With eyes closed, I can hear the sharp inhales followed by the fast exhales of the “bellows breathe.” This is called the bhastrika breath. It is used to energize and inspire mental clarity. I sit in a circle with three other women who are warriors at home. This weekend they have put the responsibilities of meal preparation, curfew enforcement and chore assignments aside. The tension falling out of their bodies with each breath feels palpable. I wonder what stories lie behind the breaths they have been waiting to take.
These women are warriors this weekend. They have come to the Mothers of Adoptees Retreat weekend because they know that if they share their stories with each other, it will be the same story in many ways. Somehow too, they will have enough marked differences in each other’s chapters to develop even more wisdom, even more courage and most importantly - hope. This is the word that would become the banner over each of their experiences when these women left to return home three days later.
Hope.
These women are mothers of adopted children. Mothers that many years ago agreed to invite the supervision and close scrutiny of social workers, agencies and domestic and foreign governments into their home. These entities would write long reports about their potential fitness to parent a child. These mothers waited by their phones to hear from the adoption agency about another child being born that could perhaps be their child, depending on whether or not the birth mother chose to move forward and relinquish her parental rights. They waited patiently for her decision. They were not sure if they should feel hopeful or guarded. It was hard to sleep. They went to the hospital to hold the baby, just in case.
These mothers said yes to early diagnoses of neurological disorders, in utero substance use and developmental delays in the paperwork. They spent years finding the right tutors, peer support groups, medication regimens and learning communities. They understood that these elements consistently change and that at any point, major life events might happen that could become a storm for their once peaceful child. Their families are just as vulnerable to the sudden death of a beloved grandparent, a divorce or a pandemic as any of the rest of us. The difference is the pandora’s box of developmental trauma that these events open up in the hearts of their children.
As the adoptive mother, they remain front and center as the safest person to work out the deepest pain coming out of this pandora’s box. The deepest pain looks like their child turning off location functions on their phone and running away for several days. It looks like hearing their child say, “You will never be my mother. I wish you never adopted me.” It looks like nights laying awake beside their children to monitor for any gestures of self-harm… until they cannot do it anymore. At that point, it looks like treatment centers or wilderness therapy programs. It looks like finding anyone that can help their child heal safely and come back home. It looks like them blaming themselves for their children having to leave home and wondering if this is just one more abandonment. If it is, they wonder how their child will ever be able to trust them or anyone else again.
They are here this weekend. They are sitting by our first evening fire together. Tonight, they set their intentions. Tomorrow night, they trace their ancestry and discuss how they came to understand mothering in their own families of origin. The final night, they share the story of their adopted child’s birth mother. They weave together the sorrows and joys of mothers all around them to tell a story of how they have learned to love their child, and themselves. They create art. They hike together. They cry and laugh together. They do morning yoga. They eat fresh meals. They sleep and sink deeply into the wisdom that to have what it takes for the next stretch, they have to learn to nourish themselves.
