The Five Little Ducks Blog

Three years have passed since Miss A and Miss L joined our family as wild young girls fresh out of their latest foster placement. Our third “famiversary” passed without much of a fuss. So much has been happening, and my emotional well-being has not been consistently good.

I shall start with the exciting news for any of you who might have missed the announcement; I am 18 weeks pregnant with my fourth baby. I am anxiously awaiting feeling the baby move, and I feel very joyful and optimistic about having another baby.

I have been blessed with relatively good health, and the nausea has been mild. My body’s sleep requirements have greatly increased and I find myself often craving rest and nodding off at awkward moments. The biggest struggle has been with my own emotions. I have gotten anxious and stressed. I have cried easily and been quick to snap. Although I truly am happy to be anticipating another baby, I have had many moments/days/weeks of feeling like I am not coping, especially in regards to my poor relationship with Miss A. From glancing back at prior diary entries, I know that this descent started months ago, before I was even pregnant. Pregnancy hormones (and constant tiredness) have probably exasperated the condition.

I always knew that the first year of a long term foster placement would be the hardest. The second year was surely to have its challenges. But surely, we would have ironed out all of the kinks by the third? Knowing that our third “famiversary” was approaching caused me to constantly ask “why?”.

Why do I still get so annoyed by these girls?

Why do I still struggle to not show favouritism between my biological and foster children?

Why is it so hard to change their behaviour?

Why don’t they ever learn from their mistakes?

Why are they still lying to me?

Why do I still have regrets and long for the past?

Why isn’t this easy yet?

Why don’t I love them like I love my own children?

Not that parenting is easy, even with your own children. But there are definitely moments of smooth sailing within my biological family. My children get along really well with each other. They listen to me (most of the time) and rarely lie to me (if ever). My kids still annoy me, can be rude and whiny and push the boundaries, but being in their presence is like breathing. I never have to question it. And I never have to doubt my love for them or wonder if they would be better off with another mum.

I care deeply about Miss A and Miss L. There are moments where all is well. Family dinners where we all have a good laugh. Movie nights where we cuddle on the lounge and feel bonded. Holidays where we go away and actually have a very fun time.

But the daily grind can be a struggle. I find that there is something “constant” about Miss A’s personality which I find tiring. There is always something happening with her; she is either sucking her hair, picking her nose, making an annoying sound, aggravating someone, demanding attention, arguing with me or lying to me.

My relationship with Miss L is better, but I still need frequent breaks from her (hooray for childcare). Some of her sensory behaviours are similar to Miss A. I do struggle with her ever-pressing need to tell me that she loves me, to follow me around and touch me when I just want some space, to whinge and cry when I need to go out. I must sound like such a jerk for being annoyed by a kid simply because she loves me too much.

In July my case worker visited me. I cried and told her that I was struggling and that if something didn’t change, the placement might be in crisis. Funny how I have been on the waiting list for a program called the Child Protection Counselling Service (CPCS) for nearly three years, however our placement was deemed too stable in order for us to qualify for the service, but once I revealed a chink in my armour and said the placement might not be so stable after all; then we were immediately granted priority access (my mother has often warned me against acting too capable). For the past couple of months, a counsellor from CPCS has visited me in my home and for an hour or more, I have talked about our issues and she has consistently reminded me that all of the unsettling, annoying behaviours are due to the impact of trauma on the brain. I have also started seeing a lovely local Christian counsellor. This term I am also participating in the “Reparative Parenting Program”. This all adds up to quite a lot of therapy.

For three years I have talked to case workers, doctors, therapists and specialists. The answer to every question that I have asked and every challenge I have discussed is “trauma”.

I will summarise trauma and attachment theory here for you.

Exposure to alcohol and drugs in utero, domestic violence, abuse, neglect and removals from parents and carers in early childhood results in trauma to the developing brain. Children who have been exposed to this kind of trauma may present with challenging behaviour issues (which can also be seen as ‘survival skills’) and often have difficulty forming attachments.

Got it?

I am well aware that the turbulent early childhood of Miss A and Miss L means that life with them won’t be free from complications, but in all of these years that I have been asking for help and been given the same answers, nobody has ever given me strategies for how to deal with our challenges, or coping mechanisms for myself when I am stressed or depressed. A month or two ago I was told that unless I stopped “reacting”, then things wouldn’t get any better.

This is probably tue; I have overreacted to minor things more times than I care to remember, and I have yelled so viciously and said such horrible things that I’m concerned that a piece of the girls’ trauma might have been inherited in our own home.

