Learning To Fly
It’s taken 8 months for me to meet the little girl I had heard so much about prior to her adoption. The first month I was thinking umm …. Perhaps there was a mix up? Did we get the right kid? I witnessed glimpses of her here and there, but now I think I’m getting to know the REAL Richa. The Richa that everyone met in India and fell in love with. There were many times this year when I didn’t know if I would ever meet her, or worse yet that that girl didn’t exist anymore…. that the sorrow of leaving her loved ones behind for a new life in America would change her heart forever.
8 months for her to feel safe enough to close her eyes to pray (at church and at home). If I’m wearing a dress she’ll stand next to me and play with the fabric or pick up my hand to touch my wrist. If I’m sitting on the couch she sits right next to me, and lets me scratch her back or play with her hair. She used to always be on the other end….in the same room but not close enough to touch.
We are just now seeing her relax at home by laying down on the couch and cuddling up with a blanket. She still won’t surrender to a nap, and she still tosses and turns at night, but I’m hopeful her resistance to vulnerability will lessen over time. The good thing is she’s opening up more , which helps us understand why these coping behaviors were needed in the first plac . We’re also realizing that her best friend in India was much more than a playmate and confident…. she was her protector.
Our daughter needed an advocate even if it was in the form of a child, and she needed to stay guarded in order to withstand the many painful goodbyes she’s had to endure over the years. We all have those survival mechanisms whether we were raised an orphan or not. We learn what works and we learn to do it well. I have been in the “unlearning” process for years, and I still have to remind myself daily that I don’t need that particular behavior anymore. You know the one…. the one gave you purpose, gave you worth, or gave you comfort as a child.
This morning it was dress up day at school. She was allowed to wear something fancy instead of her uniform. She wore one of her new dresses and she looked beautiful. Being the unfair and mean mom I am, I forced her to leave her leggings behind. In India, the kids at school stared, pointed, and made fun of her leg. Her leggings helped her hide, and protected her from the foreseeable ridicule she knew she would face that day.
With her eyes on the verge of tears, I tried to explain that there was nothing wrong with wearing leggings every day for the rest of her life if she WANTED to, but that she didn’t NEED to hide anymore. Her prosthetic is part of her, but it has nothing to do with how beautiful she is. She can be proud of all the parts of her body. I want her to see that. Well the only way for her to see it is to experience it. With a wish, a prayer, a hug, and a quick text to her teachers giving them a heads up we went off to school legging free.
While this year has been a year of acquisition for our daughter…. it’s also been a year of sluffing off the old ways of living that helped her manage life as an orphan in India. I’m not naïve enough to think we’re even close to being finished. The process of shedding her old skin is going to be something we continue for many years in the future, but I want her to at least try so she can experience the pure joy and freedom that comes when we learn to love who we are without condition.
