The kids were home for Christmas break and one son in particular was being more than a handful.  This was very uncharacteristic for him.  The first day we thought it was simply childhood Christmas excitement.  By the second day, we were beginning to lose our patience.  When I arrived home this day my wife was almost at her wits’ end.  Nagging, whining, crying, bugging siblings, arguing, you name it.  But why?  Didn’t he know Christmas was almost here?  Had he forgotten that Santa was “making his list and checking it twice?”  Wasn’t he aware of how much mom and dad had to do in order to get ready for Christmas?  For so many reasons, now was not the time for him to be acting this way.

What I did next doesn’t come naturally to me.  Try as I might to ‘practice what I preach,’ I admit that my default reaction to situations like this is to ‘lay down the law.’  But something told me there was much, much more going on than simply bad behavior.  Call it what you will, I like to think of it as my God-given “adoptive dad instinct.” So I said to my son, “Let’s go for a walk.”  And after a little cajoling, he agreed and so off we went.

We walked for a while engaged in nothing but small talk.  Eventually I changed the subject.  “So what’s going on?” I asked. 

“Nothing,” he answered. 

“Of course,” I thought sarcastically to myself.  But I persisted.

“Mom says you’ve really been acting up the last few days,” I continued.  He nodded in agreement.  “That’s not really like you.  Is something wrong?  Are you worried about something?  Maybe upset about something?”

This time he shrugged his shoulders and just kinda hung his head and shook it side to side, ever so slightly.  I’d seen that look before.  It told me I was on the right track.  And then he gave it away. 

“Do I have to tell you?” he asked.  This is the tell-tale question he always asks when he has something he really needs to talk about, but is a little afraid to bring it up.  More often than not the subject is adoption-related.  So I gave him the response I always give when he asks me this question.  “Of course you don’t have to, but you know I always want to hear what you are thinking – no matter what it is.”

And then he practically blurted it out.  “Dad, Christmas just stinks!” he exclaimed.  “I know I am supposed to love it and be having fun, but I just hate it.  I really do.”

It instantly occurred to me that somehow I managed to have the only elementary school-aged child in all of America who actually hates Christmas.  But I quickly asked the obvious question, “Why?”

“Because it makes me really sad,” he said. “It makes me think about my birthmom and my birth family.  I wonder what they are doing.  Do you think they think about me?”

“I bet they do,” I replied.  “No…I am sure they do.  And did you know something else?  You’re not the only kid that thinks Christmas stinks because of that very same reason.”

“I’m not?” he said, finally slowing down to look directly at me. 

I grabbed his hand and we continued.  “No.  You know Ms. Melanie who was adopted when she was a little girl?” I asked. 

“Yeh,” he replied. 

“She’s told me a million times that lots of special occasions, like Christmas, birthdays, even Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, are really hard for her.  She even has a special name for those times that make her kinda sad and make her think of her birth parents and her birth family.  She calls them ‘trigger moments.’  This happens a lot for people who were adopted, and not just when they are kids.  She says that even though she is an adult, it still happens for her sometimes,” I explained.

I’ve always heard the expression “the weight of the world being lifted off of your shoulders,” but I don’t think I’d ever literally seen it happen until this moment.  It was though he realized in an instant that everything he had been feeling and thinking was not only “ok,” it was also very real and quite normal.  And the fact that I was understanding, even if it could not fully understand – that was all he seemed to need.

Our walk lasted over an hour as we continued talking about what he had been feeling and processing over the past several days.  We talked about how it was “ok” to feel these things, but it wasn’t “ok” to act the way he had been acting.  Instead, he needed to find a way to talk with mom or me about it.  As important, I assured him we would do a better job of being available for him, especially during times like these.

I can’t honestly say that I truly understand all that he must have been feeling or thinking in his little heart and mind.  And frankly, the connection between all of that and his behavior still somewhat alludes me.  But I know that his feelings are very real. 

Amidst all of the tinsel and lights and despite the excitement of being out of school and the anticipation of the gifts and fun of Christmas day, the reality is that my kids – not unlike other kids who were adopted – still have profound losses that cannot be erased and must not be ignored.  And sometimes, even against their own wishes, their past and what they have lost comes crashing in.  Even at happy times like Christmas.

In the face of all this, my job – whether at Christmas, on birthdays, on Father’s Day or whenever – is to always be available for my kids.  To be open and willing to listen and talk, and allow all of who they are to become part of our holidays and special occasions.  As we do this, I realize more and more that rather than taking away from these happy times, embracing them and all of their past allows them to be more fully present – and allows us, as a family, to be more connected as we move forward. 

After learning from my son why Christmas stinks sometimes, I no longer look at Christmas quite the same as I once did.  But of course I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Click here for a PDF of this article published in the December 2011 issue of Adoption Today.

