Clearly this seems to be my daily mantra.
My most impulsive child just cannot let anything go without adding in her opinion. It doesn't matter that she wasn't asked for an opinion. It doesn't matter that it's nothing to do with her. It doesn't matter that I've already told her several times to "mind your own business". Nope. She has to comment.
And can you possibly imagine how well her siblings like to hear her opinion? So then that starts off another round of arguing. Then of course I have to intervene because MYOB daughter has an excellent talent for pushing her brother's and sister's buttons to try to get them in trouble for yelling at her. Because it's never HER fault.
And yet I know that MYOB daughter doesn't strategically plan for these events (at least I hope not), yet she never ever misses an opportunity to take advantage of one. (Gee, it would be so nice if she could put that much effort into her school work instead!) She can be totally oblivious to everything else that's going on around her, but if there's even the slightest hint of a conversation that she isn't a part of, she will make sure she voices her opinion.
And what's so annoying, is that even if I know she agrees with the who ever is speaking, she will still take the opportunity to insert the opposing opinion, even if it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever!
Fortunately my older daughter has developed the skills to not get caught up in her sister's drama, and chooses instead to roll her eyes and repeat my mantra of MYOB. However MYOB daughter has found her perfect opponent in her brother.
He's 18 months younger than her, but more advanced in many ways. However he is the poster child for ADHD and extremely sensitive. Even if I'm in the room and can hear the "discussion", he still will end up so mad at her, his face is bright red and his eyes are watering. I can intervene, tell him I heard everything and I know what his sister is doing, but he is so far gone by then, he stomps off and it takes quite awhile for him to calm down. And although my husband and I can talk to him then, explain what his sister is doing, give him some strategies for the next time (cause we all know there WILL be a next time) he still holds a grudge. And even hours later, at bedtime, he's still upset about what happened. But MYOB daughter has of course forgotten all about it by then, and is happy happy happy.
Sometimes I wish I had a happy happy happy place I could go to.
Welcome to the AFABC Interior Region Blog. Check back here often for resources, events, and discussions on contemporary adoption issues.
Friday, January 8, 2010
"Girdles, Laxatives and Respite"
I loved this article from the Attachment and Bonding Center of Ohio by Greg Keck on the topic of respite. I've heard the author speak on several different occasions, and he's very informative and entertaining.
Girdles, Laxatives, and Respite
Greg Keck, Ph.D. (Respite Revisited)
You're probably wondering just what these three things have in common and even more likely, you are questioning what they have to do with attachment! EXCESSIVE use of any of them may lead to further reliance upon them; in fact, on-going use may increase the need for them.
Respite, the obvious focus of this article, has become sacred in some corners-hailed as the very thing - perhaps the only thing that - keeps some placements together. That may very well be true, however, I think that we should take another look at respite via these questions:
*Is respite supposed to improve the child's capacity to attach to the family?
*Is the ultimate goal of respite to no longer need/want respite?
*What is the message that respite sends to the child about the family's
capacity to love, nurture, control, or manage the child?
*Does respite mimic or parallel the child's own approach/avoidance attachment responses?
*How is respite different than the child's experiences in multiple placements?
I would hope that the goal of any respite plan is to do more than give people a "break." These breaks may actually be further damaging to the attachment breaks the child has had; they may concretize the child's thinking that they only need to be able to function for short periods of time - then they can go elsewhere for another short period of time. Hopefully, one of the goals of respite should be related to enhancing the child's capacity for attachment as well as helping the family address the difficulties they face.
I assume that people would like to be with their children; I assume that parents want their kids to be fun to be with. And, I would hope that kids would like to be with their families. That is the purpose of adoption! Therefore, I think that the ultimate goal of respite ought to be the elimination of it-or at least-a reduction in the frequency of it.
While it's difficult to estimate just what message any child gets about anything, particularly if he or she is quite disturbed , I think that it is critical to attempt to evaluate this issue. If the child gets the idea that, they have to go to respite because the parents "CAN'T" handle anymore, that may be giving the child too much power. We need to remember that children/adolescents who have hurt so much in their early lives fear vulnerability; if the parents seem to be vulnerable, the child will have extreme difficulty ever attaching. Children with attachment difficulties will only identify with and attach to powerful images. After all, if the parents are too weak (in the child's view) to handle the child, how could they ever be counted on to protect him/her? Who would want to attach to someone who might not be able to protect (read: control, manage, love, nurture) them?
