It's All About Balance

I probably spend too much time on the Internet.  In my defense, though, a lot of that time is spent in the adoption realm, reading the blogs of other adoptive parents (APs), of adult Korean Adoptees (KADs), of birth/first mothers and participating in a forum or two with a central focus of adoption.  The Internet can be a wonderful tool for the adoptive parent.  There just aren't hordes of adoptive families in my neighborhood or community; sure, there are others, but finding other families that we connect with on a personal level and can maintain a healthy, positive, constructive relationship with has proven a hard thing to do locally.  We have met a few absolutely wonderful families, but we've also had our share of trainwrecks.  On the Internet it is possible share insight, knowledge, ideas, and experiences without necessarily having to become best friends forever.
Through use of the Internet I try to stay abreast of the latest developments in the greater adoption community.  I've learned an incredible amount from other bloggers, an education that our agency never mentioned might be important, nor tried to provide us with.  I've become aware of a need for and lack of ethics in adoption and the struggle to figure out what exactly that means.  Whose rights come first?  First parents' rights?  Adoptees' rights?  The rights of the adoptive parents?  I've learned that in the adoption triad the APs have the most power, and that misuse of that power is prevalent and often unconscious.  I've learned about white privilege, racism (both subtle and outright), devastating losses that our children experienced on their way to our family.  I've learned that as an AP, I cannot just raise my child like any child I might have given birth to, though that was something I had to swear to be willing to do when filling out our applications to adopt.  As an adoptive parent I have to be more vigilant, more tuned in, more aware, more willing to go the extra mile when my kids are in trouble.  I have to be willing to share the role of mother with other women, because my motherhood does not negate theirs.  And I have had to step entirely out of my comfort zone in order to do some of these things and learn some of these things.  I've learned that I can't ever stop learning about these topics, I can't ever turn my head away because the lessons are ever evolving, ever shifting with lives of their own.  I've learned that due diligence as an adoptive parent means more than just writing letters to foster parents twice a year.  Most importantly, I have learned that it is not about me, it is about the children I love beyond measure and what is best for them.
I try to keep abreast of the adoptions news, to learn and know and be proactive about all of these things while my children are young, before they ask the tough questions so that I will be more than prepared when the time comes; at the same time I am trying to potty train, teach good manners, and update lifebooks.  I'm trying to figure out what I want to be when I no longer have preschoolers in the home; I am trying to be a socially and environmentally conscious citizen of the world, and I am trying to be a wife, daughter, sister, and friend.  The realm of adoption is sometimes overwhelming, always humbling, and I am often blown away by what I learn to the point that I regularly question and examine my ethics, morals, spirituality, and basic beliefs.  It can be easy to be swallowed by the enormity of it all, to become depressed, to feel nothing but guilt in the role of an AP. 
But I also want to say this, because although it ought to be obvious maybe it is not to some:
Adoptive parenthood is not just about acknowledging loss.  It is not just about honoring first families, or keeping in touch with previous caretakers of our children, or even fighting for the rights of adoptees and first parents.  It is not just about the aspects that are hard or heartbreaking.  It is also about the heartswelling moments of parenthood, the regular kind of parenthood that involves sleepless nights and skinned knees, diapers and first words.  It is about the moments that take your breath away with their beauty.  It is about living in the moment, each and every day, and acknowledging the amazing child who stands before you in all his/her glory, waiting for your face to light up.  It is about being a mother or a father, and all of the different things those titles imply, putting questions and grief and doubt on a shelf for another, quieter time, and simply being there.  It is flawed, yes, but it is also beautiful, worthy of being treasured, worthy of letting go of some of the pain to let the joy shine in.
I say all of this because one of my aforementioned trainwrecks has a blog, and up until now I have read it.  Today I deleted the bookmark, and I am going to try like heck to forget the URL.  Some APs have a knack for pulling in the pain, grief, and loss that others endure, claiming it, twisting it around, and regurgitating it to make it all about them, as if it was their very own pain to begin with.  As if they invented pain itself.  They feather their nests with tokens of all of the things they think their children have lost and wallpaper it with their own guilt, causing their children to endure not only the inherent pains of adoption, but also the loss of the parents they now know to the remorse, regret, and guilt those parents feel.  It makes me sad to think of these very young children seeing their parent do nothing but cry on occasions that are meant to be celebratory.  It makes me incredibly sad that this person feels the need to constantly stand on a soapbox, screaming diatribes about what the rest of us APs should be doing, when they themselves seem to be overlooking some of the fundamental aspects of adoptive parenting: the parenting part, which includes joy and living in the moment.  That is not to say that we should not acknowledge loss and grief, but that it should be in balance with the amount of time we spend being present and joyful.  The greatest lesson I have learned in all of my time spent on the Internet in the realm of adoption is this: In the face of the struggle, don't lose sight of the joy.
And so I will no longer expose myself to threatening, doomsday diatribes, or endless lamentations of loss and pain, but I will continue to open my eyes wider to those who have insight to share, stories to learn from, and constructive criticism or advice to offer.
(I'll stop ranting now, I promise.)