For further reading on this subject (sometimes referred to as “traumaversaries”), read this article — Traumaversaries: Lessening the Impact of Adopted Children’s Annual Triggers.

She was nine years old.  Her parents were exhausted and always seemed stressed.  There was so much shouting and drama at home that she escaped to her friend’s house, where life was calm.  It seemed that she practically lived there for a year.  Life had changed so much, but she couldn’t talk to her mom who always seemed worried.

He remembered a time when dinner was a happy event.  Now, at twelve years old, he dreaded coming to the table.  Everyone was on high alert waiting for the screaming and raging to begin.  Mom barely had the energy to cook anymore, so dinner wasn’t likely to be that good.  It was probably easier to stay away from home.

He was two, but had only joined the family recently.  He came from a “hard place” and feared loud noises that reminded him of traumas from his own history.  When the screaming started, he curled himself up tightly, rocking back and forth, eyes glazed over, as he escaped inside his mind.  His little heart beat so quickly, but nobody could comfort him, they were all busy.

What could have happened to these children?  I can tell you, because they are my children and this is their story.

Dr. Karyn Purvis speaks about the importance of giving children “voice,” and we have embraced this as we’ve loved and cared for our children from “hard places.”  But what about the children that were already in our family?  Did we neglect to give them voice?  Did we fail to meet their needs as we desperately worked to help our most traumatized children?

I can tell you that we did, and it breaks my heart to acknowledge it.  In March 2007, we brought three children home from Ethiopia.  One of them brought severe challenges that turned our family upside down.  Our home, which had once been a very happy place, was now in constant tumult.  And the children already in our family suffered more than we could have imagined.

In many ways, we failed them.  In our effort to bring healing to our children from “hard places” we created a “hard place” for our other children.  In our effort to give our children from “hard places” voice, we neglected to give our other children “voice.”  This is the hard truth.

We could never have imagined what was happening in our home, and we struggled to find our footing.  I’m afraid we expected our other children to somehow simply adjust and cope.  Instead, they lost their way and they lost the ability to reach us.  When we weren’t in the throes of coping with our wounded children, we were talking, praying, making calls, and sinking lower every day.

Two years into our journey, we began working with a gifted adoption therapist who helped us with our children from “hard places.”  We began to see some light shining down into the pit where we found ourselves.  Every other week we were able to process the events in our home with somebody who really understood and could help us.  Our children began to respond to therapy and we slowly began to recover.

But what about our other children?  Were they meeting with a professional every other week?  Were they having their concerns heard?  Were they gaining new strategies for coping with what their family and home had become?  Nearly 18 months into therapy we realized that our other children were not going to spontaneously recover.  We needed to intentionally help them find their voices again and make our home a safe place for them. 

We began by creating a safer home environment for our youngest children.  As Dr. Purvis writes in The Connected Child: “You provide “felt safety” when you arrange the environment and adjust your behavior so your children can feel in a profound and basic way that they are truly safe in their home and with you.”

Staggering bedtimes and putting the more disruptive child to bed first, gave our other children the focused time they needed.  It also increased their feelings of safety knowing that when they were tucked into bed, there sibling was settled.  There would be no tantrums occurring and no unkind words or physical aggression would come their way. They could rest and let themselves sleep.

Initially all of our children were educated together, but we made the decision to separate them in order to give some children daily respite and others an environment where they also felt safer.  By removing competition among siblings, our children from “hard places” were able to relax and learn.

Once our little ones were more secure, we focused on the older children.  One evening we hired a babysitter for the five youngest and took our six oldest out for dinner where we talked, laughed, ate, and just enjoyed being with them.  When we returned home, we put the little ones to bed and gathered in our family room where the boys pulled the furniture into a tight circle. We told our children that we wanted to understand how they were feeling.  We recognized that our dream of loving and serving orphans through adoption was not playing out the way we had envisioned.  We acknowledged our family’s difficult situation and how each of our children had been impacted.  We then gave each of them an opportunity to talk about their feelings without interruption.  It was a very moving, sobering, and hopeful time, and one that Russ and I will never forget.

As a result of that conversation, we worked harder to alleviate the stress and pressures of our older children.  We hired people to provide respite and other assistance, simplified our lives even more, and made choices to no longer leave a particular younger sibling in their care.  We also tried to free Russ up to spend time with our older children, even making it possible for him to take two ministry trips to Kenya with our older sons.

We had to dig deep to find our family foundation again.  We had to grieve the loss of the family we once were and learn to embrace the family we were becoming.  Giving all of our children “voice” and creating “felt safety” were integral to that process.

If you are experiencing significant challenges with your child from “hard places” and your other children are struggling, I urge you to look into the faces of your children and take a deep breath.  Get some help, take the time, and connect with your other children.  Their world has been shaken, like yours, and they are looking to you to hold the family together.  By the grace of God, you are able to do it.

