Is That The Planets Shifting, Then?

        Last night was my first night ALONE since moving to Dar.  The Little One accompanied my mother on a trip out of town; I had to stay behind for rehearsals for the play.  I thought I would be anxious about it, but for the first time in forever, I feel safe....safe, for the first time in too long.  It's sad though, in her absence, my heart can only now feel the full expression of my love for my daughter.  


        They say time flies when you're having fun, I would argue the opposite and say time slips through your fingers when your struggling to hold on to your sanity.  When everything's falling apart, the clock seems to tick faster and faster, like sand through an hourglass. Joy actually freezes time, in my experience.  When I am so content with the moment that nothing else matters, no future, no past, no wants, no unfulfilled needs, in those moments time does not exist.


         March came and went like a roller coaster ride through anxiety and tension, with brief moments of holding it together.  There was too little joy in March, and the struggle to figure out what the fuck was going wrong sucked all the grains of time down until, suddenly, the month was over.  It is now April, my birthday month.


         I find myself here, now, as if finally coming out of a really bad hangover.  I am still amazed at the loss of time, still confused by how it happened, but feeling, at least, like I can breath.  The air is different, infused with a cleansing agent; the light is clearer, showing me things I did not see before. Is that the planets talking, then? Can this be explained with by a shift in the Cosmos, a change in the weather? Or is it just my Faith in these things that somehow survived the pressure of melancholy and the onslaught of worry so that with the shift in time and a new rising sun, like magic, the curse seems lifted? Is it so simple, then? Planets move and shift, time slips by, and suddenly even my trivial mortal circumstances have shed the weight of futility and regained the lightness of hope.


         My breath is slow and steady. And the small achievements that did occur now rise up into my consciousnesses having previously been suppressed and drowned in such heavy, damning, despair.  I have my health back, a good 20 lbs heavier unfortunately, but strong and vital and myself again.  


         My blood work confirmed no more anemia and all other organs are functioning (at least organically speaking) with full vitality.  While doing my check up, I managed to finally find a proficient dentist and go through the first of several stages of treatment to my damaged mouth. Having done it and survived, having found a doctor who actually understood how terrifying these procedures have become for me, and having had my mother go full on warrior by my side through the whole affair-all of this is still hard to believe, to internalize.  It has been this running commentary between my mother and I, "what are we going to do about your teeth??"; the frequent days of pulsing pain and the inability to chew properly have just become a part of my life. Now, just like that, it is all gone; I am healed.  


         A small, physical example symbolizing a much, much larger affair: The Stumble Out of the Path of Light and Peace. It always begins with a simple slip and fall, a wrong turn, a misplaced move; then the initial denial of trauma or danger, the attempt to ignore and the hope if you just keep moving all will be well; finally the awareness that you are in fact wounded, you are limping and scared that you have forever lost your way. And then one day, you are safe; you are healed; the process is over; those scary moments are gone. You will only ever understand only parts and pieces of how you were healed.  Some things you remember, others you will never know. Like did the planets quietly shift in your favor? Did the moon tilt to help you see a way you hadn't seen before?


         I shouldn't regret the loss of time, when so much of it was filled with hurt and worry; I am glad for the speed with which it seeped through me, though there are still residual aches.  I am not even looking forward yet.  I am here, now, on this day, and it feels safe.  Let the planets move me at their will, let the moments settle down and take on new shapes. I think I see my Path up ahead; it is there still, waiting for me.

        I will not look for the bliss and joy just yet, but I will not stop them from coming either. This is my silent day. I am alone (but full of love); I am MINDFUL; I am healing.  


        My breath is slow and steady.

Adopting Woes

         "But how?? How d-d-do you open your heart?"  She wails.


         I respond without hesitation; I respond instinctively from some place deep within; some steel center of Divine Force. I respond while having to convince every doubtful, broken, willful bit of my being that what I speak is Truth. I have to do this with such reflexive speed that the questioning, internal healing, and resulting response leaving my lips happen in a seamless transition. We step through a portal....


          I'm beginning to understand all the horror stories I've read in adoption blogs and forums. Parents safely claim, "it only gets worse". Bitches. I understand the need for them to make this claim; having become conditioned to that first version of the child they bring home (specifically if the child is above the age of 6). What they-we-fail to comprehend is that, that first version is just a shell, a protective layer made of head-nodding obedience, and intuitive, survival-bred manipualtion  (actually, they say babies are biologically designed the same way: with large eyes and reflexive smiles, they are made to seduce us into nurturing them).  It is US who make the mistake in believing that their instinct for survival, their adaptation is some special secret saved for those that have suffered and is thus a permanent gift of theirs, a skill, a magic weapon, that they will use without guidance or teaching forever and ever as they see fit. I understand it, but I do not approve.  Having read the horror stories, and commiserating woes found in many of these forums, I am left feeling disgusted.  The laments are always the same, "she/he was so great when we brought him/her home, but now we don't know what to do?!?"  How foolish they all are when the creature grows so comfortable it lets its guard down and bites, because biting is all it knows...
         How dare we-they-be so shocked that when that loving shell cracks, inside there is a vulnerable little thing, perhaps malformed from lack of exposure to the Light. A scared, broken being, perhaps vicious from fear that you will now see it and turn away in disgust or fear-"this isn't what we were expecting".....


