Tag Archives: Post-adoption depression

When Mom’s depressed; Addressing depression for the sake of my kids

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When mom’s depressed; Addressing depression for the sake of my kids

When mom’s depressed; a meaningful interaction with my daughter about my depression

“You know what, Mom?” My daughter Zoya touched me on the arm the other day.

“What, honey?”

“I know that you have been happier lately.”

“Oh really, how?” I asked, as I rubbed the spot in between her shoulder blades on her back.

“Because you are doing more at home and with us.”

“And because you sing while you do the dishes again.”

When Mom’s depressed

According to an article published on the Fisher Price Website,

“In America today, there are 19 million people walking around depressed. This statistic includes celebrities like Mike Wallace of “60 Minutes” and Tipper Gore, wife of our previous vice president. Of these 19 million people, roughly one-third don’t even know they’re depressed. And of those who know they’re depressed, nearly two-thirds don’t seek any treatment.”

I’ve battled chronic bouts of depression on and off since high school. But after the birth and adoption of my four children, the ugly monster known as depression has reared its ugly head at my family often.

Honestly? My depression embarrasses me.

I’m a Christian.

I’m a mother.

A writer.

A speaker (coincidentally, mostly to groups of mothers).

I am a leader at my church.

I believe in God’s grace.

I’m a person who should have it all together. That’s what people expect from me.

But I don’t have it together. And I find that God uses me more when I’m vulnerable with my struggles.

Really, though, it’s about my kids

My husband Sergei and I have been actively seeking out ways to help ease my depression.

I want to feel good. I want to find joy in joyful things: like one of my kids’ smiles, a walk in the park, watching something fun on T.V. Hanging out with friends.

But really, though, it’s about my kids.

I fight depression and seek out ways to change for the sake of the children God gave me.

I am the only mother they have. And they do not deserve a mother who stays in bed for days at a time.

“We love you Mom, even when you are sad.”

My daughter Elaina wrote on a piece of scratch paper and gave it to me about a year ago. I hung it on my wall.

I look at it every day.

My children’s love and belief in me keeps me going even when I don’t believe in myself.

Addressing depression for the sake of my kids

So I fight.

http://www.stockfreeimages.com/

I’ve broken up my life into three major parts.

Spiritual

Behavioral

Physical

Spiritual:

I believe in Jesus but when I am depressed, I don’t want to talk to him, or read his word, or talk about him. But I know that when I struggle, I need him most. So I pick up something like the book of Psalms, and I read a little bit. I don’t set up a big schedule. I don’t set aside prayer time.

But I whisper out a “help me” and I know that God hears me.

If you struggle with depression, invite God into your struggle.

He’s there anyway.

My friend Katie said something very wise. “It is so important for us all to remember that being a Christian and having depression are NOT mutually exclusive… and that having depression does not indicate a lack of faith.”

Amen and amen.

Behavioral:

As a mom who’s depressed, I catch myself up in all kinds of bad habits. For the last three months, I go to Cognitive Behavioral Therapy once a week. Talking is still a primary focus of this type of therapy, but the idea is working through my bad habits to assert better patterns in my life. Every week I leave therapy with a couple of action points to work on.

It has helped me immensely as I battle depression to establish healthy behaviors back into my life.

And I am not at all ashamed to pay someone to be my best friend :) .

Physical:

I understand that something in my brain is lacking, and depression ensues. I’m taking an anti-depressant. I see a psychiatrist every other month. Some day I’d like to be off medication. But that day is not today. I’m OK with that because I sing while I do dishes now.

My kids make me laugh.

I actually like people again.

I also am forcing myself (with the help of my therapist) to get outside and exercise. I take VItamin D, and other essential vitamins.

I turn on music at lunch time and dance around the kitchen with my kids.

If you are a mom who is depressed

Here’s my advice.

Get help.

Split up your life into three parts: Spiritual, behavioral, physical and make small measurable goals.

But fight for your kids.

Fight for yourself.

And leave me a comment if you are comfortable doing so.

I will pray for you.

Because I know the struggle is real.

It’s hard.

But there are things you can do, with God’s help, to feel joy again.

And by all means, don’t ignore how you feel because you are embarrassed.

It’s just not worth it to live your life in bed.

It’s not worth your kids’ childhood and well-being.

