Rescuing Julia Twice (36 page)

Somebody once told me, “Don't adopt a child if your life isn't already filled with love. You won't get the love you're seeking from a child unable
to give it, at least for a very long time.” I would not have understood this, nor believed this advice, before I brought Julia home. My marriage was filled with love, but Ricky and I wanted to round out our love by raising a child. I was prepared for the possibility that love between Julia and me might not be instantaneous, but I could never have guessed how much work and time it would take for us to be bonded, attached, in love.

Parenting a RAD child, even one who is attached and relatively adjusted and productive, is a slippery slope because you can never assume your child feels grounded and safe. One of the advantages of working with Julia when she was four to five years old was that we had the tools of language. For us, dialogue was and remains a key tool in keeping Julia attached and bonded. “I love you,” is never enough, and maybe those words rang hollow for a long time. Always, we talk to Julia with plain, bold language. I tell her that I do the best I can. That I understand she might be angry at me because I'm not her “real” mother. RAD children need to be told the truth because they already know it at their core, though they don't necessarily understand it intellectually. I always tell Julia I'll never leave her, no matter what. No matter how hurt I am. I let her know it's okay to feel confused, even if she's not sure what she's confused about. I say these things often because I'd rather they be close to the surface than roiling around in a dark corner of her mind.

At the same time, I emphasize to Julia (as does everyone around her) how lucky she truly is. Lucky to have solid, happily married parents, good grandparents, excellent teachers at Valley Cottage Elementary (a shout-out here to Ms. Sue Goss and Ms. Pam Lima), a phenomenal sleepaway camp, and her own chickens! Julia also knows and trusts that I step in and advocate for her “just the right amount.” I make sure her mentors and teachers understand who she is, but then I get out of the way and let them develop relationships with her. We stay involved, but we don't suffocate. This balance, I believe, is a sweet formula for a RAD child because it enables her to feel surrounded by unconditional love and support all the time.

Nothing terrifies a RAD child more than intimacy. Therein lies the challenge of parenting one, and of making sure he or she will have the skills needed to live a fulfilling life. A RAD child's basic instinct it to push away, recoil. How do we push back and gain trust? We used a combination of techniques over the years. First, I've never forced Julia into physical intimacy with me. I've shown her what it looks like by loving my husband and our five cats, but it has taken time for her to kiss me or wrap herself around me. I just had to be patient, and now there is no shortage of sloppy kisses or hugs.

We work tirelessly to get her to look us in the eye when she talks to us. Her eyes always wander. My husband always says, “Julia, I'm over here. Look me in the eye.” This made her very uncomfortable. We did this for years,
years!
And now she no longer needs reminding. It's easier for her when we're in a noncombative situation, but as soon as there is controversy, she turns away. We work even harder to keep her focused but safe in heightened moments by diffusing tension as soon as it arises.

RAD children are very social in public. I always say “Julia works the room.” Others always remark she's the “mayor of wherever.” RAD children vie for tons of attention. People who know RAD children recognize their insatiable need to interact—but herein lies the rub. The so-called interaction is usually a one-way street. The RAD child wants to be in control, he or she is more interested in performing or manipulating than in truly relating. Conversation is often a monologue. Because we are so aware of this, we do not let Julia exist on a separate plane. We don't let her “entertain” us or take charge in a way where the end goal is manipulation or keeping herself at a distance. We work in a million ways to keep her at the center of things and to involve her in symbiotic relationships.

RAD children are reluctant to partake in ordinary tasks; they're not helpful by nature. In our household, we have not set up “monetary” rewards for doing basic tasks. The message we send is everyone lives here, so everyone participates. There's a lot of resistance, but we often warmly ask Julia, “Don't you want to be a family member?” Even something as simple as having her wait at dinner for everyone to begin eating emphasizes that she is part of something bigger than herself. It is exhausting to
do this day in, day out, but I believe we must constantly teach her that she is an “us” as well as an “I.”

