Heart, Mind and Seoul

Let's Start At The Very Beginning

Let's say you and your colleague decide to embark upon a weight loss endeavor together.  With the holidays rapidly approaching, both of you are a bit worried that you'll start the New Year with unwanted pounds if you don't watch your eating and exercising habits over the next several weeks.  You decide to sweeten the pot by adding a competitive twist. The person who loses the most weight is entitled to a custom made all-day spa package at salon of her choosing - courtesy of the 2nd place winner.  Game on.  You both are ready and your motivation could not be higher.  

Unbeknownst to you, your co-worker is insanely wealthy.  She has informed you that she has hired a personal trainer at a top gym, a private chef to prepare and cook all meals that are not only designed to fit the ideal caloric and nutritional parameters but also taste like they should be the specials at a 5-star restaurant.  She is able to rearrange her work schedule so that she can workout with her trainer for several hours each day.  She has also temporarily hired a full-time nanny that can help with the housework, childcare and other daily responsibilities so that she can devote as much time as she can to her diet, sleep, exercise and health regimen.  In short, she has constructed an environment which allows her to operate under the most ideal circumstances to not only maintain her weight, but to lose it and look and feel better than she ever has.

You, on the other hand, are faced with a disparate reality.  Your partner has been out of work in his field for almost 6 months now and money is as tight as ever.   Realistically, you're not able to purchase the kinds of foods that you know would be most conducive for your health.  Sure, you'd like to buy the salmon and an abundance of fresh produce, but it's just not practical considering that you have 5 mouths to feed, so ground beef and canned veggies it is.  A gym membership is out of the question let alone a personal trainer.  To help make ends meet, your husband took a part-time retail job in the evenings so it's solely up to you to make dinner, help with the homework for all 3 kids, make the school lunches for the next day and oversee the bedtime routines.  By the time all 3 kids are asleep, you can barely keep your eyes open.  You can feel your blood pressure rise as you think about your friend who has already lost 7 pounds and you cringe at the fact that you'll probably have to borrow against your 401(k) to pay for her spa package.  Instead of popping in an exercise DVD like you know you should, you turn on Bravo, grab a bag of chips and try to forget about your long, exhaustive day and how you need to get up in the morning only to do it all over again.

*   *   *   *

When I think back to my childhood, adolescence and young adulthood and how much I struggled at various points to recognize, accept and eventually claim my own inherent value as a person, I can see so many parallels to the above scenario and how the lack of access to certain, critical resources had shaped my early identity and sense of self.  Please realize that is not coming from a place of "Woe is me" or "Life is so unfair and adoption is to be blamed for everything", but rather a way for me to better understand how those early events of my abandonment and loss is not to be minimized in any way, shape or form.  As an adoptive parent, it also helps me to better understand how the inequities between what my son (adopted from Korea as an infant) had access to versus what my (bio) daughter was given and how the absence of crucial resources can manifest itself into various behaviors, thought patterns and the development of self.

From the moment she was born and arguably even in utero, my daughter has never not known a time when her needs have not been acknowledged.  The timely responsiveness of attentive and consistent caretakers, namely the woman who gave birth to her, is her only reality.  From her first cry, the same person has been there to validate and affirm her existence.  The same can be said for my brothers (who are my parent's biological children) as well as many of you who are reading this.  In my opinion, my daughter had unlimited access to every resource available as she started her life.  Not so for myself or my son or for most other adopted persons.  Many of us were abandoned and our cries for food, for touch, for recognition fell upon deaf ears until we were found.  Some of us were hospitalized and were not able to have access to skin-to-skin contact for days, weeks, months or even years.  And still some of us had a revolving door of caretakers who depending on the circumstances, could not attend to even our very basic needs in an acceptable amount of time that told us that we mattered, that we were important to someone - that we actually existed.   

In the case of the opening scenario, it's easy to see how one's circumstances in life can more easily influence our choices than others.  It's not that I consciously wanted to feel unworthy, unloved or unwanted throughout my life, it's just that given my life's beginnings I had to work that much harder at feeling worthy, loved and wanted in life.  One could argue that since the day I was adopted I have never been shown anything but continuous acts that have repeatedly demonstrated just how worthy, loved and wanted I really was, and that would be true.  And to be sure, that went a long way in not only helping me to find my own self-worth, but believing it, too.  But so too did my earliest beginnings marked by abandonment, separation and loss go a long way in inscribing an imprint in my both my brain and in my body that will forever be with me.  Understanding that notion has allowed me to more gentle and much kinder to myself.  I was adopted in an era where the impact of abandonment and loss was minimized at best, some even thought of it as a myth that we adoptees used as an excuse for our "poor choices".  Adoptive parents today know better and today's adoptees deserve for our beginnings to be acknowledged and affirmed.

No, we do not need to be defined by our circumstances.  But let us be more mindful of recognizing and validating how ones earliest circumstances can and do impact the adoption experience.  

It's Really *Not* That Difficult

The students that I work with - kids and young adults ranging from 5 years to 18 years of age - very clearly understand that there are certain behaviors and language that I will not tolerate or accept in my presence.  Of course the vast majority know that they're not going to get away with any profanity, but other words including "gay" or "retard", racial slurs and derogatory actions (such as making an "L" on their forehead to call someone a loser, mocking another student's speech, calling attention to a part of another student's body, and yes even pulling ones eyes back to "look" Asian) are not necessarily universally known as utterly unacceptable until I call attention to it and we have a discussion as to why I will not accept it in our collective learning environment.  

After the incident, we'll stop what we're doing and I'll do my best to facilitate a discussion around the action or language and explain why it is hurtful to all of us.  Sometimes we'll do an experiential activity (age appropriate of course) that hopefully drives home the point of impact v. intent and why we need to be aware and responsible of the impact that we're having on one another.  