And I have been constantly told that I must love them more, I must show them more love, love them, love them, love them…

For such a long time a toxic weed; a horrible thought, has been growing in my mind, sending poisonous barbs into my chest.

But I don’t love them.

I don’t love them!

I was screaming inside, absolutely miserable. Every month or two I would suddenly slump into a terrible funk where I felt like I absolutely could not carry on with this charade anymore. Then I would imagine having to explain to people why the girls didn’t live with us anymore, and I couldn’t bear to think of how everybody would perceive me. Not to mention the trauma of separating Miss A and Miss L from their family and home of three years, and how I would be responsible for two more foster kids bouncing through the system, unable to find a new forever home because their behaviour would only get more and more challenging with each placement. And how, if only I could have loved them more everything would have been ok…

The weight of all of this guilt and negative thinking was unbearable at times.

My counsellor wanted me to stop living with regrets about the past and start practicing ‘reality acceptance’. Whenever I started to feel upset about what was going on, she wanted me to shrug and calmly say to myself “it is what it is”.

Apparently this mantra was supposed to bring me comfort. But each time I heard screaming first thing in the morning, or saw the distress Miss A was causing Mr E, or Miss L insulting Miss R’s appearance, I tried to say “it is what it is” and it only made me angry, because the words would escalate to “it is what it f***ing is and I hate what it is!” A friend suggested that I try the Serenity Prayer instead, and I will admit that in times of stress, simply saying the first line, “God, help me to accept the things that I cannot change,” brought me a measure of comfort. Admitting that I was powerless to change things outside of my control and giving it into God’s hands gave me some peace and a little hope that things could still change and get better in God’s timing.

Two weeks ago I had a little blow up at my parent’s house and I confessed how unhappy I was. The next morning at church my Mum and Dad watched me with concern as they saw how withdrawn I was, how I was constantly on the verge of crying. My Dad told me that he was praying for me. Later that afternoon, I called my Mum. In the following fifteen minutes, a life changing conversation took place.

I told her how no matter how hard I tried, I could not love the girls as much as I loved my own children.

Her response was this: “Of course you love your own children more. You can’t help how you feel.”

I carried Mr E, Miss R and Mr J in my womb. I put them straight to my breast when they were born. They slept in my arms and in my bed. I gazed into their eyes and they gazed into mine. I delighted at their first smiles. I sang to them and rocked them and patted them. I changed their nappies. I taught them to eat and held their hands as they learned to walk, and I scooped them up when they cried. I taught them to speak. I read them stories. I introduced them to the world and showed them that it was a safe place, because I loved them and I would always keep them safe. Every gene in my body commands me to love these little people. Our attachment was and is to this day, unbroken.

When my mother gave me permission to love my own kids more, a huge burden was lifted off my chest. This might sound petty or cruel, and there are probably carers out there who have stronger, purer hearts than mine who can love their biological and foster children equally, but I am not one of them. I can’t help it that I melt a little when I see Miss R’s freckles and bright eyes, or when Mr J giggles, or Mr E has a fascinating insight to share with me.

Mum didn’t leave our conversation there. She reminded me that “love” is a doing word. She told me that as long as I was feeding the girls and giving them a place to sleep, treating them fairly to my own kids and showing them love, then that was good enough. “Treat it like a job,” she said.

You see, for three years I have been trying to fall in love with the girls, but my inability to do so has spilled over into how I treated them. My frustration over my feelings resulted in poor parenting choices. Mum was right when she said that I can’t change how I feel, but I can change how I act. I can respond more patiently, I can give hugs even when I don’t feel like it, I can praise the good behaviour, I can act like a loving mum.

Over the last two weeks, I have felt so much more joyful. My mental health has been more sound than it has in a very long time. Strangely, in not trying to love Miss A and Miss L equally to my biological children, I have been able to love them more as individuals, and to appreciate their quirks and gifts. They have a place in my family, and it really is hard to imagine our mad house without them. Without all of the twirling, singing and dancing, the forward rolls on the trampoline, the crazy, I mean, fashionable outfits, the endless imaginative games and the dolls and the drawings, the bucket loads of laughter (and a good deal of crying and screaming too)… These two girls are so incredibly filled to the brim with life. They deserve the same thing that all children deserve: a loving family and a safe home.

I am not so naïve to think that I will never slump or have a negative feeling again. If you notice that I am doing so, remind me to have a good, hard chat with my mum.

She is a very wise lady.