Trauma Denial Trope

So you're having a chat with a friend or a family member and you get round to talking about some incident at home or school. The usual stuff a challenge that  your little one has with crowds or anxiety in different environments and the subsequent unraveling or slip from the 'norm' of accepted behaviour. Then the person who you're talking to stops and drops in some trauma denial trope or other.

'Do you not think they should be over it yet?' or 'children need to be in that environment, that's how they learn'.

The conversation goes on and it's clear regardless of how thorough or scientific your description of the impacts of early trauma, loss and separation are they are not going to have it.

They really are not willing to accept my rational, detailed and factual explanation of my child's inner world.

Stop there, I'm stuck at that point. As I walk away from that conversation I can't help feeling more than a little frustrated that this person can't understand the inner world of my children. I feel hurt, of course you do you insult my child you hurt me.

I can totally understand people not knowing the impacts of trauma but refusing to change their position or accept facts seems genuinely shocking. More than that it feels like there's sometimes an accusation hidden in there.

That I'm weak and being soft on 'bad behaviour', a permissive parent, liberal do gooder or a bleeding heart. Do they think I'm afraid of calling out poor behaviour and instigating consequences and firm boundaries. It's hurtful that someone who, we hope, cares for us and would have our best interests at heart believes that we're misguided and are condoning, as they see it, unacceptable behaviour.

I wonder if it strikes to a deeper issue that in their minds my children remain 'others', cuckoos, part of our family but  not of our family. Do they consider my child to be a 'wrong un'.
I hope that's not the case, I really hope that's not the case.

I'm still surprised that 19 years after setting out on this journey there are still people close to us who are choosing dogma over science and judgement over compassion.

Managing

Managing

Verb: to succeed in doing or dealing with something, especially something difficult.

What does 'managing' mean? It's no indication of how difficult things are or how we are dealing with it. It's subjective. What is the value of saying we're managing?

We manage because we can't think what else to do, but what do I do to manage, what is the cost, am I really managing?

Every day I meet people who are managing. Some are managing well, others not so.

Some people manage, but they're on anti depressants, they drink a little more than they should, their relationships with partners and friends are in tatters.
They manage but can't sleep at night, they have to give up their jobs, they don't see their friends and they're frightened of their children.
They manage by locking themselves in their room or calling the police.
They manage but they're isolated, aren't able to go to church or to friend's houses.
From the outside looking in I think 'are you really managing?'.
I think, 'yes you're managing but at what cost?'.

I know more families than I care to count who manage way beyond what they ever expected because they love their children and have no other choice.

There have only been a few moments in our family lives where I've thought that I wasn't managing, fleeting moments where I considered the alternative. But the alternative was too much to bear, a choice that was more painful than the 'managing'.

Stepping back, I wonder are we managing or just not giving up.






Please note: this post is not a criticism of the survey that used the word 'managing' in it's reporting more a reflection on my thoughts and ponderings that popped out after I read it.

Champion

Words are interesting and powerful, words matter, they get us into trouble and out of trouble. I've been pondering one word for months and years. It's the word:

Champion

Before I go any further this is all about me, not you, so if you read this and think I'm having a dig at you then you've well and truly got the wrong end of the stick. If you think it's about an organisation, and there are a couple that use the word, you're missing my point because I hold no ill will or bear any animosity at all. This is about how I feel. Me.

I've started this blog time after time month after month but struggled to put into words how I feel about potentially being called an 'Adoption Champion'. If you know me you'll know I've worked hard to duck the title on several occasions and mainly because it was just a feeling of unease that I struggled to put into words. More to the point I struggled to get to the bottom of why I felt the unease. 

I've tried to verbalise my feelings on several occasions with different people failed dismally and come away from the conversation feeling like a pedant* or a lilly livered liberal, I mean it's only a name for heaven's sake. 

I support and participate in the work that many of the 'champions' are doing, advocating for adopters and adoptees. The promotion of awareness of the reality of adoption and chipping away down the constant disneyfication of adoption in popular perceptions and media. In that regard I'm all in. It's just that word. 

I've talked to adoption 'Champions' who embrace the name and that's fine I don't want to project or transfer my unease. 

Today, it finally came to me as I sat on the train. 

Champion is an overwhelmingly positive term and to link it to social construction that at it's heart is born from catastrophic loss is the crux of my unease. I just can't reconcile the two.  