Down syndrome, adoption, bonding, hot cement, and hearing each other’s voice

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How is your bond with Evangeline?

“How is your emotional connection to Evie going?” Nicola asked last week after I opened the blog for questions.

Thank you for asking about our bond, Nicola. I am a writer, so of course, as I thought about how to answer your question, a story emerged. Enjoy!

***

This afternoon the kids and I went outside to play. Our new dog Scout got to come out and bask in the sunshine too once I figured out how to screw her leash anchor into a small patch of malleable earth next to our house (the rest of our ‘yard’ is cement. Long story, different post).

I sank into a saggy folding chair, flicked a pair of over-sized sunglasses on to my nose from the crown of my head, and breathed in the 80 degree air.

Scout panted at my feet, Zoya lost herself in some make-believe world with neighbors, Elaina stretched out next to me; her nose in a book, and Polly giggled as a friend imprinted her body onto the ground with a sturdy piece of purple chalk.

Evangeline paced happily in front of me, hands flapping, sounds erupting in  my world that equate joy and excitement. “Oooohhhhhh, ahhhhhhhhh, yeeeeehaaaaaw.” To others probably just unpleasant noises they’d want to tone down. If she were a radio, someone  would get up and turn the dial. To me, though, it is her.

It is my daughter’s beautiful voice.

Last summer an afternoon like this was impossible without another adult present. Those truly were the dog days of summer in the world of Marchenko. Polly nursed an affinity for the street. Elaina and Zoya struggled with turn taking. Most of their games ended in tears. And Evangeline foraged the pavement for rocks and leaves and pieces of wood to eat.

“Evie, no!” my voice commands my daughter’s attention today. A chubby fist, still so baby after five years, already in motion to bring a small stick to her mouth to eat, pauses.

Her bent body straightens. She looks for me. Our eyes lock.

“No eat!”

I am all business.

She pauses, turns her chin towards her hand, and releases her grasp.

“Good job, sweetie! Way to go, Evie!”

If I ended this excerpt here, you would celebrate, right? This is a little girl that is non-verbal. So far she has no signs, she was abandoned at birth because of her diagnosis of Down syndrome, and it has taken an awful lot of work for both of us to bond.

Just wait until what comes next.

“I am so proud of you Evie! Come here,” I say. “Come here and give Mama a hug.”

I hold my arms out to Evie and will every cell in my face to attempt to communicate the hope in my heart.

The hope that my daughter will come to me when I ask her to. The hope that she will hear my voice and respond.

A slow smile unwinds across Evangeline’s face. Her feet rock back and forth and I stretch my arms through the tips of my fingers. If possible, my stretch would reach her and draw her to me where she belongs.

But then some of the magic, the hard work, the reckoning and redemption that have slowly taken place in the last three years since this child has joined our family would be lost.

This magic, here, now.

She takes a step towards me.

I gulp.

“Come here, sweetie. Good job, baby girl. Good job.”

Giggles erupt and she is in my arms, hugging me, proud of herself that she heard me, understood, responded, and sought comfort.

I’m proud too. I had no idea that bonding would be so much work for both of us. I assumed I would sign a piece of paper and she would fall into my arms where she belongs.

That scenario, however, has not been anywhere close to the adoption Polaroid that has cloudily developed in our lives.

But today on hot cement, my daughter has walked into my embrace. It took us both a long time to get here.

And I hope I am not so naive to think that this is it, from here on out everything will be sunshine and outstretched arms.

All relationships take work.

Evie and I are just starting to hear each other’s voice. We have a lot more to say to each other.

But our bond is there. It’s strengthening.

And it feels good.

STORY BLEED MAGAZINE

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I have a post up today at STORY BLEED MAGAZINE.

Again, it is about the harder parts of our adoption story. Both STORY BLEED and WE ARE GRAFTED IN contacted me months ago about using my posts and now they happen to launch a day apart.

Funny for me too, because Evie and I are going to a new therapy appointment this morning. My mind is connecting the dots.

God is working a beautiful picture in us.

Would love for you to stop by STORY BLEED and WE ARE GRAFTED IN and check out some of the uglier parts of our adoption story.

They are just as important as the beautiful parts.

And if  you are an adoptive mom, I’d love to hear how your life is going with your little one.

Are you an adoptive mom who is struggling?