At the end of the day what I ultimately tell my students is this: Now that you are aware of how I feel about this particular behavior or language and the impact that it can have on me and other people, if you CHOOSE to engage in this behavior or use this language again, I will assume that you are making a conscious choice to hurt me and others in this space and that is not okay.  You have the information now.  It is your choice from now on to use that information for good, not harm.  I will do my very best to protect this space for everyone who enters and I expect you to do the same.  

The kids get it.  They really do.  Of course I cannot control what is said and done beyond the classroom, but in my presence they have respected our space and I appreciate and respect them for that.

I think we as adults can take some cues from these students.  Are there people in our lives who are telling us that certain things we say or do are hurtful or offensive?  Are we showing them that we are listening?   Or do we choose to dismiss their feelings and continue to make the deliberate choice to keep on hurting or offending them?  

There is a woman in my social circle who has struggled greatly with infertility.  Let's say that I thought it was cute and funny to call her Infertile Myrtle every time I saw her.  And let's say that she told me that doesn't like it because it's hurtful and offensive and that she's even explicitly asked me to stop calling her that name.  But let's say that I really like calling her that because I think it's an endearing term and because rhyming is just too fun and well, don't I have a right to my feelings, too?  Well, of course I do.  But I need to decide - is it more important that I not intentionally harm or offend this woman or to do what I want to do simply because I think I have a right to do it? 

It seems like a no-brainer, but how many people do we know in the workplace, in our communities and even in our own families who would say that people like this woman need to just "lighten up" and "get a sense of humor, already."  Gee whiz, I mean, it's not society's fault that she's unable to conceive - why should others have to censor their language just to accommodate her?  And besides, my cousin's sister-in-law's aunt's half-sibling said it doesn't bother her, so clearly it's not all that bad.  It's just a nickname - why does everyone have to be so PC all the time anyway?

But is it just a nickname?  Is it just a costume?  Is it just a simple gesture?  Is it just an innocent punch line?  

When we have been told in no uncertain terms that a particular behavior or certain language is hurtful and offensive and when we refuse to acknowledge how our actions are impacting others by purposely choosing to repeat a behavior that we know is hurting a fellow human being, just exactly what does that mean?

I think my students would be able to answer that and I wish more adults were willing to do the same.

"People Are Nicer To Daddy Because He's White"

Just last month I was on a flight where I was on the receiving end of blatant racism.  I have no doubt in my mind that the manner in which this particular airline employee (a white woman) spoke to me and treated me was a direct result of the color of my skin.  As I am wont to do when it comes to processing the acts of racism that I am subjected to, I felt the immediate pull to name and claim my own responsibility in the situation.  I know this undoubtedly is the result of being socialized from the collective culture who repeatedly and authoritatively tells me and other people of color that our experiences with racism actually have nothing to do with race at all and it's a notion that I find imposed upon me on an all too regular basis.

Luckily, I had the good fortune of traveling with a friend who helped keep my perspective in check.  My gut knew that this flight attendant's behavior was racist, but I still found myself trying to make excuses for her.  I was pissed.  Both at her, and at myself for not calling her out right then and there.  Then again, she did threaten to take my bag off the plane if I didn't do what she said (although my friend heard that it was me the employee was threatening to remove from the plane), so I promptly obliged and sat down in my seat. 

With a highly critical letter already half composed in my brain (which I did write when I got home), I looked across the aisle to my friend and said "Gee, I'm thinkin' she would have never treated or spoken to S. (my husband, who is white) that way."  

Fast forward to the following month.  Last week my family and I were on a return flight finding ourselves in the same predicament that I was in just several weeks before: trying to position and accommodate our airline approved carry-on luggage in the already crammed overhead compartments.  Like my flight a month before, it was full and the overhead space was at a premium.  Even though my husband's luggage didn't fit (just like mine didn't quite fit when I was on my flight), he didn't find himself on the receiving end of yelling, scolding and condescending behavior.  Rather, two flight attendants made triple the amount of attempts on behalf of him and his luggage that I made with my mine - attempts mind you which were met with hostility and a threat to have my suitcase (or me, as the case may be) removed from the plane. 

Admittedly, these events were not truly identical in that not only did we have different flight attendants, but that my family was on a completely different airline than the one I flew on last month.  I get that.  But that doesn't change the facts of how I was treated and how my husband was treated.  I wish I could tell you that these events happened in isolation and that our family has never experienced another situation similar to these.  But of course we all know that not to be the case.  I am aware of it.  My husband is aware of it and our kids, ages 9 and (nearly) 7 years are fully aware of it as well.

After my incident on the plane several weeks ago, my husband and our kids had numerous discussions about it.  My kids outright admitted that they didn't think that their dad would have been treated as poorly as I was and using their own language, both were able to identify sexism and racism as part of the equation. 

When this most recent event took place on our flight last week, both of my kids were quick to comment.  My son especially is an astute observer of the particular behaviors people around him exhibit.  Without any prompting, he matter-of-factly remarked to me that "people are nicer to daddy because he's white and that people like to help him more.  You have brown skin and people don't like that as much as they like white skin".  My son's daily lexicon does not include the phrase white privilege, but he witnesses it on a daily basis and is intimately familiar with the weight that it carries.  (I would argue that we all bear witness to white privilege on a daily basis - some are just more adept at identifying it for what it is.)

I remember feeling such dissonance when I was about my kid's ages regarding my white privilege by association.  Like my son, I didn't identify the way my parents and brothers were treated as "white privilege", but I certainly knew enough from my experiences to know that I ranked a helluva lot higher as a human being when in their white presence.  It did not go unnoticed that I would receive top notch treatment and be given the benefit of the doubt - all of the time, regardless of the context of the situation, whenever my parents or brothers would be with me.  It continues to this day - with my family, my husband and my white friends.  Alone, I am a suspicious person who is on the brink of doing something unlawful or untoward; with my dad in tow, I am suddenly transformed into a prospective client whose whims and desires are found charming and are offered to be met.  Alone, I am a dispensable and barely seen customer who is relegated to waiting until the older white gentleman has been served; with my husband by my side, I am magically elevated to a more deserving status and ushered to a table straight away.  Alone, I am presumed to be submissive and impervious to snide remarks and stares that suggest I don't speak English; with my girlfriends suddenly I am a living, breathing, vibrant woman who is recognized for having a personality.  Is this my dad's, husband's or friends' fault that they are treated this way?  No.  Is it their responsibility to recognize that their white privilege affords them opportunities, access, benefits and preferential treatment that those they love as well as others of color are repeatedly denied?  Absolutely.