I do think that on-going use of respite parallels the child's own fragmented attachment responses. It seems to me that regularly scheduled respite allows and, perhaps, even promotes on-going dysfunction. If parents end-up feeling/thinking, "Oh well, at least she'll be gone for the weekend," they may also be accepting behaviors that they would not if they knew "the break" wasn't coming. They may avoid yet another conflict , just to "hang-in-there" for another day. The child's already well developed (although not healthy) temporal thinking patterns inevitably get reinforced; everyone working with individuals with attachment problems knows that yesterday was the distant past and tomorrow doesn't exist. Fragmentation in the child's life has led to this development, and I think that regular utilization of respite may perpetuate this kind of thinking pattern.
Continuity of environment helps to bring about continuity of thought which will lead to improved cause and effect thinking which evolves into conscience.
Respite should be different than a child's pre-adoptive experiences of moving around. Children/adolescents who have had child welfare experiences get accustomed to moving about. It, in a way, allows them to remain irresponsible and unaccountable in their current setting. After all," if I'm making bad choices today (Friday), I won't have too much to worry about because I'll be going to respite tonight!" And we all know that by Monday...Friday will be ancient history.
In closing, I wanted to write this to help us re-examine an assumption that I see developing. Parents and professionals frequently talk about just how important respite is. I agree that some families feel they could not exist without it. However, just like the girdles and laxatives in the title of this article, too much use of respite or unfocused use of it may prove to be habituating. Excessive use may further complicate what I believe that parents and professionals truly desire-children who I can attach to and live with them comfortably. Temporary relief may not be the solution to a permanent situation.
Before I hear myself misquoted -- as I frequently do -- let me say the following:
*I am not saying that a respite plan is NEVER helpful.
*I am not in a position to judge what/who other people can live with nor for how long at a stretch. Only families can decide that.
*I do think that respite is temporary relief which may become habit forming.
*I do think that the goals of any respite plan should include an attachment rationale.
*I do think that the ultimate goal of respite should be its elimination.
I hope that people will start to more carefully evaluate the issue of respite and not to simply accept what we keep hearing so much about. Remember, what is accepted practice now will probably be critically evaluated by others in the future. Once upon a time(not very long ago), foster parents were discouraged from allowing the infants in their care to attach to them; that was to be done later with an adoptive family. Now, how wrong was that?
Girdles, Laxatives, and Respite
Greg Keck, Ph.D. (Respite Revisited)
You're probably wondering just what these three things have in common and even more likely, you are questioning what they have to do with attachment! EXCESSIVE use of any of them may lead to further reliance upon them; in fact, on-going use may increase the need for them.
Respite, the obvious focus of this article, has become sacred in some corners-hailed as the very thing - perhaps the only thing that - keeps some placements together. That may very well be true, however, I think that we should take another look at respite via these questions:
*Is respite supposed to improve the child's capacity to attach to the family?
*Is the ultimate goal of respite to no longer need/want respite?
*What is the message that respite sends to the child about the family's
capacity to love, nurture, control, or manage the child?
*Does respite mimic or parallel the child's own approach/avoidance attachment responses?
*How is respite different than the child's experiences in multiple placements?
I would hope that the goal of any respite plan is to do more than give people a "break." These breaks may actually be further damaging to the attachment breaks the child has had; they may concretize the child's thinking that they only need to be able to function for short periods of time - then they can go elsewhere for another short period of time. Hopefully, one of the goals of respite should be related to enhancing the child's capacity for attachment as well as helping the family address the difficulties they face.
I assume that people would like to be with their children; I assume that parents want their kids to be fun to be with. And, I would hope that kids would like to be with their families. That is the purpose of adoption! Therefore, I think that the ultimate goal of respite ought to be the elimination of it-or at least-a reduction in the frequency of it.