Watch as Michael Monroe explains what it means for parents to give their children the gift of voice.

Watch as Michael Monroe talks about some of his experiences with this, and encourages parents to look beyond the “mad” in order to help their children begin to identify, express and deal with their true feelings of sadness.

Be sure to also read Lisa Qualls’ article, Seeing Beyond Mad to the Real Sad.

Watch as Dr. Karyn Purvis offers insights to help parents engage “food battles” while keeping connection in mind.

The Trust-Based Parenting DVD offers in-depth training for parents of children with trauma-based behavioral issues. The Trust-Based Relational Intervention® (TBRI®) is a unique intervention model created by developmental psychologists Dr. Karyn Purvis and Dr. David Cross, founders of the Institute of Child Development. It is based on more than a decade of research and hands-on work with vulnerable children and their families.

Dr. Purvis coined the phrase “children from hard places” to describe children who have experienced abuse, neglect, abandonment and/or trauma in early development. Their survival behaviors can be confusing, frustrating and difficult to manage even for the most patient and loving parents.

This nearly four-hour video features Drs. Purvis and Cross coaching families through real-life, problem-solving scenarios. They demonstrate proven, practical skills and strategies for applying TBRI principles (Empowering, Connecting and Correcting) to everyday life to build a stronger parent-child connection, which leads to better behavior. Parents from around the world praise TBRI for giving them hope in times of crisis and lifelong solutions that can benefit the entire family.

Click here to view the menu for the Trust-Based Parenting DVD. You can order this DVD as well as the other great DVDs from the Institute online at http://www.child.tcu.edu/DVD%20sales.asp.

Flemons explains in the article her initial aversion to Band-Aids given the tendency of many kids to over-rely on the simple first aid supply that lacks any real inherent healing characteristics. I can relate. However, as I continue to learn more about the important and complex subject of attachment, I have discovered that Band-Aids are actually a highly relevant tool – literally and metaphorically – for adoptive and foster parents as they seek to help their children heal from the effects of their past. Writing about the experience with her 10 year old daughter who they adopted less than a year ago from Ethiopia, Flemons noted that she had learned two important things: “Children have pain beyond what we can see, and Band-Aids are not just physical objects.”

In fact, attachment researchers have concluded that the ability for a child to receive (and ultimately to give) nurture is an essential hallmark of healthy and secure attachment. Yet the abuse, neglect and other harms that scar our children’s pasts can impede and even prevent them from being practiced in this skill that is essential for building healthy connections. As Flemons wrote of her daughter, “[her] need for immediate healing has been a satisfying way to begin the slow journey of building attachment . . . The bandage does more than bond child to mother. It is also a way for the mom to apply herself to her child’s wounds, both seen and unseen. With our touch, we heal, protect, and connect.”

This profound insight was still fresh in my mind this past Sunday afternoon. As I was watching another unforgettable pro football game on TV one of my boys passed by me on the way to bathroom. Instinctively, I asked him “What’s wrong?”

“I have a cut on my finger. I need to get a Band-Aid,” he replied.

“Come here, let me see it,” I said. He walked over and showed me what must have been a microscopic paper cut, given that I could not see anything even resembling a cut on his finger. My initial thought was to downplay the need for him to seek care for such a meaningless ‘injury.’ But I was also mindful of the hundreds of little “wounds” to his heart, mind and spirit resulting from his past, many of which are all too easy for me to overlook, dismiss or simply ignore. So in that instant I decided to resist my instinct to dismiss and instead rely on the healing power of a simple Band-Aid applied with love by the hands of a father who is learning what it means to become a Band-Aid Dad.

“Here, let me put that on for you. Should we put a little ointment on, too?” I asked.

“Ok, Dad,” he replied as I applied the first aid. “Thanks. That feels much better,” he said with a smile looking directly into my eyes.

“Glad to hear it. You remember – any time you need something, whatever it is, you let me know. That’s what I’m here for. And one more thing – I love you,” I continued.

I am learning that becoming a Band-Aid Dad is a process. It takes practice and it certainly stretches me at times. But the more Band-Aids I apply to my kids’ wounds – both seen and unseen – the more I am convinced that Band-Aids lovingly applied really can heal.

This article appeared in the April 2011 issue of Adoption Today Magazine.

In this one hour presentation from the 2010 Tapestry Adoption & Foster Care Conference, Michael & Amy Monroe (leaders of Tapestry) focus on how to communicate effectively and holistically with children about their story and your journey as a family. Specifically, they focus on the importance of nonverbal communication, learning to listen to your child and helping them to find perspective and meaning in your shared journey.

You can also download the slides from this presentation here.