It's not uncommon for me to hear from white adoptive parents that it's somehow okay to use their white privilege as long as it benefits their own child of color.  But what is this really teaching their child?  Whether my parents consciously used their white privilege to advance my own (or their own) best interest is irrelevant.  No one is arguing that they did not have good intentions.  The fact of the matter is that as a person of color, the impact is that I left the proverbial nest woefully ill-equipped to navigate this racially charged world.  I may have been raised by a white family and treated as an honorary white person in their presence, but I had not been taught to anticipate how the world would treat me as an Asian woman, which is what I am.  I was so conditioned to be treated as the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. X, that when I was no longer under the tutelage of two white parents, I was left unprotected, unprepared and uneducated on what to do when I was subjected to racist acts and behaviors. 

The whole "Just stick by me, kid, and you'll be fine" mentality does a child of color NO FAVORS.  Because God willing, our kids will grow up to be adults and the world WILL see them not as your son or daughter, but as a person of color.  Here's a newsflash:  The world already sees them as people of color because that is who they are.  And like it or not, that means something in this society.  We owe it to our kids to acknowledge this and to empower them with the language, the skill set and the permission to talk about race, racism and white privilege.  My kids need and deserve to have their experiences validated in a way that mine were not.  To recognize that yes, they are my kids and that of course I love them unconditionally, but to get over myself and to help my husband get over himself to know better that the greater world will first and foremost see them as a bi-racial female and an Asian male.  And that those identities mean something in how they will be received by many.  I harbor no illusions that they will be afforded the same privileges, benefits and unearned rights as their father and I challenge my husband at every turn to check his privilege at the door and to see the world from the eyes of his children. . . to acknowledge and observe that the standard of treatment he has come to expect often far exceeds what his wife, kids and other people of color are offered in identical situations.

To paraphrase the words of a white, male adoptive parent from Pact Camp who I admire and respect so very much, it is incumbent upon white parents of children of color to be intentional about NOT using their white privilege to their advantage and especially not cashing it in for their children's benefit.  In essence the message being relayed is "You, as a person of color, will never be worthy enough to stand alone as the person you inherently are and without the rightness of my whiteness, you are and always will be seen and treated as less than."

To my son I say, yes, honey, you are right.  Many people do treat your mom differently than they treat your dad and that is not right.  I am worthy enough to stand alone.  YOU are worthy enough to stand alone.  We are not less than and we will not allow to be treated as such.

So If Your Child Went Missing, What Would You Do?

This story - which at the core stands an innocent 6 year-old girl who has already undergone so much trauma in her short life - is so unbelievably heartbreaking on just about every possible level.  I hurt so much for this young child - who has already been through hell - and who will undoubtedly be subjected to additional imminent pain, suffering and losses of enormous proportions and scars to last a lifetime, regardless of the final outcome.

Clearly, there are details of this story that we as a public will never be privy to and the intricate legalities, the deep corruption and the red tape in both of the represented countries adoption system's is beyond the scope of what I am able to speak to.  What I can say however is how utterly shocking - yet unfortunately not surprising - the reaction is from some of my fellow APs regarding this tragic event.

Overwhelmingly what I have read on the various adoption forums and blogs is the notion that there is NO way on God's green earth would most of these APs allow their adopted children to be permanently returned and reunited with their biological families.

Let me say that again.  There is a large contingent of APs (at least from the sampling of those who have posted to weigh in on the situation) who, if they found out that their adopted child had been kidnapped from their first family, would NOT be willing to allow their (adopted) child to return to his/her first mother and father.  Kidnapped.  As in, against their parent's will.  Abducted, as in wrongfully taken.  Kind of gives a new meaning to the phrase "Gotcha Day", huh?

Putting my snark and obvious frustration and bewilderment aside for just a moment, I do appreciate that these APs are at least asking the fundamental question "What is in the best interest of this little girl?"  Unfortunately, from my perspective, the answers that these APs are offering to that question appear only to have one party's best interest in mind, and it isn't the little girl's or her biological family's.

One AP offered to "pay for a plane ticket" so that the girl's Guatemalan mother could come and visit.  How generous, indeed!  One even said that she'd "allow for the girl's biological family to be in regular contact with the girl".  What an overwhelming gesture of kindness!  One remarked that while she is "sad for the birth mom", she "could NEVER let her daughter go" as losing her daughter "would be the worst nightmare imaginable".  Hmmm.  Irony, much?

The very same APs who declare that they would "fight tooth and nail" and "until the bitter end" to find their child if s/he went missing are in the very next breath saying that they would never allow for a parent of a kidnapped child to rightfully reclaim her son or daughter.  I'm honestly not trying to be dense or purposely combative here, but I just don't understand this line of thinking.  It sounds to me that too many APs want it both ways - they want an outcome that will benefit their own personal situation and one that would cause the least disruption, the least inconvenience and the minimal amount of pain and hardship for them.  Based on what I've read so far, many of these APs feel that they are entitled to this type of decision.  I think this is why I'm having such a visceral reaction to this story - the accompanying unapologetic sense of entitlement that permeates so much of the AP-centric adoption experience and narrative. 

I honestly believe that some of these APs are deluding themselves into thinking that their (adopted) child's well-being would be irreparably compromised if s/he was ripped away from the home that s/he's known for the past several years and remaining with them (the APs) is the only way this child could have a life worth living.  Couldn't the same be said for any child that is removed from his home, regardless of his age?  What really gets me is that nowhere outlined in the proposed "solutions" that I've read about thus far reveal any evidence that the AP would be willing to make any real sacrifice to work towards what really WOULD be in the best interest of their (adopted) child.