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If so, I have a message for you this morning.

It’s okay to struggle.

It’s okay that you struggled.

It’s okay that you are struggling.

It’s okay.

That’s it. That’s my message.

I’ve struggled. I still struggle.

Here are a few past posts to prove it:

A Few Thoughts, a post about my true feelings upon meeting my daughter

You’re doing it wrong, a post about second guessing myself as a mother

I’m scared of July 25th, a post about how I should have been doing so much better than I actually was

The Grinch’s heart grew two times that day, about cracks in my exterior towards my daughter

Hard Earned Love, more about how God has been molding us into a family

Post-adoption depression, finally figuring out, two years into our adoption story, that I was depressed

Our daughter Evangeline has been home with us for over two years. And for most of that time I’ve had so much guilt over struggling to bond with her. I couldn’t possibly let others know how I truly felt, because I was the one who wanted to adopt in the first place.

It can be a very lonely place when attachment isn’t going well, can’t it? We chose to adopt, God led us to it, so then, why are we struggling?

I was completed blind-sighted as to how difficult it was to bond with Evangeline. Before she came into our home, I tried to prepare myself for the difficulties she would face acclimating to our family. I did not, however, think about my own acclimation to becoming her mother. I was embarrassed. I thought I was the worst adoptive mom on the planet.

It helped me to talk to about it. A lot of moms seem to being doing OK in their roles as adoptive parents, but there are others who aren’t alright. I reached out to another mom struggling. We started to pray for each other and talk to one another on the phone. Since I’ve written about my struggles, I’ve heard from others, thanking me for being honest.

I know not everyone can blog about how they are feeling. I’m sure many people think I’m slightly off or a bit narcissistic for putting myself out there, but it’s so important to have SOMEONE to talk to. It helps me so much to know I am not alone in my struggles. I’d even recommend counseling if that’s an option. And of course, if you are a person of faith: pray. Ask God to help you. Ask him to mold your heart to your child’s life.

Mostly, don’t keep all your feelings inside. It will only make things worse. Hang in there. You are the right mom for your child. Each child is different, and even if it takes longer for you to truly connect with him/her, even if the love you have doesn’t feel quite like the love you have for your other children, it doesn’t mean you don’t love your kid.

Give yourself grace.

It’s okay.

(I’d like to start up an open dialogue about post-adoption struggles. A few blog posts ideas include: how I messed up bonding with Evangeline, when the adoption really isn’t going to work out, tips and resources on what could help with bonding. Please leave me a comment or a question or email me at gillian@rcn.com. Let’s talk about this. And I will also be writing about some of the things we’ve done that have helped with bonding. Stay tuned.)

Post-adoption depression

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Post-adoption depression

Last Thursday I took Evangeline, our adopted daughter from Ukraine, five years old, diagnosed with Down syndrome, to a developmental pediatrician.

“I heard this doctor is good at what he does, and I want his opinion about Evie’s lack of development since she’s been home from Ukraine,” I affirmed rather loudly to my husband Sergei in an effort to hide that really, I was taking Evangeline to this doctor for a second opinion.

A year ago, Evie was evaluated at the Erikson Institute here in Chicago for Autism. At the time, her main activities included rocking back and forth, sitting on her bed, and looking at a light-up toy. Her eye contact was sporadic at best and she could not tolerate textured food nor touch (unless it was rough housing). I was certain we would come home with a dual diagnosis of ASD (autism spectrum disorder) and Down syndrome because almost every time I reached out to my beautiful blond little girl, my hand would get slapped.

After several appointments, Erikson concluded that Evangeline was not on the spectrum, but probably suffered from the debilitating effects of orphanage life paired with cognitive and developmental delays that can accompany Down syndrome.

But I wanted an answer

When the report came in the mail, I opened the letter while sitting on the toilet seat behind a locked bathroom door and cried. On some level, I wanted the dual diagnosis because I wanted answers. I wanted to know why Evie ground her teeth constantly, why she sought out dust and dirt to eat but refused real food. I wanted to know why she scratched her sisters when they tried to hug her, and cried at loud noises, and sat off to the side of our lives alone, most days, rocking.