       Watching my child collapse in anguish has that cliche, slow motion, car crash feeling.  It is actually happening.  This is happening and everything I say to her will cement, now and forever, my emotional bond with her. Yes, it IS now and forever, because I can remember wailing out my anguish at her age, my mother holding me, and me knowing she had no FUCKING clue how to help me; she had no FUCKING clue how much of my pain was rooted in her careless behavior; she was so busy being frightened.  And that has never changed.

        
         This thought only adds to the secret fear that what I am seeing in the face of my wailing, agonizing, child is the results of a few months under my influence.  As if this fear is not damned-full enough, beneath or alongside it is the thought, "also, she does come from your blood, maybe she is just revealing the same innate flaws you daily fight with; after-all, we all know how her mother was....


         All this while, we smugly pondered at how easily the Little One has been left seemingly un-affected by her tragic circumstance.  It was easy to get used to someone who seemed to reject the natural damage of a tragic circumstance [maybe it's just as easy to get used to a daughter who has always steeped herself in mourning.  So used that you never think to pull her out of it].  It was easy to feel arrogant (even though we only lucked out) that this poor, innocent thing-innocent of her poverty-should fall into our care; as if, by her natural ability to adapt, we have proven ourselves capable.  It's been easy, and the hard part is just beginning....


          I scramble to retard the momentum of despair that is building fast; I sing the pop song* I've written her.  Even in emotional upheaval, she has time to pause, listen, and smile at me with sincere enjoyment. (I knew it was a hit) but it doesn't last for long.  As soon as the song is over her eyes go large and black again; her shoulders squeeze together while her body shudders and shakes with her cries. 
           So....I speak French;  the bits and pieces of inaccurate phrases tumble from my lips while I stroke her controrted face: "Ne pleus pas mon fils-ma fille (ma fils...damn that's not right, but it sounds a lot better-whatever she don't know); "c'est pas grave"....


       [Unless it is, unless its you crying because you want to go live with my sister and not moody, silly, me.  Unless it's you crying because the genes in your body just kicked in and this is only the tip of the iceberg. Then, I'm afraid, it might be a bit more serious- Or not? Am I so regretful of who I am, I fear the idea you might be like me someday? Hmmmm....I can't say that I am my Love.] 


       "Life is sooooo HARD!!". She is mourning for the FIRST time since the day I watched her across the grave where her mother lay while dirt was thrown on top. My sister clung to me, and even through my own tears, I could not help but notice how she cried and sniveled like a broken, little girl-except there was the little girl whose mother was disappearing, looking on, calm and serene.  


         "Well it's about fucking time isn't it", the deep steel center of me throbs this feeling out through my bones,  "Bare witness Lady: THIS. Is. Your. Job."


         Whatever is yet to heal in me has to be left for another day, my daughter is flailing herself into a pit of despair, and that isn't going to happen on my watch.  I am not going to stand back in fear.  I know, in that moment, it is up to us to decide, once and for all, how we are gonna live our lives, or else our pains/fears will decide for us:


       "No! Enough now, Vannesa! Come on, this isn't you!! Enough crying, NO! Life IS BEAUTIFUL!! Yes it is hard sometimes, okay, and yes you can cry, but then you have to stop and say ENOUGH.  It's beautiful even when it is hard, my Little One.  And sometimes we have bad days and the sad thoughts shout at us, but then you just have to shout back, with your heart (I place my hand on her thin chest and INVOKE the Will of God that what I speak be a Blessing) You have to SHOUT back with all the wonderful blessings you've had in your life, all the good memories and stories.  Come on now-"


        Her wailing has stopped, but I think-I know-it is only paused, "But how?? How d-d-do you open your heart?"


        I speak quietly now, but with feverish force-["yes, I know this is Truth-give it to her and tell your fears to shut the fuck up about it." my heart reminds me]:
        "By Loving someone; by being kind to someone who needs it (her thin arms snake their way around my neck and pull me close to her face so I have to whisper); or by being Loved or having someone be kind to you; by those moments when you let yourself feel total Peace (Relaxed Body, Easy Mind*); by seeing something beautiful-like the sunlight in your eyes, or the clouds or the trees, or a baby smiling; by laughing with a -"


      "You know what?" she whispers, "I need a book.  I have to write down everything you've ever told me.  I have to not forget."  
      "You're going to write down what I say, like I write down what you say to me?" (she nods) "Okay, that seems fair; good idea, baby."


      There is a brief stillness, "I will NEVER forget my mother." Her eyes well up again, she sounds so damn desperate.  [No, My Love, I have you now, I won't let you fall again.]  
       "Of course you won't!! No, of course not. Baby, sometimes we can open our hearts through sadness too! Through the mourning of someone we loved who is gone, through feeling the pain of someone else's loss, or the pain in the world, but only when we let that sadness teach us, and in the end we find Peace again....  And you know what?  I will never forget her either. I have learned so much about life from your stories of your mother.  I think about her everyday. Every. Single. Day.  So of course we won't forget her. Both of us.... Actually, why don't we write down in a book all the stories of your mummy also, so that we won't forget?"
       "Okay...."