While it's difficult to estimate just what message any child gets about anything, particularly if he or she is quite disturbed , I think that it is critical to attempt to evaluate this issue. If the child gets the idea that, they have to go to respite because the parents "CAN'T" handle anymore, that may be giving the child too much power. We need to remember that children/adolescents who have hurt so much in their early lives fear vulnerability; if the parents seem to be vulnerable, the child will have extreme difficulty ever attaching. Children with attachment difficulties will only identify with and attach to powerful images. After all, if the parents are too weak (in the child's view) to handle the child, how could they ever be counted on to protect him/her? Who would want to attach to someone who might not be able to protect (read: control, manage, love, nurture) them?
I do think that on-going use of respite parallels the child's own fragmented attachment responses. It seems to me that regularly scheduled respite allows and, perhaps, even promotes on-going dysfunction. If parents end-up feeling/thinking, "Oh well, at least she'll be gone for the weekend," they may also be accepting behaviors that they would not if they knew "the break" wasn't coming. They may avoid yet another conflict , just to "hang-in-there" for another day. The child's already well developed (although not healthy) temporal thinking patterns inevitably get reinforced; everyone working with individuals with attachment problems knows that yesterday was the distant past and tomorrow doesn't exist. Fragmentation in the child's life has led to this development, and I think that regular utilization of respite may perpetuate this kind of thinking pattern.
Continuity of environment helps to bring about continuity of thought which will lead to improved cause and effect thinking which evolves into conscience.
Respite should be different than a child's pre-adoptive experiences of moving around. Children/adolescents who have had child welfare experiences get accustomed to moving about. It, in a way, allows them to remain irresponsible and unaccountable in their current setting. After all," if I'm making bad choices today (Friday), I won't have too much to worry about because I'll be going to respite tonight!" And we all know that by Monday...Friday will be ancient history.
In closing, I wanted to write this to help us re-examine an assumption that I see developing. Parents and professionals frequently talk about just how important respite is. I agree that some families feel they could not exist without it. However, just like the girdles and laxatives in the title of this article, too much use of respite or unfocused use of it may prove to be habituating. Excessive use may further complicate what I believe that parents and professionals truly desire-children who I can attach to and live with them comfortably. Temporary relief may not be the solution to a permanent situation.
Before I hear myself misquoted -- as I frequently do -- let me say the following:
*I am not saying that a respite plan is NEVER helpful.
*I am not in a position to judge what/who other people can live with nor for how long at a stretch. Only families can decide that.
*I do think that respite is temporary relief which may become habit forming.
*I do think that the goals of any respite plan should include an attachment rationale.
*I do think that the ultimate goal of respite should be its elimination.
I hope that people will start to more carefully evaluate the issue of respite and not to simply accept what we keep hearing so much about. Remember, what is accepted practice now will probably be critically evaluated by others in the future. Once upon a time(not very long ago), foster parents were discouraged from allowing the infants in their care to attach to them; that was to be done later with an adoptive family. Now, how wrong was that?
Thursday, January 7, 2010
"Taunting Nightmare"
Every once in awhile I like to read these personal stories. They speak volumes.
Taunting Nightmare
from Winter 2007 Adoptalk NACAC
by Nichole Johnson
Nichole, who is a junior in high school, was adopted at age nine. Now 16, she dreams of becoming a teacher, but is still haunted by memories of her past.
I was only three when I was taken from my birth mother. The day it happened was an incredible journey that now, at 16, I can remember as clear as glass.
My little brother and I lived in a small beaten-up trailer with a front “lawn” consisting of rocks, dirt, and a few scattered toys. On this day, inside the darkening trailer, my brother and I had wrapped ourselves in tobacco-stained blankets to try and stay warm. He was curled up next to me on the bed.
Mom had left around noon while it was still bright out, and had turned off the heat—maybe for safety or to save money. The rustling and rattling of poorly taped windows accompanied a draft of cold air that raised the hair on my back and arms.
Thoughts rushed through my head. I wondered where Mom was and why she was always gone. My stomach knotted and my eyes grew blurry as I thought about how, when she was home, my mom was always mad, always yelling, “I hate you! You’re worthless! No one would ever love you, especially when you do things wrong!” The smell of alcohol on her breath made my empty stomach feel sick.