*The good MrsC will read this and say 'you're just being an colossal arse' and she might have a fair point.

Adoption Preparation Group

'So.....this is Al, he's an adoptive parent. If you could just tell us a little about your story and some of your experiences'

In the few seconds between the introduction and me starting to talk dozens of different statements dance across my mind. Years ago I the good MrsC and I were asked to speak at a prep course. It seemed so simple then, we'd only walked a little down this road and we spoke in warm glowing terms that would have convinced the hardest cynic. Times have changed and our journey has taken a few twists and turns.

So, what do I say to this group of prospective adopters?

I could tell of the unimaginable love and pride that I feel for my children. I'd paint a picture so sweet that it would make Annie seem like a gritty expose of adoption horror. Of course I could tell of the shadow of trauma, of vicarious trauma, police and social care visits and post adoption support services. A story so grim they'd run from the building weeping.

Since being asked I've thought of so many things that I should say, could say, wouldn't say. All of them right, all of them wrong but all of them reflecting the complexities and contradictions that are apparent in my life as an adoptive parent, a parent.

I believe that at my preparation group I only heard what I was able to hear. Speaking to many adopters this seems to be a universal truth. Our capacity to hear is limited for a myriad of reasons.

The Jesuit Priest Tony de Mello said ' The shortest distance between a human being and the truth is a story'.

So, I'll just tell my story and these families will hear what they can.

'Hello, my name is Al Coates and I'm a parent, my children came to me in a rather unusual manner'

Doilies and Cake

I'm in total awe of the foster carers, celebrated the steady stream of newspaper items celebrating their retirement noting the care they've given to countless dozens of children across decades. My awe is not so much for the care that they've shown the children, which of course is inspiring, it's the resilience they've demonstrated as they've given their lives over the system. Even if every one of their Social Workers has been exceptional managing the faceless and nameless system is the thing that grinds you down.

I come from a nice family, a nice working class family from the right side of the tracks. So starting out on the process of adoption was our families first involvement with Social Workers, agents of the state, and the system. It was all 'nice biscuits and doilies' to start with, nice strangers sifting through our inner workings and life stories. We didn't mind it one bit as we had volunteered and we were ultimately in control as we could always say no. We didn't mind the odd bit of inconvenience or the odd mis step as this was the path to our desired goal, children.

So, children come and no adopter will forget the tangible feeling of utter joy as we shut the door behind the Social Worker for the last time, breathed a sigh of relief and got about the business of family.

It wasn't the end for us. We had dip our toe back into that water, the system, more like we are pushed headlong into that world. This time our choice was removed and it is no longer 'biscuits and doilies' it's voicemail, left messages, emails and meetings. I didn't realise when I stepped onto the adoption conveyor belt was that I would be negotiating 'the system' for the rest of my children's lives. Schools, Post Adoption Support, Children's Services, Police, CAHMS, CYPS and various branches of medicine, all the system. The overwhelming majority of professionals, across all disciplines, that I've gone to for help have been good and some exceptional. However, they come and go and the system feels brutal at times and perpetually set against us and the professionals that we work with. I'm sure it's not but it feels like that at times.

As parents we do what we have to do, we read policy documents and school entry guidance; write nice letters, call councillors we rant, rave, campaign and blog. All the time we're drawn into this system that is alien to most of us and we find it is woven into our lives. We become experts in policy and guidance in negotiation and advocacy all to get through the system. I'm a white middle aged professional man and people listen to me, I'm articulate and reasonable and I have agency. I know the regulations and the systems of social care (it's not an accident I'm a Social Worker). We all do what we have to do.

I worry for those who don't those that struggle, don't keep their ear to the ground, can't shout and scream, are intimidated by professionals and don't know their rights. I fear for those adoptive parents that become 'problems' to professionals and the system because they say no, or have a clash of personality or opinion. I sometimes think about how my children's parents managed it. Of course that's an impossible question but reading the files I sometimes wonder how they would describe the system that they found themselves in and if it would be very different from my description. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be 'doilies and cake'.

A bit of a rambling post.

Tectonic Plates

Over the last few weeks I've been playing a game. I slide up to people I know, brighter and wiser people, and all nonchalant like, when they least expect, it I ask them:

'So, what do you think about adoption?'

