The Loneliest Day

I plopped my newly adopted four year old daughter down on the counter top and, keeping a hand on her, pulled out my wallet to pay the cashier. My five year old son, Nic, always tall for his age, could just see over the counter top. They were both extremely well behaved and I was proud of them. Little Bethany twisted around to look at the cashier and her glasses slid down to the end of her nose. She tilted her chin up so she could see down them, then said, "My mom does drugs and hurts me." The cashier's eyes flew to mine with a look of shock and horror and I hastily said, "We only JUST adopted her." Before I could say another word Bethany said, "Yes, THIS mom adopted me and I do NOT like her. She's ugly."

My face flamed red as I quickly finished the transaction in silence and, with Bethany on my hip and Nic's hand in mine, exited the store. Back in the car I explained to Bethany that some information is personal and should not be shared with people outside of our family or her therapist, like the fact that her biological mom did drugs and hurt her. She crossed her arms and glared at me through narrowed eyes. Her tone was matter of fact when she said, "I hate you, Mommy. I do."

Nic looked anxiously from Bethany to me, taking it all in, as Bethany turned to him and said, "I love my new brother, Nic." I had no idea what to say. I was fighting tears, I remember that, but I didn't want her to see that she'd gotten to me. I turned the key in the ignition and heard Nic say, "Well, I love mommy. I don't KNOW you yet."

I felt Bethany kick the back of my seat in response and, glancing in my rear view mirror, I smiled at Nic, hoping to reassure him. He looked confused and upset. I said, "That's right, honey, we don't know Bethany yet and she doesn't know us. It's going to take time for us to feel like a family." Bethany kicked my seat again and said, "I'll never love you. You're a stupid mommy."

And so it went. Bethany rejected me at every turn while lavishly loving her new daddy and brother. She would become angry with me, throw her glasses to the ground, then jump on them. Pair after pair she smashed. When my husband came home from work she'd run to him with a hug and say, "Mommy ruined my glasses again!" He would laugh and tell her he was sure mommy hadn't ruined her glasses, and he would remind her to express her anger with words rather than by ruining things.

When I talked to our therapist and caseworker I was told that it was all a normal part of the adjustment process and that we just needed to have patience. It felt like thin counsel and consolation when I was feeling utterly despondent and like a failure.

I finally told Bethany that I would spank her if she ruined another pair of glasses. She responded by hurling her glasses to the ground and jumping up and down on them while screaming at the stop of her lungs, "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" I marched over and swatted her bottom. She ran up the stairs, fell when she got to the stop, scrambled back up and disappeared into her brother's bedroom. I followed slowly, wanting to remain calm. She had a way of escalating emotions and I didn't want to get sucked into the vortex of her anger. I didn't want to yell at her again.

I hated the yelling. I'd never yelled before. I felt like a stranger to myself and I hated it. I wanted somebody to rescue me, to help me figure out how to break through to this angry little one that was now my daughter.

I took a deep breath and pushed Nic's bedroom door open. It took me a minute to realize what Bethany was doing. She was squatting on Nic's bed with his pillow beneath her, laughing hysterically. The smell of urine was sharp and sudden. She was peeing on his pillow.

I yanked her off the bed and grabbed the pillow, holding it away from me, dragging Bethany behind me, kicking and screaming. She pulled against me all the way down the stairs, holding the rail to get leverage as she kicked at me, falling a step or two, regaining her footing, then kicking again. Her shrieking was ungodly. Out the back door to the trash can we went. I dropped the pillow inside then marched her back into the kitchen. I couldn't make her stay in time-out so I sat with her on my lap, holding her against me as she kicked and screamed and flailed and tried to bite me.

Eventually, after what seemed like forever, she fell asleep. I loosened my hold and shifted her in my arms, rocking her softly as tears streamed down my face. My husband came home and found us like that. I tried to tell him what had happened and saw the look of disbelief on his face. He said he knew I was overwhelmed but felt I shouldn't exaggerate. I felt like I was all alone in the world.

At some point Nicholas had come home from afternoon kindergarten and curled up next to me, thumb in his mouth. I'd barely registered it. When my husband went to change from his work clothes, Nic removed his thumb and patted my arm. He said, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I'm sorry." I hugged him to me and was sorry too. I was sorry that I hadn't even noticed when he came home, that I couldn't make this little girl love me, that I had spanked her and yelled at her, that my husband didn't believe it was as bad as it was, that my therapist and caseworker thought I simply needed more patience... I was sorry about everything.

Looking back, I think that's when I started to pretend. I stopped trying to talk to my caseworker, therapist and husband. I stopped hoping that someone would understand. I lived in a private war zone that other people only caught glimpses of. I made sure that Bethany and Nicholas were always beautifully dressed, that I was smiling whenever other people were around, and that our home was immaculate. While chaos reined behind closed doors, we at least LOOKED like a normal family.

I now know that Bethany was doing something called triangulation. She was pitting her father against me. She was playing the victim, putting me in the position of persecutor, and her father in the position of rescuer. Had we known that's what was happening we could have armed ourselves against it, but we didn't know. Triangulation is something that reactive attachment disordered children routinely do. They create chaos, pit one person against the other, and thrive on discord. After awhile I began to think that I was losing my mind. That's another common reaction. I had no idea that other parents, when confronted with children like Bethany, felt that they were losing their minds too. I was all alone, but I didn't need to be.

I'm not a psychologist and am not offering clinical help nor am I pretending to be an expert. I am simply telling my story and offering up what I have learned in the process.

©Just Kate, 2009