Adopted children need a school that is attachment aware, and trauma informed, with these practices embedded and at the forefront of their provision.
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I hope that some of the steps forward we’ve seen are permanent ones, for all of our sakes. We all get to the point when we have had enough of certain behaviours and battles, don’t we?
There’s been a thing going on, as there often is. The kid
has decided that he’d like to use the opportunity of the topic ‘Who Am I?’ at
school to discuss and display things from his birth family.
The boys had been with us for a couple of weeks when it happened. It had seemed to be going fairly smoothly (apart from thinking I had lost the eldest – top tip: never play hide and seek in a strange playground), and, permanent state of exhaustion aside, we were all adjusting to our new lives. Or in a state of shock… take your pick.
Last night my daughter awoke just as we were going to bed. She staggered into our room, disorientated, on the verge of tears. She looked as if she was struggling to get out of her own skin, twitchy movements, evident discomfort, flinching when touched.
Welcome to the second in our ‘Therapy’ series. This account of a wonderful music therapist just proves the power of a professional who gives their all.
In this age of fake news, perhaps I need to re-evaluate my
feelings about lies. I hate them. I have a thing about lying, cheating and
everything else to do with falsehood.
And I know we are not supposed to use the L word, but I do. Something that’s dishonestly
made up is a lie. I know that’s not therapeutic, but, like I said, I have a
thing about it. How can I be therapeutic for something I need therapy about?
Enough of me. This is actually about my otherwise delightful
son, who is very much into lies.
I took The Great Behaviour Breakdown course to manage his
behaviour. Tell him you know how angry
he is, they said in the classroom.
Jump up and down with him when he’s angry, they said.
Try to get him spinning, they said. It regulates the vestibular system in his
brain.
I jumped. I
spun. I shouted.
“I would be so angry too,” I shouted. And my son screamed at me, so high and shrill
and then he hit me harder and opened his jaws as if to bite. It
made it worse.
At half term, I decided to put one of my kids in clubs while
the other had 1:1 time with me. The elder went first and all was well, as I had
expected. After a day away from his brother, with whom he is locked in war, he
felt nourished, attended to, happy. I had been able to let him make more
choices than usual and he really rose to that.
The youngest, however, presented me with a very different
day out.
I am in a really privileged position. Pre-adoption, I made it my mission to travel as much as possible and when I adopted I understood that this part of my life would end. But, surprise surprise, my six year-old came to me with a desire to travel and begging for a passport.