What interesting things people say. They normally ask for clarification 'why, what do you mean, eh?' Then we talk, I ask few questions and they give a few answers and the things people that have said to me have been very interesting, very interesting indeed.

It's not a game. My views have shifted, slowly like tectonic plates from the naive ill informed enthusiasm of 18 years ago to now. The trouble is that I'm not sure what I think, I am but I aren't.

Riding up the country gave me time to ponder, but I came up empty, more questions than answers.

The money that changes hands and the business, the dogma and the ideology, injustices and punishment, the challenges and recruitment, the expectations and the promises, the hopes and the dreams, the realities and the wonder,  the adopters, the families, the children, the love. I've not even mentioned human rights and parental responsibilities.

Increasingly I struggle to articulate my thoughts in words and though I can offer to demonstrate my views through expressive dance there's too much to say.

In no way am I turning my back on adoption and I am certain that I love the children in my life I've been given to parent. I even struggle to say my children these days. Perhaps that's a reaction to the US adoption month stuff that floats around the internet. Perhaps that's too much airy fairy social worky thinking. Perhaps it's all too much airy fairy social worky thinking.

Of course my views are informed by my relatively narrow experience and the experience of those I come into contact with. But there's a yearning to know more. So, blog about nothing but that's what I'm doing now looking for more understanding and nuance. I worry that my views push beyond my knowledge and into opinion that I become an empty vessel, hollow but loud. So, if you seem me slide up to you prepare yourself I might expect you to give account of your views.

Naughty Child

I often ponder while riding my bike, running*, walking the dog or driving the car. I can get myself into quite a frenzy and often write imaginary blogs that cut deep into issues with razor sharp insight, whit and pith.

Sometimes these thoughts fester and brew into blogs. Mostly, I forget them or as I try and write them I realise my lack of knowledge and lack of ability to articulate my thoughts and  abandon them or realise that a 25 minute rant can be better expressed in a few words in another blog about something else. Or perhaps a limited to 140 characters on that Twitter with a picture of me in a hat.

I’ve been pondering mental ill health. Mine, my children’s and everybody else’s.

Considering my children I’ve made this shift from what you’d class as ‘bad behaviour’ to ‘mental ill health’. Reframing my thoughts and views can be the difference between coping or not, it helps me at least.

Living with and working with adults who are experiencing mental ill health can be extremely difficult and we have empathy compassion for all concerned. In no way do we project blame for the outworking of that mental ill health on the people around them. Nor do we ask them to put them on the naughty step if they don’t act ‘appropriately’

This just doesn’t seem to be the case for the parents and carers of children with mental ill health. They should control their children and if they appear to be ‘misbehaving’ then it’s the parents/carers fault. We’ve all heard a busybody explain that ‘What that child needs is boundaries, routine, a good nights sleep, ignoring, a short sharp shock and a smack on the bottom.’.

Everyone’s an expert.

But Supernanny would be brought to her knees with what many parents face. Logic and sense are not applicable. Behaviour modification techniques are just that they are sticking plasters on broken legs. The have some benefit but they are often only addressing symptoms not causes.  

Reframing takes the pressure away. My boundaries are flexible, my methods changeable and my job is to help keep us all safe.

Having said all that sometimes children are just naughty.**

As I said a bit of a ramble.

*Very limited pondering occurs during running, plenty of coughing and hacking does.

** I know, I know, ‘that was a naughty thing to do’ rather than ‘you are naughty, good for nothing, monster’. I’m a Social Worker for heavens sake this stuff has been drilled into me.

Therapeutic

Sometimes I imagine casting off the shackles of ‘therapeutic parenting’.

My ‘no’ being a ‘no’ and my ‘yes’ a ‘yes’.

No dancing with words around delicate issues.

No emergency self care

No fear, anxiety and pain wrapped up in angry words and actions to tidy up.

No pre-emptive discussions with school, coaches, family, doctors, SWs and friends.

No pre event and post event debriefs.

No protracted and unending negotiations.

No knot in my stomach when I know I have to take a stand over some minor issue that is pretty major.

No wishy washy compromises that leave me feeling that I’ve let down all parents everywhere.

Not sticking endlessly to the ‘tried and tested’ places, foods, people and events.

Not worrying.

I’m pretty sure that the kids feel the same.

On the upside the Sky man came and we've now got telly, or as I like to think of it 'daddy's little helper'.

No broadband yet.