I witnessed magic in my kitchen this morning.
There was something about the crayons and then there was a body checking out and then there were tears. It wasn't about the crayons because it's never about the crayons. But the tears came and the tears stayed and we let the bus pass us right by and showed up late for school.
Because when the tears come, you let them.
We have a kiddo who cannot cry. Who only rarely rage sobs. A kiddo who actually tries to push the tears back into her beautiful eyes. A young lifetime of unpacked sadness beginning to bubble to the surface. That's the thing that happens when you feel safe. That's the thing that happens when you begin to think about receiving love and trust and when someone can help you put words to the feelings. This is the beginning of the road to healing. These are the moments that invite change.
We are headed to see their birth mom today. The woman who delivered them into this world. Who carried all 4 of them in her worn body at such a young age and who could not ever take care of them in the ways they need. That's the narrative now for where they are developmentally. Open adoption was never a choice for us. As in, we don't believe in an alternative. Kids have the right to know and be in the know.
And. Visit days are unbearably painful. They're a lot for everyone. The kids, us, their older brother, his pre-adoptive dad, and their mom. Everyone's deepest feelings around loss and sadness and anger and pain and guilt and anxiety manifest in a variety of ways across the spectrum.
I saw magic in my kitchen this morning. I am the support team in these most difficult moments where therapist mama has all the words and all the touch. I could never have these hard conversations in the ways that she does. I'm just not that skilled. But I'm so glad that she is.