"You say working with children is tiring. You're right. You add that it's because you have to stoop to their level, bend over, reach over, make yourself small...and that's where you are wrong. What's tiring is having to rise to the level of their sentiments, stretch out, reach up, stand on tip-toe so as not to hurt them."
~ Janusz Korczak, 1942
How I Know I'm Mom
How do I know I'm Sasha and Lana's mom? Well, it certainly isn't when they are being kind to each other or when they have finished all their homework and practiced their piano; they could do that in front of anyone. And it definitely isn't when they have cleaned their rooms, because that usually just means that we are expecting company.
No, when I am most firmly convinced that I am Mom is when my daughters are not showing me their best side, but rather their worst or the side that others are least likely to see. This is when I know that I am truly Mom, because they trust me enough to reveal the lost parts of themselves; the parts that are far from pleasant, that they rarely reveal to anyone but me.
Coming to this realization has been a journey in self-discovery, something I had never anticipated prior to raising children. In fact, when I was preparing to bring my 7-month-old twins home from Russia, eleven years ago, I was sure I knew what they would need and what I would bring to their lives. What I never expected, however, was that I would come to the humbling realization that I actually knew very little about what they needed - and that they would end up teaching me.
Becoming a mom made me want to find more of myself so I could give that much more of myself to my kids. I found myself embarking down roads I didn't particularly want to travel while encountering the hidden and dark places within that always seemed easier left alone. During this time, my relationship with my daughters was sometimes graceful, but more often than not, an awkward dance leaving me stumbling and stepping on toes.
I have discovered that losing my footing is more of an opportunity than anything else. An invitation to step back, reflect on how and when I got off track, and to gently ask the question: "How might I do things differently next time?"
When I was growing up, a nice smile, a respectable report card and a helpful hand around the house was a sure way to feel accepted around my house. On the other hand, "acting out"or showing a side of myself that wasn't helpful and often far from pleasant was a sure way to feel shameful and rejected.
When I became a mother, it became extremely important to me that my daughters be raised in a supportive and encouraging environment so that they could be themselves. I didn't know how I was going to provide such a nurturing environment, since all I had was an intention, coupled with a strong desire, but before I knew it, my daughters were showing me the way.
I learned that if I wanted to encourage my daughters to be themselves, rather than who someone else wanted them to be, I was going to have to encourage myself in the same way. If my desire was to embrace all of them, not just the good, but the bad and the very ugly, then I was going to have to face the hidden and shameful parts within myself as well.
Most of all, however, I learned to accept my life as a work in progress. Not perfect, but good enough.
So these days, when one of my pre-adolescent daughters becomes frustrated with a decision I have made, or is feeling bad about herself, or insecure about whether she is lovable or not, she may slam the door behind her and yell: "You are not my real mom!" - which to an adoptive mother is as unpleasant as it gets.
Yet somehow I know I have done something fundamentally right.
Well, maybe not right away.
My first reaction is usually to push it away, become a victim or feel ashamed. Anything not to have to face such unpleasantness.
But then I sit myself down, take a deep breath, absorb all the love that my daughters expanded into me, pat myself on the back and whisper: "Good job, mamma, you've done good. They wouldn't say that to just anyone, you know?"
And that is how I know, for better and for worse, that I am indeed Sasha and Lana's mom.
