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02/08/2009

Regretter d’avoir adopté. aspasia411

Aspasia open salon.jpgThe regrets of adoption.


Other parent/writers confess to the joy their disabled children have brought them.  Can I confess to regrets?  I adopted my son when he was eight from the foster care system.  He was sweet, charming, and bright -- with a social background that I know now should have scared the heck out of me.  I went through training.  I knew there were no guarantees.  I knew kids who had been abused/neglected/abandoned were bound to have emotional problems.  I was committed to love him.  I had committed my professional life to social justice/making a difference.  I could make a difference for one small child and know the joy of parenting, expanding our family from the small single parent household-with-bio-son that I currently had.  Besides, everybody who knew me said I was a great mom.  My son would have a brother.



Twelve years later, I can tell you with clarity that I would not do it all over again.  By the time this son was 13, I had long experience with emergency rooms, police calls, psychiatric units.  I kept looking for the right psychiatrist or therapist who would make the right diagnosis and have the right therapy or the right medicine.  He was fetal alcohol, reactive attachment disordered, depressed, oppositional defiant, ADHD... I am sure we could have kept accumulating diagnoses, none of which helped manage behavior.  He lied,  he stole, he was sexually inappropriate, he destroyed our house, he let the dog out to run the neighborhood, he broke into neighbors' houses, he went joy riding, he was expelled.  He was funny, he told good stories, he could cuddle, he was an athlete, he made friends instantly.  One psychiatrist told me he was a sociopath in progress.  At one residential treatment center, he flung his own shit around the room, and refused to bathe for months.   I lost at least one job because I couldn't manage the stress of the constant phone calls, emergencies, etc.  Co-workers are only sympathetic so long.  People said "I don't know how you do it," and I didn't know if that was admiringly or despairingly.



He is twenty now.  He has been a gang member.  He has worked a total of about 2 months in the past 2 years, when I have tried to encourage that he get a job.  He just can't keep a job.   He deals.  He lies.  He has been back home, to get back on his feet.  He doesn't get back on his feet.  He plays video games all day.  I kick him out again, because he isn't keeping up the bargain...  get a job, or volunteer, or help with chores.  He has had years of therapy.  He has had years of support.  He has had years of tough love.



He feels entitled.  He will be one of those guys who lives off girls.  He will not hold a job.  He will circle between social service agencies and jail.  He will become the kind of person I have spent a lifetime as a social activist railing against:  a leech on the system, on someone else, a petty criminal, a non-contributor to the larger good. He will have children he cannot support.  I thought we could create policies, programs, and just plain love enough to make a difference.  I cannot know, maybe he cannot know, if his brain is just too damaged, if he is truly incompetent, or he cannot muster the will to live a succesful life when the culture provides so many alternative pathways.  I know I lost years of my life, and my bio son --with my encouragement -- has sought his own opportunities far away, as he, too, figures out what is healthy and what is the detritus of a life with a brother that was always generating chaos.



Source: Aspasia's Blog | aspasia411 | JULY 25, 2009.


La mère blogue. Silvia Galipeau.


On ne sait jamais ce que la vie nous réserve. Certaines femmes optent pour la banque de sperme, avec les risques que l’on sait. D’autres vont du côté de l’adoption. Et le regrettent….



Dur témoignage, sur ce blogue du webzine Salon [Aspasia's Blog], d’une femme qui confesse ses «regrets»: elle a adopté un petit ange de huit ans, de l’équivalent de la DPJ locale. Sage, souriant, brillant, même. Mais son historique familial aurait dû lui mettre la puce à l’oreille, disons. «Je savais que les enfants qui ont été abusés, négligés, abandonnés risquent d’avoir des problèmes émotifs», dit-elle. Et comment …



Fiston devenu grand, il est devenu violent, voleur, menteur. Abonné des ailes psychiatriques, il était tantôt agressif, limite déviant, tantôt doux, gentil, athlétique. Un psy l’a diagnostiqué sociopathe. À vingt ans, il s’est retrouvé dans une gang de rue.



«Douze ans plus tard, je peux vous dire en toute connaissance de cause, que si c’était à refaire, je ne le referais pas.»



Ouch.



J’ai déjà rencontré une famille adoptive du genre, aux prises avec deux enfants souffrant de troubles de l’attachement. Comme le fiston en question. Le pédiatre Jean-François Chicoine m’avait fait un commentaire très cru, d’une grande dureté, mais finalement très vrai:

«Les gens (qui adoptent) ont toujours l’impression que l’amour va tout changer. Mais il y a des enfants qui vont mieux évoluer hors d’une famille. Ces enfants ont trop souffert, ils ont été trop longtemps en institution pour profiter des liens d’une famille.»



Source : Cyberpresse.ca | 28 Juillet 2009.

14:35 Écrit par collectif a & a dans Témoignage | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0) | Tags : échecs dans l'adoption | |  del.icio.us