True Vine Tuesday: The Holiday Season

One of the things I could not have fully anticipated for my adopted children was and is the full impact and the disruption celebrations can have on them. Special occasions can be so very overwhelming.  

This can also be a surprise to many adults. As adults, we often look forward to these celebrations with the children in our lives. We work hard to make them bigger, better, more meaningful—to pack in as many memories and as much quality time as we can. We imagine our kids' joy and delight. We imagine how they will remember these special times when they become adults. We put a lot of time, energy, and emphasis on celebrations. Under the weight of all our effort, the only available option our children have is to be grateful. They better appreciate all they’ve been given, all the work that’s gone into this day!

Well, what if they simply can’t? What if these magical times aren’t enjoyable to a child? What if they aren’t what a child has been thinking of or dreaming of at all? What if the day is just another change? Another reminder of things being different? What does that look like? What does that feel like?

It can look and feel like confusion and disappointment. Big feelings. Big behaviors. And it is so easy to assign poor motives to a child who is struggling and needs support. It is easy to look at that sweet baby and view him or her as ungrateful. It is so easy to think of things from our adult perspective.  

The struggle with transitions and celebrations does not always look the same from one child to the next. One of my kids came into our family the week before Halloween. This kiddo did not melt down in the middle of whatever celebration was occurring; this sweet baby would struggle over the next few days. So, it looked like being a trooper as we were trick-or-treating. Maybe a little hyper-active, too. Then, bedtime that evening would be an absolute nightmare. When it was time to move into the bedtime routine, defiance and tantrums would reign. Each step of the bedtime routine would be met with resistance, which made bedtime take longer. And longer. And longer. The following two to three days would follow the same pattern. They would be intense and hard. I would be met with tantrums and defiance.

As this kiddo struggled, so did my patience and overall attitude. So did my internal thoughts. My mind would go to places of judgment. I would think things like, “Don’t you know how hard I worked to give you a fun day?” “Why can’t you be like the other kids?” “Why are you sitting in the doorway or under the table instead of participating?” “What kid doesn’t want to open presents?” “Why can’t you just try one bite of this new food?” “Why?”

Eventually, this kiddo reached an age where she was able to verbally express her discomfort with holidays, birthdays, Sunday dinners, etc. Not all occasions are met with excitement and anticipation. They are full of too many people, too much attention, too many smells, too many foods, too much noise, too much sharing. Just too much. In place of post-celebration tantrums and disruptions, my sweet child began looking for ways to avoid these situations. She might struggle to sit at the table during Sunday dinner. She would hide under the table or go into the next room. Maybe she would sit at the top of the stairs or run to the basement when it was time to open presents. I would find her crying alone often during celebrations, her feelings hurt in some way.  

There were family Christmas parties where we were the hosts, and I would be upstairs with our daughter while everyone else opened presents. I was torn between those who were having fun and wanting me to participate, and my child who was overwhelmed and needed to see that she was not alone. Sometimes it was hard not to feel frustration, disappointment, and anger.  

Oh, how hard it was to learn to set down my expectations and meet her where she was that day. To set down and ignore the pressure of family expectations and questions. To set down the internal struggle in the moment and see my child. To not allow the disappointment to take over. Take deep breaths. Remember these things might seem normal and fun to me, but they obviously did not feel that way for this child. Even now, in moments like these, this sweet baby needs me to see her. To help her. Not to control her. Not to try to push my will onto her. She needs me to love, comfort and offer support. She needs me to be patient. To listen. To sit quietly with her. She doesn’t want to miss out—no one does. When I can offer her what she needs, she can feel safe enough to eventually join in. Oh, what a hard lesson that was for me to learn. Oh, how I must remind myself of this every year, every celebration.

AND, what a privilege and burden it is to carry the weight of these moments. I try to never take for granted all that has gone into building this trust. This relationship. This safety. The pressure of that can feel like a giant weight. As parents, we all do the best we can with the tools and support systems we have.

Learning to reassess my expectations of my children continues to be a journey. It does not mean I stopped being a parent and let my kids run the show. It does mean I recognize that sometimes my expectations are unrealistic and too high. Sometimes my expectations come from a fear or perception of being judged. I can let all of that go. And when I do, it gives all of us space to enjoy our time together. Sometimes even more than I could ever imagine.

Learn more about True Vine, Pathway's Adoption and Foster Care Ministry, HERE.