attention deficits, hyperactivity, and a learning disability. The answer to that question lies in my growing trust in God.
Here are three strategies, rooted in trusting God, which I find helpful when fear strikes:
Continue reading “3 Strategies for Overcoming Fear when Parenting an Adopted Child”
“I hate cooking dinner,” I found myself complaining to my friends. Their responses humbled me.
My friend who’s a single mom with two grown children replied, “I remember enjoying making meals for my kids. I’m lonely now and it’s far too easy to succumb to peanut butter sandwiches.”
My other friend with a challenging teenage son replied, “I’m so grateful my son ate dinner with me for the last three nights. It’s nice to see him come out of his room.”
Hmmm. It’s easy to be grateful for big things. I often thank God for my family or for answering prayers. But what about being grateful in mundane tasks or even everyday challenging situations?
“Time for bed,” my husband hollered to our daughter shortly after my conversations. The sharpness in his voice told me it was past her bedtime. Silence filled the air. My body tensed and I charged downstairs. Angry thoughts flooded my mind: It’s late. What does she think she’s doing? It’s time for bed.
My recent revelation about gratitude popped into my brain which stopped my thoughts from spiraling. This allowed me to breathe and enjoy the moment when I spotted my daughter and son together.
“Mommy, mommy, watch my dance moves,” she pleaded. My teenage son, aka the DJ and want-to-be body builder, played her pop music while she busted some funky moves and he lifted weights. He even played their song.
The interaction between them soothed my spirit. They were enjoying separate activities yet engaged together. I delighted in the situation and then redirected my daughter to bed. She closed her eyes and fell into slumber while mine opened and awakened to the benefits of gratitude. Here are 3 things I discovered:
Continue reading “3 Truths About Practicing Gratitude”
Twin girls sing and play instruments at the front of our church. Their music reverberates through the air and envelopes the room. My daughter fixates her eyes on them and absorbs the sounds. On a random Sunday service, my daughter’s eyes sparkled as a realization hit her. “I want to play music and perform at the front of the church,” she proclaimed.
I naturally signed my daughter up for piano lessons. Excitement filled my thoughts: Our untouched piano will finally be used; she’s going to love playing it; what a great way to start her music journey.
That was four years ago.
I knew piano lessons would change my daughter’s life. I didn’t expect it to change mine. The teacher poured love into my daughter’s soul during challenging moments. Witnessing this taught me life-enriching lessons in love. Here’s what I’ve learned:
Continue reading “4 Lessons in Love”
“I have the best idea,” my daughter exclaimed. “We can go shopping!”
Panic struck me. No Way. Get out of this situation. Think of something fast.
“Please, please, please,” my daughter begged. “It’ll be a mommy and daughter day.”
My mind raced over past experiences: The time she frenzied over a gazillion clothes. The time she cried and insulted me because she didn’t get what she wanted. The time she had a meltdown and refused to leave the store.
“I’ll even bring my own money,” she pleaded.
My heart pounded but the desperate desire in her eyes softened my will.
“Okay. Fine. We’ll go.” I dreaded the outing but resolved to be proactive and to use some strategies from a book titled The Connected Child. They worked.
Here are the strategies and how I used them: Continue reading “4 Proactive Strategies to Help with Outings”
I slumped in my chair as I listened to the doctor speak. “Your daughter’s unpredictable behaviours and social difficulties will reappear once she returns to a mainstream classroom……There’s no point in making a referral for her Fetal Alcohol Effects. Her brain is impaired and can’t be fixed…..Your daughter isn’t a candidate for effective ADHD medications due to her Tourette’s.” Then came the blow: “There’s nothing more I can do for her.”
A cloud of gloom threatened to envelop me. The weight of despair was ready to consume me. The bleak future the doctor painted could have easily left me feeling hopeless. But I couldn’t let it. I fought back.
Continue reading “How to Find Hope Beyond Labels and Doctors”
“Guess what?” my daughter exclaimed to her neighbourhood friends who were playing outside.
“What?” they asked.
“My guinea pig is pregnant!”
The girls squealed and dashed to our home to see the latest development.
My heart sank. Another lie.
Continue reading “A 3-Step Strategy to Deal with Lying”
I remember the day well. Our third family therapist in three years greeted me and my husband with a smile as she led us into her office. I forced a smile back but my frowns, crinkled above my nose, likely betrayed my true thoughts. Will you be the magic one who can help us make our adopted daughter behave?
Reality sunk in over time: There are no perfect solutions or cookie-cutter strategies. Every day is different, every situation is different, and behaviour issues change.
As parents, we are in this for the long haul. So how can we fight the good fight? Here are some thoughts based on 2 Timothy 2:3-6. Continue reading “3 Ways to Fight the Good Fight”
I thought my nine-year old daughter and I were in a good space.
“Mommy. Watch me do my gymnastics.”
I “ooohed” and “aaahed” as I watched her twirl and twist her body in ways I could only imagine doing. She soaked up my attention and beamed. Our half hour together felt blissful. But then, her mood changed. Continue reading “The Role of Compassion in Attachment”