I never knew why my mom was always so mad. I tried to do the right thing; I took care of my brother, tried to make meals for us, and kept us as clean as possible. Nothing was ever good enough for her.
I thought about she fought with her boyfriends and how, trembling with fear, I would hide my brother in the corner while bottles smashed against the wall sending red, brown, and yellow glass cascading to the floor. I recalled the screaming voices, often directed at me, the punching, the crying, and more yelling.
One time an ex-boyfriend stabbed my mom in the arm. That night, for trying to help her, he locked me—in only a nightgown and socks—outside all night. That boyfriend often locked me outside for “time outs,” but not usually for that long.
On this night, as my brother slept, tears fell from my eyes like a heavy rain. Gazing through the speckled glass at the rain out-side, I wished someone who loved me was there to hold me and keep me warm. Then the water reminded me of the time a drunk babysitter forced me into a bathtub and held my head underwater until I passed out.
Two headlights interrupted my thoughts. A burst of joy warmed me. I was not alone with my brother anymore. Soon a second set of headlights cut through the night and then blue flashing lights. Maybe it was one of my mom’s boyfriends, I thought. Maybe it was my mom. I gave my brother a few gentle pushes to wake him, even though Mom never came home this early. It was usually morning when she stumbled in and passed out.
My brother and I crawled out of bed and followed the short route to the kitchen and living room. The cold plastic floor under my feet sent goose bumps up my legs. As we shuffled forward, I noticed strange shadows in the kitchen, and lights darting here and there like someone was looking for something. The hair on my back stood up. Something was not right.
The happy feeling became a boulder in my stomach when I heard strange voices outside. A man came to the door and shined his light through the taped glass—glass broken when one of Mom’s boyfriends shoved her into it. When he called out, “Hello?” I grabbed my brother and hid under the kitchen table. My heart was racing like it would jump out of my body.
The man knocked again. “Hello? Is anyone there?” he asked more loudly. A beam of light hit the spot where we were crouching, and I started to cry. I was terrified and felt completely helpless. I wanted my mom; I wanted someone to comfort and protect us.
“I see something,” said the man to his partner. Both men, one stout and the other slender, started to come in. My body froze. Once inside, the men walked over to us, talked briefly to each other, and then told my brother and me that everything was going to be okay. They said we were safe now.
“Safe now?” I asked myself. What did they mean? Was my mom home? Why were these strangers in our trailer?
As the stout man moved to pick me up, I began to sob. He repeated that everything was okay and that he wasn’t going to hurt me. I let him lift me. He wrapped me in a cozy new blanket that smelled nothing like our blankets. The other man picked up my brother. Then they carried us to the car. What were they going to do to us? Had Mom sent them?
The outside air was cold. I remember seeing the men’s breath clouding the air as they talked to each other, shaking their heads. As they opened the car doors and put us inside, I was still crying, but soon I felt how warm it was and noticed how clean the seats were. The stout man told us again that we were safe.
The thin man put a note on our front door, and then got into his car. The stout man climbed into the car with my brother and me. As the car engines roared to life, I felt a rush of panic rising in me. What did the note say? Where was my mom? I wanted to yell, “Help!” but the word was stuck in my throat. I was too afraid to say anything.
The heat in the car fogged up the windows as we drove away so I cleared a spot on my window to look back at my home. The cold moisture made my hand feel numb, like my heart. I looked over at my brother. He had instantly fallen asleep. My tears dried, and in the warmth of the blanket, my eyes grew heavy. Still anxious, I tried to stay awake, but soon I drifted to sleep in the darkness.
More than a dozen years later, I am still haunted by these memories and problems caused by the neglect and abuse I suffered. My mom hurt me badly, as did babysitters and boyfriends. They also taught me how easily phrases like “I hate you” can wound people emotionally, and that injuries from physical abuse hurt on the inside long after the marks fade.
The night I was taken from the person I loved so much is like a vivid nightmare I can’t forget. But I know now that the abuse was my mom’s fault, not mine. Therapists and my adoptive parents have helped me to understand these truths.