Why are none of these APs suggesting that they would fight tooth and nail to do whatever they could to make their child's transition to his rightful family the very best it could be?  Instead of offering a plane ticket to their child's first mother, why not uproot themselves to go live in their child's birth country and BEG, PLEAD and do whatever it takes to see if the first family would be willing to have them a part of their lives? 

Clearly, this story has struck a chord.  I have been doing some deep soul-searching about why I am so upset over the reaction by some of these APs.  (The operative word here being "some" as I know they of course do not represent all APs, including myself and my husband.) The adoptee in me says that I'm pissed off that yet again adoptees are never given a choice in what happens to us when it comes to determining "what's in our best interests".  The adoptee in me is enraged that yet again first families are relegated to being treated as after-thoughts and ancillary roles in an adoptee's life.

I'm angry because I've seen this attitude play out in too many adoptive families before: That what an AP wants forever trumps what an adoptee needs.

Who's The Parent? Part I

Several years ago I taught a Confirmation class for 9th grade girls at a rather large parrish.  The 100+ or so prospective Confirmants were divided up into relatively modest class sizes - less than 10 students - and each small group would meet individually on a weekly basis.  There were several occasions however when everyone - all of the students, all of the small group leaders and parrish staff - would convene for special training sessions, Mass or other events relevant to their preparation for the impending sacrament.

There was one young woman in the cohort who was a trans-racial adoptee.  I suspected as such when I first saw her and her parents at church, and later a friend who knew the family confirmed by prediction.  To be fair, I had no prolonged, direct contact with either her or her family as she was not a part of our small group class, but I can speak to what I observed both at weekly mass and during our large group Confirmation meetings.

Simply put, this young woman exhibited all of the characteristics of a spoiled, over-indulged, disrespectful and thankless adolescent.  The things she said to her parents, most notably directed at her mom, and the tone in which she said them warranted a steady stream of reactionary head tilts and furrowed brows from me as if to say "Did she just say what I think she said. . .and to her MOM?!"  I don't know what kind of family you might have been raised in, but believe me, telling my mom to "shut up", and "to mind your own business" and to demand transportation and money to further advance my social life would NOT have been well received.  And if I would have this said in public - in our church no less?  I shudder even now to think of what my mom would have done.

And therein lay the problem - at least from my perception.  Never once did I see or hear this mom do anything.  Not once.  She seemed like a lovely person and I'm sure she was.  I have no doubt she loved her daughter very much and that she wanted her daughter to lack for nothing.  On the surface, this young woman appeared to have it all - and then some.  (I'm pretty sure some of the purses and shoes this girl owned exceed our combined household car payments.  Seriously.)  In my estimation, the more I observed this girl and her family, the more it became painfully obvious that what this girl needed was a mom and dad who were not afraid to step-up and parent.

I'm not a parenting expert - I've only occupied the actual role of parent for 9 years - but I have worked with kids in varying capacities for over 25 years.  I also lay no claim to holding the one and only way to parent a child who is adopted (nor would I ever assert that only one way exists) but I am adopted myself and I am currently parenting a child who is also adopted.  Based on my own personal conversations and observations that I've had with many trans-racial adoptive families throughout the years as well as my own family experiences, this is my armchair analysis of what I think was going on with this particular trans-racial adoptive family and what I believe many other TRA families might be experiencing as well.

The notion that "My child is too hurt/scarred/sensitive/feeble/damaged/overly emotional/distraught/etc. from the losses surrounding her adoption that I cannot risk being one more person to disappoint her or have her be mad at me.  She needs me to be the one to fulfill all of her wants and needs.

Lord knows that I am not shy about informing anyone who will listen that adoption can be both punctuated and permeated by deep, profound loss.  Losing ones parents can alter the trajectory of a person's life in ways that cannot be overstated.  That being said, I don't think we as parents do our kids any favors by holding the bar so low by suggesting that our kids are incapable of being more than the sum of their losses.  My 6 year-old son doesn't need to be pitied and treated as a helpless infant because his Korean mom could not parent him.  My son doesn't benefit one bit if his dad is too scared to draw and enforce the necessary boundaries out of fear of further "injuring" our son.  

I think we can all agree that we want our kids - and especially our adopted kids to feel safe and secure.  I believe that it is the consistent application of healthy boundaries and the consistent implementation of appropriate consequences when said boundaries are crossed that fosters an environment where a child can feel the most safe, the most secure in his surroundings.  The goal I think for most parents is to establish and promote a secure attachment between them and their child.  A child who has incurred such unpredictable and sudden changes such as the loss of ones parents is going to need, want and require consistency and accountability for any trust to have an opportunity to take root and to continue to grow.

Think of it this way: If your partner came home from work today and told you that he'd (or she'd) been having an affair, aside from the feelings of anger and betrayal you'd undoubtedly have you'd most likely wonder if you could ever fully trust him again.  If you chose to remain in the relationship you can imagine how long it might take - and hard he would need to work - to establish some modicum of trust ever again.  Let's say shortly after he's revealed his indiscretion, he tells you that he's going out for the evening with a couple of college buddies.  You may wonder if he's really telling the truth and you may even become anxious and upset.  He tells you that he'll be home by 10 o'clock, yet 10:30 comes along and there is no sign of him.  You call his phone and it goes right to voice mail.  What are the thoughts going through your mind?  Based on your prior knowledge and his past history, it wouldn't be irrational to think that he might be with his mistress.

Many, many children who are adopted have already been left (or cheated on, if you want to think of it that way) at least one time in their short lives.  Why would we expect any child to readily or instinctively trust us after being lied to (in a child's mind) by so many people he thought he could count on?  I honestly believe that a child needs to feel safe in every sense of the word before he can start to trust the people around him.  And how can a child feel truly safe if there are no boundaries, no consistency and no accountability for his actions?  I have witnessed many toddlers, preschoolers and school aged children - all of whom are adopted - who seem to call the shots in the family.  Some people may think this is empowering the child by allowing his voice to be heard and his wishes to be granted.  Some may think it's best to give the adopted child whatever he wants because he's already lost so much.  Others may believe that by overcompensating with an overly permissive parenting style the parent can somehow make-up lost ground or fill the void they think their child has from his/her earlier life's losses.