But I did not get a concrete answer. I got a “keep doing what you are doing. Find more therapy opportunities, give her time to bond with your family.” And slowly over the next few weeks, I started to shut down. I found it too painful to try to connect with my daughter. For months, I went through the everyday motions of caring for my family as best I could, all the while holding back from climbing into bed. I no longer attempted to bond with Evie. If she was fine being a part of our family without really being close to me, than maybe, I could live like that too.

Wrong person diagnosed

I was seeking out the wrong diagnosis for the wrong family member. Sure, it was good to have Evie evaluated a year ago. She certainly had characteristics that could point to ASD. But really, I was the one who needed the most help. I was struggling from post-adoption depression, which could have only been aggravated by a little post-traumatic stress disorder thrown in after Polly’s stroke, diagnosis of Moyamoya, and two brain surgeries. After our time at the Erikson Institute, I quietly unravelled.

I have struggled with depression all my life, but alas, it is kind of like that pesky monthly period for women. Every month I am shocked that my foul mood results with menstruation. And I am 36 years old!

Depression is like that for me, too. It sneaks up on me: a few aches and pains, feeling a little down in the dumps, sleeping poorly. I fight, I do what I absolutely need to for the family and then when I can’t anymore, I get into bed and I don’t get out.

I started to see a doctor and a therapist, but I wasn’t feeling better. I cried out to God to help me, to show me how to trust him and get back on track, but to no avail. I struggled for months, but still, somehow managed to post perky facebook stati often enough so that people outside my direct family wouldn’t suspect a thing.

But I was drowning.

About three months ago, God gave me the strength to try again to get help for my depression. I went back to my doctor and let her put me on a higher dosed anti-depressant. I started seeing a different therapist and we clicked right away. I started to wake up in the morning and notice that the sun was shining.

And I saw Evangeline, a little girl considerably changed from a year ago.

Since Evie has been with us (over two years) there have been little breakthroughs here and there in our bonding. I liken them to nicking the surface of a frozen lake with a BB gun.

Now that I am above water again in life, the ice is starting to thaw. I can sit a stare at Evie for a while, marvel at her button nose, appreciate her smell, want to pull her to me.

Why the second opinion?

So, why did I take Evie for the second opinion last week?

Because I wanted to make sure that a dual diagnosis isn’t in the picture for our girl. A lot of her behaviors have fallen away but she has a lot left. And although we are doing much better, I am now struggling with the guilt of that missed time when a shadow of a mother was parenting my daughter.

At the appointment, Evie climbed up into a chair, uninterested in the train set the doctor attempted to entice her with. But she laughed when he tickled her, and followed his finger as he played with her, and looked both the doctor and me in the eye almost the whole time.

I loved the doctor. He was a bit brash and un-orthodox (took a text from his wife during our interview and laughed out loud at what she wrote :) . But he cut to the chase with me and it was just what I needed.

“I don’t see any definite red flags regarding a dual diagnosis off the bat, of course, if you’d like, we can do a full evaluation of Evangeline to get more in-depth. But I have to ask, why are you here? You’ve already had your daughter evaluated at Erikson?”

“Because, well”, I took a deep breath. “Because I am afraid I am not doing enough. Our other daughter got sick and ended up needing two brain surgeries six weeks after Evangeline came home from Ukraine and I. . . well, I’ve struggled with depression.” I kind of left my answer there but in my heart I added, I am afraid that I have already failed her.

“Mrs. Marchenko, your family has been through a very difficult time these last few years. I want you to know, you are doing a good job with your kids.”

I had to look away as the tears pooled in my eyes.

“And now, Ms. Evangeline,” the doctor turned to Evie and let me attempt to compose myself.

After the visit to the doctor, I realized I had been looking for two things: 1) the wrong diagnosis, and 2) validation that I am the right mom for my child.

I share all of this with you because I am notorious for putting it all out there. It doesn’t occur to me to keep things to myself. My husband takes issue with my need to tell people how much I spent on the sales rack at Target.

But more importantly, I share this because adoption is beautiful, but it is also very hard. I share this because  other parents and caregivers are struggling today. Post-adoption depression is real. I want you to know you are not alone. At some point, your feelings may be out of your control. Get help. There is no shame in taking care of yourself in order to care for your family.

One last thing: With God’s help, we all can be the right parents for our children.

Post-adoption depression resources:

Adoptive Families

Baby Center

Adoption Issues

Jen Hatmaker, After the Airport