Still, that night in the trailer has left a permanent scar on my heart. More than anything, I wanted my mom to be there, to fight to keep me, to save me. But that never happened. The thought of it haunts my dreams day and night.
Taunting Nightmare
from Winter 2007 Adoptalk NACAC
by Nichole Johnson
Nichole, who is a junior in high school, was adopted at age nine. Now 16, she dreams of becoming a teacher, but is still haunted by memories of her past.
I was only three when I was taken from my birth mother. The day it happened was an incredible journey that now, at 16, I can remember as clear as glass.
My little brother and I lived in a small beaten-up trailer with a front “lawn” consisting of rocks, dirt, and a few scattered toys. On this day, inside the darkening trailer, my brother and I had wrapped ourselves in tobacco-stained blankets to try and stay warm. He was curled up next to me on the bed.
Mom had left around noon while it was still bright out, and had turned off the heat—maybe for safety or to save money. The rustling and rattling of poorly taped windows accompanied a draft of cold air that raised the hair on my back and arms.
Thoughts rushed through my head. I wondered where Mom was and why she was always gone. My stomach knotted and my eyes grew blurry as I thought about how, when she was home, my mom was always mad, always yelling, “I hate you! You’re worthless! No one would ever love you, especially when you do things wrong!” The smell of alcohol on her breath made my empty stomach feel sick.
I never knew why my mom was always so mad. I tried to do the right thing; I took care of my brother, tried to make meals for us, and kept us as clean as possible. Nothing was ever good enough for her.
I thought about she fought with her boyfriends and how, trembling with fear, I would hide my brother in the corner while bottles smashed against the wall sending red, brown, and yellow glass cascading to the floor. I recalled the screaming voices, often directed at me, the punching, the crying, and more yelling.
One time an ex-boyfriend stabbed my mom in the arm. That night, for trying to help her, he locked me—in only a nightgown and socks—outside all night. That boyfriend often locked me outside for “time outs,” but not usually for that long.
On this night, as my brother slept, tears fell from my eyes like a heavy rain. Gazing through the speckled glass at the rain out-side, I wished someone who loved me was there to hold me and keep me warm. Then the water reminded me of the time a drunk babysitter forced me into a bathtub and held my head underwater until I passed out.
Two headlights interrupted my thoughts. A burst of joy warmed me. I was not alone with my brother anymore. Soon a second set of headlights cut through the night and then blue flashing lights. Maybe it was one of my mom’s boyfriends, I thought. Maybe it was my mom. I gave my brother a few gentle pushes to wake him, even though Mom never came home this early. It was usually morning when she stumbled in and passed out.
My brother and I crawled out of bed and followed the short route to the kitchen and living room. The cold plastic floor under my feet sent goose bumps up my legs. As we shuffled forward, I noticed strange shadows in the kitchen, and lights darting here and there like someone was looking for something. The hair on my back stood up. Something was not right.
The happy feeling became a boulder in my stomach when I heard strange voices outside. A man came to the door and shined his light through the taped glass—glass broken when one of Mom’s boyfriends shoved her into it. When he called out, “Hello?” I grabbed my brother and hid under the kitchen table. My heart was racing like it would jump out of my body.
The man knocked again. “Hello? Is anyone there?” he asked more loudly. A beam of light hit the spot where we were crouching, and I started to cry. I was terrified and felt completely helpless. I wanted my mom; I wanted someone to comfort and protect us.
“I see something,” said the man to his partner. Both men, one stout and the other slender, started to come in. My body froze. Once inside, the men walked over to us, talked briefly to each other, and then told my brother and me that everything was going to be okay. They said we were safe now.
“Safe now?” I asked myself. What did they mean? Was my mom home? Why were these strangers in our trailer?
As the stout man moved to pick me up, I began to sob. He repeated that everything was okay and that he wasn’t going to hurt me. I let him lift me. He wrapped me in a cozy new blanket that smelled nothing like our blankets. The other man picked up my brother. Then they carried us to the car. What were they going to do to us? Had Mom sent them?