The young woman I spoke about at the beginning of this post exhibited behaviors that were practically crying out "Mom! Dad!  Grow a pair already and stand up to me, for crying out loud!!"  It can be an incredibly scary and anxiety-inducing state to be in when you feel that the person who is supposed to be in control isn't.  If on the first day of your new job you went to the HR Dpt and the person in charge said "Well, I'm not exactly sure what paperwork you need to fill out, but you can choose whatever forms look intriguing and maybe you'll end up getting paid or maybe not - it's totally up to you, dear."  Really - how much respect, confidence and trust are you going to have in this new company?

We are the ones who made the decision to parent.  No one accidentally slips and falls into becoming an AP.  Of course our kids need our love, our nurturing, our compassion, our empathy and our willingness to hear and see them for who they are.  But they also need and want us to take the reins and to step-up as the role of the parent.  To do any less is not only exceptionally unfair and dare I say incredibly unhealthy to them, their well-being and sense of identity, but it's completely abdicating our responsibilities as the adult.  We are the ones who signed up for this awesome privilege of being able to parent, not them.  And it is not their job to teach us how to be the very best parent that we can be. 

More on this topic to come soon. . .

Oh, The Places You'll Go!

 

"You'll come down from the Lurch

 with an unpleasant bump.

And the chances are, then,

that you'll be in a Slump.

And when you're in a Slump,

you're not in for much fun.

Un-slumping yourself

is not easily done."

                                                                          A passage from Oh, the Places You'll Go! by Dr. Seuss

 

My parents have always maintained that anything worth having does not come easy.  When I think of the past several years and the emotional work that I've needed to accomplish in order to feel that I'm back in control of my own life, I realize just how true their words really are.

This post is not a "Look at me now and let me prove just how self-actualized I've become" but yet a reminder to myself of the tangible actions that have helped me feel more like the real me.  I've always said that I'm a late bloomer in many regards and though it may have taken me 4 decades to really start to be comfortable in my own skin and respect myself as I would a dear friend, it's been worth every dark and uncertain moment to be here where I am today.  Here are some key things that I've implemented that have aided my process to move forward into becoming more of myself:

 

 1) Get to bed! 

I've always been a night owl.  While my college roommates would intentionally schedule their classes starting at 8 a.m. and adhere to strict, self-imposed bedtimes, I would just be starting the 2nd half of my day as they turned off the lights.  It sounds absolutely pathetic now, but there would be many a day where I would still be in bed when they returned from lunch (after already completing a full day's worth of classes!).  Once I had kids, my penchant for the wee hours of the morning only increased.  The pure bliss that I experienced from the uninterrupted hours of the continuous physical and emotional demands of the day became so addictive that I pushed the limits as far as I could, often not going to bed until 2 or 3 a.m.  Look no further than the time-stamps of many of these blog posts to see that I was not doing any favors to my body.  Turns out I wasn't just being unfair to myself, but to everyone else around me, too.  While I used to brag about how little sleep I got and how productive I could still be (or thought I was being), I was curt, ornery and was running on fumes when it came to the patience I had for my kids.  It's embarrassing to admit that it took me 40 years to truly value the benefits of a sound night's sleep.  It's hard to make good choices without a good night's sleep to back you up.  Not only do I feel better than I have in years, but I look better too (who knew you could lose weight just by sleeping more - apparently everyone but me!).  Yet more importantly, my relationships with those who matter most are thriving in a way they just couldn't when I wasn't giving my body what it needed to be my full self.  Bottom line: Sleep - It does a body good!

 

2) Know when to ask for help

One of my parenting mantras has always been that I love my kids enough to know that I am not enough.  I am not the least bit shy or hesitant to seek out the kind of professional resources and assistance that I feel would benefit my kid's well-being.  And yet, I was so slow to ask for help to support my own well-being.  Feelings of shame, embarrassment, failure and sheer stubbornness impeded my ability to see that I could not do everything on my own.  It wasn't until I realized that in any given stretch of time that the "good days" were barely noticeable, if even present at all amongst the bad ones that I finally admitted that I needed help.  I knew that my current state of living was not the quality of life that I wanted or deserved - for me - or for my loved ones.  So I asked for help and got it.  As my brilliant friend JR says, it takes a really strong person to ask for help.  I thank God each day for the strength that I had inside of me to finally get the support and help that I needed.

 

3) Stop projecting

Oh, boy.  This was an especially difficult one for me to examine and own up to particularly because it forced me to address several unresolved feelings that I had with the two most important women in my life: my mothers.  The range of emotions that I had for each one of them surrounding the most salient events in my life were often displaced onto others.  I realize now that I was protecting them as much as I was protecting myself.  Who wants to admit that their mother (or in my case mothers) could not or would not give you the validation of everything that you made you you?  I've come to realize that loving and accepting those who are connected to you in the deepest sense doesn't mean that you have to agree with or like everything they've done or said.  Looking at a situation objectively and reflecting back to see how things might have been handled differently doesn't mean that my love or loyalty for either of them is ever in question.  Accepting others unconditionally - accepting both of my moms unconditionally - was critical in helping me to accept myself.  I now try to see things for what they are - in that very moment - without the haze of the baggage that I've carried from the events of the past.

