Someone asked in a forum setting a question that, by itself, doesn’t make me feel offended. But when I sit and think about it on the grand scale of things, I am miffed. I’m tired of the double standard. The question in question?

“Have any (of you) birth parents turned to drugs to deal with the loss of your child?”

The question is a legitimate one when you consider the complexities of grief and loss. As our society doesn’t deal really well with grief and loss and we are thus often ill-prepared to handle the issues when they are thrown in our path, poor coping mechanisms are not out of the question. And so, part of me understands the question. My answer, of course, is no. I know a few others who have turned to drugs or alcohol because therapy was simply not available. (I mean, it took me three-plus years to find a therapist with experience!) They have acknowledged that masking the grief with the feel-good effects of drugs and/or alcohol didn’t solve anything but it’s all they knew to do at the time.

Okay, so, it happens. We acknowledge that. But my question is: why the double standard on talking about these issues? I want to post the following question:

“Have you, as an adoptive parent, turned to drugs or alcohol to deal with the grief and loss associated with infertility or miscarriage or the rigors of parenting in general?”

Can you imagine the flame war that would begin? Can you imagine the absolute anger that would be felt by that entire side of the triad for such an awful assumption? And yet, I know a mother who did turn to drugs when she was dealing with infertility. It’s not her proudest moment and she has since been through rehab and is a great, great friend to me. We know it happens. But why isn’t it okay to ask?

Why is it okay to ask about birth parents and an assumed tendency to cope with things poorly but not okay to flip the question? I’m not saying we shouldn’t be asking about birth parents who have coped poorly; I think we should! I think we should be discussing the why’s and where-for’s of these detrimental coping mechanisms so that future birth parents aren’t sucked into their evil grasp. We should acknowledge that they exist and make plans to help those currently struggling and those who might come along in the future. But should we be ignoring the other side of the coin? Simply because people assume that adoptive parents have it all together? I don’t think so.

All I’m saying is: issues are not unique to one group of parents. Birth parents aren’t the only ones who deal in poor ways. We’re just expected to because of stereotype and long-standing stigmas.

And if you do have a drug or alcohol problem, oh, please, reach out. You can beat this. I promise you!

Today: Times Like These by Foo Fighters.

First and foremost, I mostly feel this way about this song when I listen to the acoustic version. I love acoustic versions. In fact, back in the day, if a man could play an acoustic guitar, well, my heart would swoon. And while this is a particularly beautiful version of the song, the acoustic nature seems to hit me deeper. Perhaps the softer music lets me think a bit more deeply about those things… these things… plus, the yell-singing at the end over an acoustic guitar is fun to immitate alone in the car. Or the shower. Or right here on the couch with BigBrother looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

The part of the song that simply clinches the beginnings of our open adoption, the phyiscal relinquishment, and the advice that well-intentioned but uneducated people hand me when “things get tough:”

I am a little divided
Do I stay or run away
And leave it all behind?

Again, I can see the hospital. I can see myself being wheeled out, holding the Munchkin. I can see the thought bubbles above my head and they’re full of conflicting thoughts. Divided indeed. Do I stay, or, rather, do I keep her with me? Or do I get up out of this wheelchair and walk out the automatic doors of the hospital into the bitter cold December air, my coat flapping around me as I was still unable to button it around my belly, and leave “it all,” meaning my daughter, behind with her new family.

Obviously, I went with the latter.

I’m faced with these choices presented in the lyrics again and again over time. As we were starting to develop our post-placement relationship, I didn’t know what do, really. The agency and others were saying that I should be getting over things and moving on. Certain family members told me to let J and D live their lives as a family. Without me. I had to make that decision whether to walk away or to stay, but this time, I chose to stay. I make that choice every time things get hard. I make that choice every year when her birthday throws me for a loop and I’m unable to function. I make that choice every time someone tells me that I’m of no use to my daughter. I stay because I think it benefits her. I stay because I said I would stay. I stay because leaving is harder than staying.

And so:

It’s times like these you learn to live again
It’s times like these you give and give again
It’s times like these you learn to love again
It’s times like these time and time again

I don’t want anyone to mistake me in my feeling about these particular lyrics. The placement of my daughter didn’t give me a chance to “start over.” I don’t believe that any birth parent gets that “clean slate” that agencies tout. I was forever changed, forever altered. And every time things get really hard, and I make that decision to stick through the muck, I learn to live again. I am reminded what I’m living for and what I’m going through this pain for. (My daughter’s well being.) During these times, I learn all about giving when you feel like you have nothing left to give. It’s at those times that I really learn the meaning of love and how self-sacrifice for the well-being of someone else. (Again, my daughter.)

And, in open adoption, it is times like these. Time and time again. Even though our open adoption is what most would call “optimal,” it’s not easy. We put in a lot of hard work on either side. There are times that it would look easier for me to just walk away. But, I stick it out. (As do her parents!) We work through these times. Again and again. Because we know what’s best for the Munchkin.  We endure the “ick” because we know that better things lie ahead.

Ah, day two. Done!

Anyway. Watch it. And pass it on.

I ask because Coley just posted something on the Open Adoption blog that states that many birth parents feel that the first year is either easier or that we (birth parents) just learn to cope better in the following years. I read it, thought about my experience, scratched my head and left this initial reply:

Actually, my first year was easier than anything I’ve experienced since.

I should qualify that to refer to the processing of adoption emotions and dealing with various situations and emotions in adoption. It was not easier than, say, planning my wedding. I was not trying to trivialize that first year by comparing it to life in general but comparing it with the adoption issues that have come in subsequent years. Coley seemed shocked by my comment… which in turn left me wondering if I’m totally out in right field, playing baseball, while everyone else is at a hockey game.

I have my reasons, which I will further expand upon next week in the bp/fp blog, but I need to know: am I the only one that views their adoption journey in this way? Was I the only mother blinded by agency rhetoric and birth mother bliss? Am I the only mother on the planet that feels that some of this stuff has gotten increasingly harder as the years have gone by? (Obviously, my coping skills have continued to improve but, still, I am constantly experiencing new emotions, new losses and new issues and it just feels… much more overwhelming at times.)

Obviously, it’s cool if I am totally alone as my experience is unique to me (and our family). But I can’t help but wonder if I’m really that far off the wall. So, either tell me to get to the hockey game or tell me your baseball story.

We felt bad leaving early after dragging her out. But BigBrother’s teething. And Munchkin’s lack of face painting. And the general holy-cow crowd. It was just not a good mix for our three kiddos. Hopefully they had a nice time after we left. We’ll be back in this area in August so we both agreed that we should get together then. In a quieter atmosphere.

Hopefully BigBrother’s teeth are in by then. EESH.