The outside air was cold. I remember seeing the men’s breath clouding the air as they talked to each other, shaking their heads. As they opened the car doors and put us inside, I was still crying, but soon I felt how warm it was and noticed how clean the seats were. The stout man told us again that we were safe.
The thin man put a note on our front door, and then got into his car. The stout man climbed into the car with my brother and me. As the car engines roared to life, I felt a rush of panic rising in me. What did the note say? Where was my mom? I wanted to yell, “Help!” but the word was stuck in my throat. I was too afraid to say anything.
The heat in the car fogged up the windows as we drove away so I cleared a spot on my window to look back at my home. The cold moisture made my hand feel numb, like my heart. I looked over at my brother. He had instantly fallen asleep. My tears dried, and in the warmth of the blanket, my eyes grew heavy. Still anxious, I tried to stay awake, but soon I drifted to sleep in the darkness.
More than a dozen years later, I am still haunted by these memories and problems caused by the neglect and abuse I suffered. My mom hurt me badly, as did babysitters and boyfriends. They also taught me how easily phrases like “I hate you” can wound people emotionally, and that injuries from physical abuse hurt on the inside long after the marks fade.
The night I was taken from the person I loved so much is like a vivid nightmare I can’t forget. But I know now that the abuse was my mom’s fault, not mine. Therapists and my adoptive parents have helped me to understand these truths.
Still, that night in the trailer has left a permanent scar on my heart. More than anything, I wanted my mom to be there, to fight to keep me, to save me. But that never happened. The thought of it haunts my dreams day and night.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
ADHD/environment/genetics
Have you ever noticed that you and your siblings remember the same childhood events differently? Perhaps a Christmas that you got a much wanted toy allows you to remember that specific Christmas as fun. Meanwhile perhaps your sibling didn't get the toy they wanted and spent the day sulking. (Although I never did get my Easy Bake Oven that I always asked Santa for, I did get the hair dressing doll head that almost made up for it.)
What made me think of this, was a section I was recently reading in Gabor Mate's "Scattered" book about ADD. Although the book was published in 1999 and some of the info is quite dated, it's still an interesting read. He explains how some siblings can share the same home environment, it's the "emotional atmosphere during the critical early years of brain development that most profoundly shapes the human personality."
He uses the example of Gary Gilmour, a convicted double murderer who was executed by firing squad in Utah in 1978. Gary's younger brother Mikal was born when Gary was 11, at a time when the family was enjoying a period of relative stability, is quoted as saying "The family I grew up in ws not the family my brothers grew up in. They grew up in a family that was on the road constantly, never in the same place longer than a couple of months at best. They grew up in a family where they watched the father beat the mother regularly, battering her face until it was a mortified blue knot. They grew up in a family where they were slapped and pummelled and belittled for paltry affronts...I grew up in a world so different from that of my brothers, I may as well have grown up under a different surname."
Gabor Mate goes on to explain more variables that will influence a child's brain structures and circuits. Such as birth order, the parents' economical situation may be better around the time of one child's birth than another's, and then of course there is the adoption component.
Adoption means that the child has been separated from their birth mother's body, voice, heartbeat etc. someetimes right at birth. We now are starting to realize how devastating this is to the infant. And for those infants who are then placed with different caregivers until their adoptions, the trauma they experience can be very significant. And if the birth mom is at all stressed, the cortisol that is released directly affects the nervous system of the infant. If our newborns are withdrawing from drugs or have been affected by alcohol in-utero they will typically be extremely sensitive to touch, lights and sounds, while others may be relatively insensitive to their environments.
My point, and I do have one, is that as adopted parents, we shouldn't be the least bit surprised when our adopted children are at a high risk for psychological problems in general, ADD/ADHD in particular.
It was great for me to read some of Gabor's book again and refresh my knowledge of ADHD, especially now that my 9 year old is struggling so much in school with his ADHD, FASD, etc. It's always interesting to me how I can re-read things when my kids are at different ages and stages from when I first read the item, and how much I keep learning by doing this.