 

4) Recognize and be honest about your own limitations

Though this somewhat connects to number 2, for me it was getting real about what I could realistically accomplish and at what cost.  A perfect example was my quest to complete an Ironman.  I went to Madison last fall to volunteer and get priority registration; I paid my $575 entry fee, joined a gym, purchased a bike that cost more than my first car and was all but determined to let my training be my full time job.  Ummm, except that I already had a full time job being a mom and a wife as well as two other part-time teaching jobs.  I had neither the time, the energy nor the money to devote to training.  It became clear that I needed to get real about what I can and cannot properly manage and to admit that quite often, I CAN'T have or do it all - that is if I don't want to compromise the well-being of myself and my family.  This means using the N-O word often and without apology.  As far as the triathlon went, my husband and I came to a compromise.  I replaced the triathlon with a marathon.  I still feel like I have a goal to work towards, but without exacting an unfair toll on our family.  Lesson learned - albeit a very expensive one - but one learned nonetheless.

 

5) Cut the toxic ties

I think it was Dr. Phil who said that in the game of life you're either going up or going down, that you're never not moving in one of the two directions.  My number 1 rule when I was dating was that when I was with a guy, I had to be able to answer the following questions in the affirmative: When I was around him, did I feel more like the real me?  When I was in his company, did I feel like the best in me was being brought forth?  When we were together, did I like myself?  I've started to apply the same test to others in my life.  Some friendships and former connections are no longer, and that's more than okay.  True friends encourage and allow your own light to burn brighter and in turn inspire you to ignite the light in others.  Time is truly one of the most precious assets that we have - I've learned to use mine more wisely by being much more selective about the people with whom I choose to spend my time.

 

6) Do some kind of physical activity for at least an hour a day (although anything is better than nothing)

I know. . .it's not always easy finding an hour a day to "just do it".  Believe me, we suffered 30 below wind chills here last winter so going out for a run wasn't always something that I was exactly jumping at the chance to do.  Sometimes I had my own indoor dance party.  Sometimes I popped in a DVD and did something - anything.  Sometimes I just blared the Milli Vanilli and cleaned the house looking like all kinds of foolish (just blame it on the rain!).  What I do know is that I have never once regretted a single workout in my life.  If loving all the benefits of getting my heart rate up for an hour a day is wrong, I don't wanna be right!

 

7) Be present - truly present - with each person with whom you come into contact

I can always count on my kids to keep me honest on this one.  They KNOW when I'm not emotionally present with them.  In the past, I know that I often conflated being home with them as being there for them.  I've become much more mindful of making sure that I remove all distractions before I engage in a conversation - regardless of who it may be, but especially with my husband and kids. 

 

8) Shut up and listen

Being the verbose and often self-absorbed person that I am, this is one of the hardest ones for me to apply on a regular basis.  I've got a ways to go, but I'm still trying.

 

9) Every exchange, every interaction and every moment - whether in solitude or in the company of others - has the ability to impart something to help you grow.  What you choose to learn from it is up to you.

One of the things that I have come to appreciate about myself is my love of people and my love of learning.  The combination of the two has yielded such unimaginable opportunity for growth and discovery - both for myself and the world in which I live.  Being a bonafide extrovert, I am grateful for the seemingly endless social situations that surround me as I never lack for the chance to learn something new.  Recently I had a not-so pleasant situation that blindsided me in front of 16 other people.  I felt both vulnerable and unable to help mitigate the negativity that I felt this situation was spreading unto others.  As jarred as I was immediately following this incident, it has proved to be one of the most profound learning opportunities for me - in all areas of my life.  I was fortunate enough to have a cadre of amazing and supportive people (shout out to my Pact camp peeps!) who helped me process and fully examine the situation.  From those conversations came some of the richest, most profound discussions I have ever had in my life.  I'm honestly not trying to spin this or sound like Pollyanna when I say that this original situation has revealed itself to be a huge gift because of what I have learned - about myself, others and the common human experience.  

 

10) When in doubt - see number 1!

 

I realize that none of what I've written here is new and that it's pretty much Basic Self-Care 101.  I don't portend to act as if I have it all figured out or that I'm this newly minted enlightened person who is impervious to the same feelings that everyone else has.  The person I was 5, 10, 15 or 20 years ago is still very much a part of me - every step I take in this short life is a part of who I am.  I stand behind the posts on this blog because it was where I was at that moment in time.  No one part of my life is better or more deserving of praise than another, just as one part should not be targeted in isolation as a cautionary tale.  I needed every, single moment of the past 40 years in my life to bring me to where I am today.  Tomorrow, next year or the next decade may reveal something entirely different, but until then, I will appreciate and respect who I am today.  I write this today as proof to myself to recognize the work that I've done to get this far.  I write this for myself, to myself, as a way to celebrate and appreciate this life that I have.  My life is full of endless opportunities for continued growth and exploration and for that I am truly grateful. 

May your day bring you many unexpected blessings.

This post is dedicated to S (taking the picture), K and D - the ones who give me every chance to grow into the person I am meant to become.

 

It's Unchartered Territory, But I Can't Wait To Tri

I recently returned from Madison, Wisconsin after an awesome weekend of being a spectator and volunteer for the 2010 Ford Ironman Wisconsin.  Meeting friends and family of the competitors as well as speaking to a few of the athletes themselves was so incredibly inspiring.  Cheering on the racers while passing out water and sports drinks at mile 22 of their full 26.2 mile marathon was amazing - and dang - even after already completing a 2.4 mile swim in Lake Monona and an 112 mile bike ride on an incredibly challenging course - they looked gooooood.  Damn good.  Seeing people at the finish line being embraced by their loved ones was so moving and I could only imagine what it felt like for not only the athlete, but for his or her family as well to have together accomplished such an amazing and life changing goal.

On Monday morning of this week, I stood in line with several other hundred people to register for the 2011 Ford Ironman Wisconsin.  Many were accomplished athletes who have competed in dozens of marathons, Olympic distance triathlons, half Ironmans and even Ironmans.  But I suspect many more were just like me: people who are not professional athletes by any stretch of the imagination, but rather ordinary people with ordinary lives who wish to embark upon an extraordinary journey to push the limits of what one's mind, body and spirit can do in hopes to learn more about themselves - and this amazing gift called life - along the way.