I crave order and routine. I would have been inclined to raise a child with structure anyway, but doing so for a RAD child is key. Julia came from an orphanage where she'd learned to sleep and feed on schedule. When we brought her home, we strictly maintained routines, and to this day, they serve to give our family an antidote to chaos and upheaval. Having strong-rooted regimens grounds Julia. She likes having a bedtime, even at ten years old. She likes fresh-squeezed orange juice every morning, without fail, practicing her violin in the afternoon, and knowing that every weekend I plan a special excursion. She likes knowing what to expect.

RAD children—and many are exceptionally bright—can really get in the way of themselves. A lot of mental time is wasted on emotional turmoil; concentration can be challenging. While their conscious brain is focused on a task at hand, for example, subconsciously there is a roiling undercurrent that pulls them in another direction. If a moment feels too warm and cuddly, they feel squirmy, uneasy. Feeling good can make them feel bad. Reliance on another person rattles them. RAD parents need to vigilantly watch for that sudden shift in mood. When you know what to watch for, you see it instantly. If these children feel a loss of control, they'll redirect positive energy in the wrong direction. When Julia acts up, we call her on it. We say, “Wouldn't it be better to use your energy to attract? Don't you think we'd pay more attention if you were saying something smart or doing something kind?” Over the years, she's absorbed the distinction, and sometimes when she's shifting and she hears these words, it's the “learned behavior around positive actions” that helps her rescue herself in that moment.

With RAD children, you need to remind them time and again about the same thing, but that's okay.

From our earliest endeavors with overcoming RAD, one of the most basic tenets we've used has been to show Julia a steely, stony reaction when she's difficult and oppositional. We've long practiced responding to her in a composed, stoic, and steady way—most of the time. We're not perfect, but RAD children fish for a big reaction, and giving them one allows them to reel in the prize: chaos. Ricky and I speak to one another with our eyes when we're at the threshold of these episodes. We've learned to talk silently, to say,
The storm is coming. Prepare!
We've gotten good at this. Julia knows she's dealing with a united front and one that is pretty cool and calm. After millions of attempts at creating chaos have been thwarted, Julia has “learned” that life at home is not going to be a tornado.

You need to be aware of what is going on in the child's exterior and interior life as much as is possible—I suppose that's advice for any parent. I clean her room and her backpack constantly. I stay on top of all her affairs. I ask her questions all day long. I let her know I know what's going on. If I'm reading her correctly, and I think I am, it gives her tremendous pleasure to know someone's got her back, even if I'm annoying. I have the uncanny ability to know what she's thinking. Weirdly, that really thrills her, which I understand because I remember how comforting it was when I used to think my mother could read my thoughts.

Julia is entering middle school now. For three years, she's made an unwavering declaration: “When I grow up, I want to be a teacher for special-needs children.” She'll make a very fine teacher one day. I can't even begin to account for what she's taught me.

The seeds for my memoir were first planted in essays I wrote about Reactive Attachment Disorder for the
New York Post, Adoptive Families Magazine, MaMaZina, Huffington Post,
and many mama blogs. I thank all those editors for letting me put on my training wheels and test my story. I'd like to express my deep gratitude to my agent, Linda Konner, who believed in my story from the start and who fought tirelessly to sell my book. After reading the first eight chapters, Linda said, “I don't have children, but this made me laugh and cry.” My heartfelt thanks goes out to Lisa Reardon, my editor at Chicago Review Press, who believed I had an important story to tell and who had the vision to see the relevance of this topic long before the whole world began talking about Russian president Vladimir Putin's 2013 ban on allowing Americans to adopt Russian orphans. Thanks, too, are owed to all my writer friends along the way who've read pieces of my manuscript and especially to my friend and mentor, author Lynn Lauber, who has always been a guiding light. A special shout-out to Karen Gilbert, Julia's violin teacher, who reviewed the manuscript as an early reader and a constructive critic. My heart spills with gratitude for the adoptive parents who tell me their stories and who thank me for sharing mine in a public way. Finally, and most of all, I'd like to thank my husband, Rick Tannenbaum, who is my partner in every endeavor. Without his unerring support, input, and patience, this book would not have come to life.