What made me think of this, was a section I was recently reading in Gabor Mate's "Scattered" book about ADD. Although the book was published in 1999 and some of the info is quite dated, it's still an interesting read. He explains how some siblings can share the same home environment, it's the "emotional atmosphere during the critical early years of brain development that most profoundly shapes the human personality."
He uses the example of Gary Gilmour, a convicted double murderer who was executed by firing squad in Utah in 1978. Gary's younger brother Mikal was born when Gary was 11, at a time when the family was enjoying a period of relative stability, is quoted as saying "The family I grew up in ws not the family my brothers grew up in. They grew up in a family that was on the road constantly, never in the same place longer than a couple of months at best. They grew up in a family where they watched the father beat the mother regularly, battering her face until it was a mortified blue knot. They grew up in a family where they were slapped and pummelled and belittled for paltry affronts...I grew up in a world so different from that of my brothers, I may as well have grown up under a different surname."
Gabor Mate goes on to explain more variables that will influence a child's brain structures and circuits. Such as birth order, the parents' economical situation may be better around the time of one child's birth than another's, and then of course there is the adoption component.
Adoption means that the child has been separated from their birth mother's body, voice, heartbeat etc. someetimes right at birth. We now are starting to realize how devastating this is to the infant. And for those infants who are then placed with different caregivers until their adoptions, the trauma they experience can be very significant. And if the birth mom is at all stressed, the cortisol that is released directly affects the nervous system of the infant. If our newborns are withdrawing from drugs or have been affected by alcohol in-utero they will typically be extremely sensitive to touch, lights and sounds, while others may be relatively insensitive to their environments.
My point, and I do have one, is that as adopted parents, we shouldn't be the least bit surprised when our adopted children are at a high risk for psychological problems in general, ADD/ADHD in particular.
It was great for me to read some of Gabor's book again and refresh my knowledge of ADHD, especially now that my 9 year old is struggling so much in school with his ADHD, FASD, etc. It's always interesting to me how I can re-read things when my kids are at different ages and stages from when I first read the item, and how much I keep learning by doing this.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Stories Change Lives...
I received this email from Janice Otremba who is the FASD Parent to Parent Support Worker in Kamloops, and I thought I would post this info in case anyone is interested. You don't have to live in Kamloops to participate.
We invite you to join us in a project that will offer needed support for all families living with a child with mental health challenges.
We would like to hear from you about how the mental health challenges of your child or youth has had an impact on you or your family.
Your stories will provide the foundation to create programming based on real needs – your needs.
The F.O.R.C.E is a provincial family organization that advocates, engages, educates and supports families for child and youth mental health. We are spearheading this project and have joined forces with an experienced interviewer to assist us.
Cindy Willick is an international educator and certified coach who helps people use the power of their stories to inspire others, influence change and deepen personal and professional relationships.
Together, we will be seeking your time and your stories on the personal and family impacts, both good and bad, that you have experienced with your child or youth with mental health challenges.
Your stories will guide the development of educational training and a book on personal and family impacts from mental health challenges.
Please email us at theforce@bckidsmentalhealth.org before January 12
Interviews will take approximately 1.5 hours or less and will be conducted in a setting of your choice, or by phone. if you wish to share your story.
Anonymity is assured.
Sharing your stories will make a difference.
Thank you
We invite you to join us in a project that will offer needed support for all families living with a child with mental health challenges.
We would like to hear from you about how the mental health challenges of your child or youth has had an impact on you or your family.
Your stories will provide the foundation to create programming based on real needs – your needs.
The F.O.R.C.E is a provincial family organization that advocates, engages, educates and supports families for child and youth mental health. We are spearheading this project and have joined forces with an experienced interviewer to assist us.
Cindy Willick is an international educator and certified coach who helps people use the power of their stories to inspire others, influence change and deepen personal and professional relationships.
Together, we will be seeking your time and your stories on the personal and family impacts, both good and bad, that you have experienced with your child or youth with mental health challenges.
Your stories will guide the development of educational training and a book on personal and family impacts from mental health challenges.
Please email us at theforce@bckidsmentalhealth.org before January 12
Interviews will take approximately 1.5 hours or less and will be conducted in a setting of your choice, or by phone. if you wish to share your story.
Anonymity is assured.
