Hard discussions
Lately Madison has been saying, “I don’t like having brown skin” and “I don’t want to have brown skin.” During a talk this morning what it came down to is that she doesn’t want to have brown skin because brown skin means adopted and she doesn’t want to be adopted. She said it’s ok for her dolls to have brown skin but she would prefer not to. This is when I knew for sure it was about adoption and not about brown skin.
She asked the other night, “Did Noah grow in your belly? And I grew in Jessica’s belly?” Then she poked her finger at me. “Don’t do that again, Mommy! I don’t want you to do that a second time!”
She’ll say, “I want pink skin like Noah!”
And, “I want to grow in your belly!”
This is hard stuff to hear but it’s gotta be harder stuff to live.
In one of the adoption books they talk about how you should grieve with your adopted child about how you wish you were biologically connected to them, too. I think this would be good advice except that I don’t wish I’d given birth to Madison. So instead I honor her grief and I listen to her but I also reiterate how happy I am that she’s who she is and that she arrived to our family the way she arrived. Because Madison is wonderful, beautiful Madison because she is Jessica’s daughter and I get to be her mommy because she is adopted. Sometimes I tempted to say this on the heels of her being sad but I think this would be the same thing as dismissing her feelings. What I usually do is cuddle her and say, “You feel sad because you wish I’d been pregnant with you. That would feel a lot less confusing. I understand feeling sad about that. But I want to tell you; you will always be my baby — even when you’re a big huge grown-up woman — and nothing can change that. And I am so so so so happy that you are my daughter and that I am your mother.”
I think that’s the piece she needs to hear from me — not that I’m sad that I didn’t give birth to her but that I’m her mother absolutely. I guess I’m thinking that what she needs to hear is that my motherhood is unchanging, unflinching, and irrevocable. And I think Madison needs to know (and is asking to hear) that she can be sad but that I’m strong enough to weather her sadness and that it doesn’t change my stalwart role as her mommy. And that she can question our togetherness but that I don’t question it and that her questioning doesn’t un-do or threaten us. And that the truths of her life (that she has another mother, that she looks like that mother and not me, and that she came to us instead of simply being of us) can be true without shaking her foundation.
It’s a hard balancing act. I don’t want to get all “chosen child” on her and I want her to know that she’s allowed to be sad but I also want her to know that I think she’s perfect and that she is safely ours and doesn’t need to fear not belonging but that fearing it is also ok and normal and something to work through. Because I think she’s afraid that she doesn’t fit and I want her to know that there’s more than one way to fit.
Brett and I decided that we need to be more spontaneous in talking positively about her adoption in casual ways. Like this morning when we were cuddling in bed, Brett and I told her about when we first met Jessica and how we thought she had the most beautiful eyes and we wondered if Baby Madison would have those same beautiful eyes and sure enough, she does! And on to how much we love gazing into our daughter’s beautiful, wonderful, big brown eyes… (and here we gaze lovingly).
When we talk admiringly about Madison (and there is so much to admire about her!) we sometimes make connections between her and other people in the family. So sometimes it’s “Madison sure loves books! Just like Noah at that age!” because she likes to be like a Noah. And other times it’s “Madison is a great dancer! I think she got that talent from Jessica — they’re both such terrific dancers!” And sometimes we talk admiringly about her alone. When we say she has beautiful skin we don’t always say, “Like Jessica!” because I know that my children stand alone, too. But sometimes I do. Sometimes I do even though I know it might prompt, “But I don’t like to have brown skin” because I want to send her the message that:
1. Those conversations are ok to have and don’t scare me (I’m brave enough to bring it up);
2. I like who she is absolutely even when she struggles with it;
3. One day I think it’ll sink in and she’ll believe me. (Fingers crossed.)
Sometimes it’s hard to have faith in the way my gut tells me to handle this stuff. Talking to people like Micky Duxbury helps a lot because they reassure me that I’m not screwing it up. (You know it’s the real reason I like freelancing — I get to talk to all kinds of experts and squeeze advice about my own life out of ‘em.) Sometimes I feel like I’m flailing but then I go back to what I most believe, which is that the way our adoption is playing out is good and true and so the feelings — even negative — that spring from it are appropriate and acceptable. And that Madison will be ok because she has permission to own her history and process it as she needs to and not as her adults need her to.
Happy thing: Today Madison announced that she wanted toenail polish. She wants pink and she wants blue. I’d mentioned this to Jessica and I told Madison this.