Registering for the race was the easy part.  I won't lie - I'm a tad worried that I may have bitten off more than I can chew, but what can I say, that's just how I tend to operate.  Go big or go home.  Not trying wasn't really an option because I figured I'd have to spend the rest of my life thinking "You know, more than anything, I really wanted to try to complete an Ironman during my 40th year on earth, and I didn't."  I'm the first to admit that making a decision based on the question "How would I feel if I didn't do it?" versus "How would I feel if I did do it?" isn't always the most rational, but again, that's just who I am.  I'm the first to acknowledge that this goal for me seems akin to climbing Mt. Everest without any oxygen, but it's what I want to do and I'm hell-bent on giving it the best shot that I can.  (I guess some things never change - in my referral papers, I was described as "a determined and almost stubborn little girl".  So much for the 'almost' part!)

So there you have it.  I'm an aspiring Ironman in training.  And can I just say, I now know where the phrase "Ignorance is bliss" derived its meaning from.  Racing 140.6 miles in 17 hours in theory sounds like fun, but breaking it all down and seeing what the commitment really looks like in terms of how many hours I need to train each day, well - it still sounds like fun, but in a work-really-really-hard fun kind of way.

To that end, I've decided that something - okay - lots of somethings - need to give.  I'm still working part-time in my kids' school district and was just hired to be an advisor for an incredible after-school program for middle-school aged girls.  It's not that I'm any busier than anyone else, it's just that I know myself and know how much time I can (or cannot) allow for a certain endeavor.  This is the exact reason I'm not on FB.  My plan to spend "just 15 minutes" on it would too easily turn into one, two or even several hours.  Sad, I know, but I just know myself too well.

While I don't mean this to be a good-bye as in forever, I do feel it's necessary to say that I'll be on an extended vacation and that I don't know when I'll be coming back.  I'm not sure how often - if at all - that I'll be checking this blog or any other of my favorite adoption ones - not because I don't enjoy them, but because I just don't think I will have the time.  I know how selfish and arrogant this sounds, and I promise I don't mean it to come off as such, but these parameters are being drawn for my own well-being and the tough love in my training program has to start somewhere.  :)

I will still be checking email, so please feel free to find me there if you'd like to stay in touch.  Fellow adoptees, please know that I will always have time for you.  :)

Until the next time.

Best,

Paula

Preparing My Kids To Be Able To Run Through Walls

You simply cannot train for a marathon without hearing about hitting the dreaded "wall".  The marathon wall is a commonly used term to describe the ultimate running fatigue that typically happens around the 20th mile of an endurance run such as the marathon (26.2 miles).  Muscles grow heavy with fatigue and one's pace slows down considerably.  The body literally hits the wall and it can feel almost impossible to keep moving forward.

The first marathon I ever ran was in New York City.  I was lucky enough to connect with the New York Road Runners Club and I had some amazing coaches, not to mention a host of running partners to keep me motivated.  I remember attending a running clinic that was geared specifically towards first time marathoners and the panel talked about the wall.  I left that auditorium determined that I would not be another one of its victims.

I gave myself a full year to train for the marathon.  Single and ready to conquer the world, I had nothing but time and excess energy to invest into my overall training.  Marathon wall be damned!  Maybe I was too young or inexperienced to believe that I could train enough to avoid any pitfalls during the race, but it was the fear of that cursed wall that pushed me to train above and beyond what my already rigorous training program required. 

I hope this doesn't across as too arrogant, but I honestly found the marathon to be one long, fun and dare I say, easy run.  Mile 20 came and went.  Same with mile 21.  Mile 22 came around and I felt stronger than ever with random bursts of extra energy. The last four miles of the race ended up being my fastest mile splits ever.  I was high on the intensity and enthusiasm of the crowd as well as buoyed by the many, many hours of training I had put in over the past year (oh and I'm sure that little thing called adrenaline didn't hurt, either).  Granted, my time of 4 hours and 20 minutes was nothing to write home about, but I had accomplished a personal goal and had a blast doing it in the best city in the world (my .02!) - all while avoiding that cursed wall.

There are no shortages of examples written by those who believe that the marathon is a metaphor for life.  Certainly I can reflect back on the 3 different marathons that I've completed and draw parallels to how my own life has played out.  My last marathon was run with minimal training, an attitude that bordered on sheer apathy and a lack of respect that a marathon calls for and rightfully deserves.  Not only did I hit the wall, but I incurred a rather serious injury that forced me to walk almost the last 5 miles of the race.  I contend that the biggest difference between my first marathon (enjoyable and fun) and my third marathon (miserable at best) was all in the training and preparation.

As a person of color, I think of how many times I have hit the wall in my life as I navigate through this racially charged world in which we live.  Our families, our school communities, our neighborhoods, our places of work and beyond unfortunately offer plenty of opportunities for some rather damaging walls.  Sometimes that wall is a self-imposed one, due to a lack of courage or energy to speak up and speak out when I know I should.  Many times the wall is an obstruction comprised of a person's unwillingness to think before they speak or to remain comfortably seated in ignorance or safe and secure in their shroud of privilege.  Whatever the reason, the wall that threatens to impede my progress is not unlike that of the marathon wall: muscles grow heavy and deep fatigue sets in.  

I think about the walls that threatened to thwart my growth when I was younger and how completely ill-prepared I was to handle them.  If I'm being completely honest with myself, I realize that perhaps I've been far too generous in assessing how well equipped I was to deal with the very real walls of racism, prejudice and discrimination throughout my life.  I have no doubt that my parents love and concern imparted upon me the knowledge that they were always there for me - and yes, that is huge in it's own right - but as an Asian girl/adolescent/young adult, I recognize now just how unprepared I was in terms of not having the right language or effective strategies to be my own best advocate in my racially isolated world.

