After a rare date night with the husband last week, we came home to our children who were happily playing with their grandpa and his new girlfriend. While it was all smiles, part of me sank emotionally.
My 11-year-old daughter, Amy, was having a great time. She was laughing, playing games and really connecting with my father-in-law’s girlfriend. To say I was jealous would be an understatement.
Amy, who we adopted when she was 4 after her mom died, has never connected with me. Admittedly, I am not the girly type. I don’t get into painting nails, doing hair and being overly feminine. Talk to me about football and the latest in news and politics and I’m there.
Nonetheless, I’ve worked hard to connect with Amy. I have volunteered to be a team mom with her cheerleading program. We do have fun together on those full days out away from dad and her brothers, but true emotion and connection always seems to fall flat. There is no real giggling, and ultimately, I know that if she has a something important to share or confide, I wouldn’t be her first option.
Besides being adopted, Amy has been diagnosed with an attachment disorder. This means she struggles to show real emotion. She struggles to understand what the right emotion at a given moment is supposed to be. She struggles to understand what it means to connect on an emotional level with anyone. She also tends to be dishonest when a situation is uncomfortable.
When you adopt a child, especially one who lost her mother to cancer, and had a bad father, you want to fix everything. At first you have this image that a healthy household, loving parents, plenty of clothes and toys and enrolling her in extra-curricular programs is just going to make everything perfect. It will fix the past, and she will be a normal, thriving child.
It doesn’t happen that way. In fact, here we are six years later and there are days that end in tears for me. I wonder will we ever connect the way I connect with my mother. I wonder if there is something new I can wake up and do tomorrow to suddenly make our connection better. I constantly wonder what besides therapy we can do to fix the issues.
I am proud of Amy. I understand her limitations, and I accept the child she is – I just long for more.
When I ask her questions about her day, her week, her friends and her hobbies, I usually get one or two-word answers. We don’t play games too often as she seems to enjoy playing with grandparents more.
When I can freely give her two brothers hugs and kisses and laugh, and her way of saying goodnight is to touch my arm and quietly say “goodnight, mom. I love you,” it’s hard on me. When I push for more, I get the sense she’s uncomfortable, which means I pull back.
At the end of the day, I want the freedom to freely express and show her love like I do her brothers. Understanding that her mind is incapable of accepting and trusting that level of love is hard on me, and the patience the therapist tells me to have is generally easier said than done.
But, I will continue to try different ways to find a better connection. I will keep parenting.
(Editor’s Note: As always, if you have helpful tips or input, please don’t hesitate to share either in the comments below, or by emailing backtoparenting@gmail.com.)
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