“Oh good,” said Madison. “We can talk about this when we go on our date because she is my birth mommy!”
So see, there is lots of love with the hard and lots of good, too. I don’t want to give the impression that she walks around wishing her adoption away because she doesn’t. She has ambivalence about it, which seems perfectly smart and sensible of her.
Ambivalence flows through adoption. It just does.
Thank you for this Dawn- this is a beautiful post and, as i’ve said before, I really appreciate when you write what you said specifically in these conversations. In particular the phrase “big grown up woman” made me smile.
I too don’t really grieve my son not coming from my body- my brain just can’t go there for more than a second without understanding the impossibility of it. He is who is is because he came from his first parents and is being raised by us- and therefore he is bound to be complex as well as unique. I think the word Jenna used is perfect because of its literal meaning- multiple views- and that is certainly what happens in adoption.
Cynthia
Nate wants to come from my tummy but he doesn’t mind his skin color.
Lots of ambivalence in our discussions too. I look at the tummy stuff differently — I agree that I wish he could have come from my tummy. I would want Nate to be Nate too — which admittedly, if he came from my tummy, he wouldn’t be Nate. But the way that I see it, it’s one of the few things that I really can’t give him and I wish that I could give him everything. You know? That’s how I see it.
They are tough conversations.
[...] Jump to Comments Here’s a well-reasoned, inspirational, informative, thought-provoking post that is perfectly matter-of-fact in its approach to explaining important transracial and adoption [...]
Dawn, you are such a beautiful mother. This post brought tears to my eyes. I’ve not adopted myself, just have one bio daughter, but I still learn from your example, from how you are such a thoughtful, caring mother, especially in your interactions with Madison about the fact that she is adopted. Bravo.
Thank you for this post, your honesty and intelligence in dealing with all those complex things that families have to navigate. Most of all, thanks for the words–that is so helpful to start to build a dialog now, before the questions start coming.
Wow, these are hard conversations. Dawn, I’m so impressed with how easily you respond to her questions and thoughts and raise the issues with M in a low key way. I too appreciate knowing the specific words you use. It’s one thing to say, “talk about how it’s OK to be adopted” or whatever, but it’s so helpful to read what you actually said. It’s very touching to read how naturally sensitive you are to M’s questions and concerns.
A question that popped up for me is how to talk about birthparents who aren’t a part of the child’s life now and were not good or possibly even decent parents. I know of some families in which the kids were adopted either out of foster care or at age two after two difficult and chaotic years with mom. I’m not saying that it’s the ideal situation for the kids to have no contact with the parents, but that’s how it is. I’m interested in people’s thoughts about how to talk about birthparents that are hard to praise. At younger ages, it’s possible to be vague and say that first mom had some problems and couldn’t take care of them, etc. but that may not suffice as they get older. It’s hard to say “If I gave birth to you, you wouldn’t be you” when much of the info you have is that the birthparents were pretty marginal and may have done quite a bit of damage. Some of the input that first parents had wasn’t so great and the kids might have been better off without that time with their parents.
[...] this week Dawn had this post about her daughter (who is three and transracially adopted) saying she wished she (a) didn’t [...]
This post couldn’t have been more timely for my family! My son and I just had almost the exact same conversation the other night (he is almost 3). it threw me for a loop and I did my best to muster up some responses that felt appropriate. I am happy that my gut led me to say some of the same things you said to Madison–it’s validating to read that you said those things too because I very much admire your parenting style and openness about TRA.
I think, in addition to verbalizing early understanding of adoption, that when he says things about wanting to be white like mom and dad, much of that is just about categorizing “same” and “different” which is developmentally appropriate for this age. He groups EVERYTHING lately, and is thus grouping us by color. We point out too the things that we have in common (mom and baby have brown eyes, daddy has green eyes; we all have dark brown hair, etc.) and the things about us that are different (other than skin tone) that make us each special. I am not so sure, as posted on Multiracial Sky, that at this age noticing this difference is so tied in to early feelings of racism or picking up on societal prejudice. I am not so naive as to say that this won’t/doesn’t happen, but it just doesn’t feel like that to me right now–I feel like I bring the race issue to the table. Just because he says he wishes he was white like us doesn’t mean that he dislikes his brown skin, or thinks white is better than black.
Just found your blog via another and this question just came to mind. Do you or anyone else know of any black parents who have adopted white children?