Sharing your stories will make a difference.
Thank you
Monday, January 4, 2010
Choosing my battles...(again)
How do you know which battles are the ones worth fighting? Usually I'm pretty good at determining which ones to fight when it comes to those within my own household. But now there's a battle which I must face everyday (literally!) and I'm not sure I have the fight in me. Not because it doesn't matter, cause it very much does. But more so because of the futility of the fight. And that I already have many other battles, big and small, that need my attention on a regular basis.
So what is that battle you ask? Well, recently new people bought the property below ours and have turned a nice looking piece of rural property into an industrial area complete with at least 16 vehicles including construction equipment, bulldozers, dump trucks, storage containers, etc. Yes, that is enough of an eyesore on it's own considering it is also in violation of the zoning bylaw, and I have already filed my official complaint with the city bylaw enforcement officer.
But what is really alarming, and what we look at every single day, is their full size Confederate flag that flys high enough to be seen clearly from our kitchen, eating area, and living room windows. And assuming the weather gets better, will be front and centre in our back yard.
Now if I'm not mistaken, the Confederate flag represents the "South" in the American Civil War who lost the battle to keep slavery alive and well. Am I wrong about this? Please tell me I'm wrong.
We've considered talking to the new property owners about the flag, but my "mole" at the City Hall office told me who is leasing that property (and also gave me the head's up that the bylaw enforcement officer is close to retirement so don't expect any big changes with the industrialization of the property). And, guess what? The guy who owns all the equipment is the brother of one of the largest drug dealers in the region. Oh yea! Yeah, that really doesn't make me want to take a stand on this particular issue.
In a perfect world, I (or rather I would make my husband do it)would speak to this neighbor and explain my reasons for politely requesting him to remove his offensive material, he would apologize for not realizing the errors of his ways, and would immediately take down the flag. Probably not going to happen. Any of it. Since I know who he is, and I had the pleasure of going through school with his brother who spent time incarcerated in a Texas prison for a violent crime or two, I don't think I'll choose to fight this battle. Yes I've been intimidated. Yes, in a perfect world my little imaginary scenario above would happen. But then it's not a perfect world is it.
So for now, until an opportunity presents itself that seems do-able with minimal fallout, I'll guess I'll have to continue to hope the winds batter the flag into shreds.
What would you do?
So what is that battle you ask? Well, recently new people bought the property below ours and have turned a nice looking piece of rural property into an industrial area complete with at least 16 vehicles including construction equipment, bulldozers, dump trucks, storage containers, etc. Yes, that is enough of an eyesore on it's own considering it is also in violation of the zoning bylaw, and I have already filed my official complaint with the city bylaw enforcement officer.
But what is really alarming, and what we look at every single day, is their full size Confederate flag that flys high enough to be seen clearly from our kitchen, eating area, and living room windows. And assuming the weather gets better, will be front and centre in our back yard.
Now if I'm not mistaken, the Confederate flag represents the "South" in the American Civil War who lost the battle to keep slavery alive and well. Am I wrong about this? Please tell me I'm wrong.
We've considered talking to the new property owners about the flag, but my "mole" at the City Hall office told me who is leasing that property (and also gave me the head's up that the bylaw enforcement officer is close to retirement so don't expect any big changes with the industrialization of the property). And, guess what? The guy who owns all the equipment is the brother of one of the largest drug dealers in the region. Oh yea! Yeah, that really doesn't make me want to take a stand on this particular issue.
In a perfect world, I (or rather I would make my husband do it)would speak to this neighbor and explain my reasons for politely requesting him to remove his offensive material, he would apologize for not realizing the errors of his ways, and would immediately take down the flag. Probably not going to happen. Any of it. Since I know who he is, and I had the pleasure of going through school with his brother who spent time incarcerated in a Texas prison for a violent crime or two, I don't think I'll choose to fight this battle. Yes I've been intimidated. Yes, in a perfect world my little imaginary scenario above would happen. But then it's not a perfect world is it.
So for now, until an opportunity presents itself that seems do-able with minimal fallout, I'll guess I'll have to continue to hope the winds batter the flag into shreds.
What would you do?
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