Our son starts Kindergarten next week and his older sister will be in 3rd grade.  As children of color, each has already been hit with varying degrees of walls and I know there are many, many more to come.  When it comes to race and race consciousness, I have tried to be as mindful and as strategic as possible to do whatever is in my power to prepare them as they face each new barrier.  For me and my family this has been an on-going process for the past several years.  Preparing my kids means a lot of role playing, frequent and relevant conversations addressing topics like racism, stereotypes and prejudices.  It requires me to have the dirty but necessary job to share and explain certain racial slurs that might be thrown at them or someone else in hopes that my kids' knowledge will help alleviate the power of those words.  It also includes each member of my family examining our own biases and acknowledging our own privilege in various capacities.  It involves me teaching and modeling what listening to your gut looks and feels like and then having honest conversations around said events so that we have a chance to process it all together.  It requires me to have honest and direct conversations with my children's teachers and administrators to share with them the kinds of discussions I've been having with my son and daughter over the past 3 and 5 years, respectively, in hopes that they can be better allies to all of their students in the school.  It means forging alliances and building genuine relationships with other families in our school community.  It means speaking up and out against injustices in our own backyard, even if it makes us all uncomfortable.

Lest anyone think I'm the epitome of a pessimist who looks for the worst in every possible human encounter, I like to look at it this way:  You insist that your child wear his seat belt anytime he gets into the car.  Why?  It's the same for me and my family when it comes to race.  The chances of one of them being involved in a "crash" are actually pretty high, so I try to give them every added piece of protection that I can.  I harbor no illusions that I've done things so perfectly as to avoid any impact or pain, but just like in driving, I know that I can't fully rely on the other drivers to be looking out for the best interest of me or my family, so I do what I think is necessary to keep them as safe as possible.

The mom in me wants to be able to learn from the child I used to be - the child who fought so hard to keep moving forward when others tried to devalue my humanity and my spirit just because of who I was.   Unfortunately, there will never be a shortage of walls to overcome.  I just want my kids to be confident enough in the preparation they've had to know that no wall is too powerful to keep them from taking that next step forward and most importantly - that they don't have to do it alone.

It's A Small World, But Not THAT Small

Setting: Family chain restaurant, c. 1990, predominantly white suburb in the Midwest

Characters:  Myself (19 years old) and well meaning white couple, approximately 50 years old

 ***

"Hello, my name is Paula and I'll be your server today.  May I bring you anything to drink right away?"

"Hi there."  Stares curiously at me.  Tell me, dear, by any chance are you a Korean?"

"Yes I am." 

"Are you adopted?"

"Yes, ma'am."  (Oh help me, where is this going?)

"By any chance do you know Steve?"

"Steve?"

"Yes, Steve.  I believe he's a Korean and adopted as well.  Our friends got him a while ago."

"No, I'm sorry I don't."

"Are you sure?  Because he's a Korean.  And adopted.  Like you."

"I'm sorry, I don't think I know who he is."

"Really?  Because he looks just like you, with black hair and eyes like yours and everything."

"Oh."

Woman is becoming a little exasperated.  "Are you sure you don't know him?  His name is Steve."

I look around and smile nervously.  "Umm, may I please take your order?"

She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not

"You were left on the steps of a police station in Seoul". . ."Found in a box with nothing but a blanket". . ."Given away by a woman who loved you so very much". . ."Loved you so much that she made the ultimate sacrifice". . ."Wanting for you a better life than the one she could give.". . ."All of this done in the name of love."

As a child, I wore the backdrop of my story as a badge of honor.  You think you're so special?  Well, let me tell you somethin' - I was loved so much that my own mother gave me away.  Top that!  At the time those words sounded so convincing - that I was somehow this special, chosen child because of the dramatic way in which I left and entered my Korean and American families.  My ego only continued to blossom as each person in my life invariably corroborated my story.  "Of course she loved you.  She gave you up for adoption, didn't she?". . . "You are so very lucky to have had a mother who loved you enough to give you what she could not." 

Looking back, I know that on the surface I accepted this story as fact.  I have no doubt that my fragile and vulnerable spirit had to accept and embrace this as fact as a means of survival.  My God, who could blame me for wanting to believe that my Korean mom loved me?   Of course I wanted to believe that, and believe it I did.

Except when I didn't.  Which was pretty much all the time.  Not that I was always conscious of the fact that I doubted my Korean mother loved me, but the feeling was always there.  Like a poisonous gas that lurked below the surface undetected, the feeling of doubt that she ever loved me at all encapsulated me.  And that doubt of her love for me manifested itself into a self-loathing that I cannot begin to describe.  My MO was fueled by insecurity.  Think about it.  If today your partner came to you and said "Honey, I'm just not sure that I love you anymore", what would that do to your world?  At least you had the acknowledgment that the love did indeed exist.  I had neither the confirmation or even traces of evidence to support that a love for me was ever present.  But I had to believe on some level that she loved me.  The alternative was not an option.

Except when the alternative was all that occupied my thoughts and actions, even though I didn't recognize it on a conscious level at the time.  I know now that my inability to love myself for so many, many years of my life was because I held so firmly onto the belief that I was not good enough.  Because dammit, if I was, my Korean mother would have moved heaven and earth to keep me - because THAT is love.  Who gives away their child in the name of love?  What am I supposed to do with that and how I do even begin to reconcile something so preposterous?  And so it was not illogical for me to at least entertain the possibility that love was not a feeling she possessed for me. 

I think about how brave and mature I must have sounded as I would wax poetic about how my Korean mother was a hero to have done her very best in spite of the extraordinary circumstances and burdens that befell her.  And how loved saved us both, but especially me.  But of course I don't know and most likely will never know the real story.  I can temper my deepest desires my inserting measured doses of reality and skepticism, but the truth is, as her daughter, I so desperately want to believe that she loved me.

I truly believe that it's not about whether my mom or dad did the right thing by telling me what they did.  The exact same narrative applies to so many adoptees of my generation and it's a sentiment that I hear almost on a daily basis when people talk about my son who is also adopted.  It's the not knowing that can be hell.  I think that most everyone wants to know where they came from and who loved them first.  When you cannot say with even a modicum of certainty that the person who brought you into this world did indeed love you, it can mess with your mind in unimaginable ways and greatly impede your ability to feel worthy enough to love yourself.  

I love me, I love me not.