        Our bond perhaps exists in our screwed up genes, or in our broken hearts-perhaps.  No matter; it will, definitely exist now in the way we choose to remember, in the stories we choose to tell, in the words we use to tell them.


         Our hands are dirty; her mother is buried; she is in my arms now; we will walk away now, and we will write our stories, because Our. Life. Is. Beautiful....


       

Enchantment is a state of Mind and Love is a feeling....

But when Pesky thoughts prove Troublesome, both lose all meaning [RIP Mama Bear]

        The Editor has confirmed he is (of course) in love (with an idea of me), though it doesn't seem he will make it out here after all.  At most this is a lovely distraction and I will take it just as that.  Though he does have the habit of writing the most intimately reassuring things to me-honestly he knows me not one bit, yet is somehow finding the things to say that I would most want to hear.  I can't imagine how or where he is getting these lovely thoughts about me.


       I came across an old email thread from a past lover.  The love affair was nonsense-really immature and pathetic (on his part, of course). But the email and phone exchanges kept me sane during a really traumatizing 30 days in an immigration nightmare that would very likely have killed me if it weren't for him-in the end said nightmare ended up affirming my need to move to Africa, so it did kill a version of me after all.  Reading the messages again, I was not reminded of his immature, pathetic behavior, but instead was struck by all the lovely things he thought about me, and said to me.


     There have been many lovely things thought about me, and written, and said to me.  Many lovely thoughts.


     Right now there is an overwhelming thought I have been avoiding, but feel it is time to look at it head on.  This thought, a concept really, may do much to explain so many of my thoughts of late-some lovely, and some, not so much.


     I am still struck by all the wonderful people out there in the blogosphere-I'm still so new at exploring this world. I cannot believe some of the exposing things people write about their lives, in such excruciating detail.  I just read one blog of a girl who is in the very active throes of a very dangerous depression. How can one write about such things? Reveal such scary, crazy, crazy-scary things? I thought you were supposed to run and hide and bury yourself until you were presentable again.  She is in the black, in the deep, deep black, but her honest reflection makes me feel I can be more honest about my grey.  I found that blog by stalking trolling perusing another blog by a woman whose life makes my life look like the duller than dull doldrums of existence.  And again she tells her story with such raw, authenticity, but by the Grace of God has found enough light within the ups and downs to not fall into that scary, crazy, crazy-scary way of looking at things.   Her daughter, who also blogs about her struggles and triumphs, wrote my favorite thought for the day: "I'm feeling better".


       I sent the Editor some very badly written abstracts of three lovely little story ideas that could become a few wonderful and unique children's book novels.....in the right hands, with the right thoughts, strung together just so.


      The play I will audition for at the end of the week is "An Ideal Husband". I am panicked by my overwhelming thought and by how all this....exposure, when I've been quiet for so long, will sit with me. But then I check my email and the Editor has sent something sweet and gentle and simple, a side note that makes not feel so worried about what he will say when he reads the abstracts.  I am taking shallow breaths* (I think I might suffocate if I breathed too deeply) and cautious steps, because I think that's what Mama Bear would say is the best way to keep Pesky Thoughts at bay.


     


       Just a thought....

Brigit Has Her Say

Brigit is said to have been born at the exact moment of day break, she rose with the sun, her head radiant with rays of luminous light, associating her with ascended awareness, enlightenment, new beginnings, sun beams and warmth. She is celebrated on Imbolc, falling on February 1 or 2, celebrating the return of the light and the coming of the spring.  Thus her solar aspects may also represent Brigit as the Promise of Spring, the Bringer of Light after the dark months of winter. This energy brings with it HOPE, renewed enthusiasm, renewal, and new beginnings.

Brigit is considered a Triple Goddess, yet many references distinguish Brigit differently than the traditional Triple Goddess aspects of Maiden, Mother and Crone.  Rather Brigit is frequently referenced having three sister selves with three distinct roles, Lady of Healing Waters, Goddess of the Sacred Flame and Goddess of the Fertile Earth.  These roles are then multiplied through Brigit’s vast and varied responsibilities . . .

Who is Goddess Brigit

             Today began on an ascending note.  One second there was come quiet grayness: I did not know who I was or what I felt for the future.  I was in a pre-dawn limbo, clinging to the dreams of the night before, shying from the nightmares.  

             My mother and I were both pulled to convene, but I'm not sure we knew about what or why. It felt like a ritual we had not meant to take part in, but that may be just the retrospective knowledge that a Goddess had arisen to claim her Authority and Bless us with her healing.

            Our communion began with an ironic discussion on the subject of communication. It didn't go well, and "we are NOT communicating" became the pat phrase to explain why we were getting heated as we tried to analyze how better to communicate, especially vis a vis disagreements had in front of the Little One and especially those that are about her.  I would have thought all this pathetic and never dared to mention it, except somehow during it, something happened.  The sun rose and so did Vannesa, and the exchange shifted to one of personal revelation.  "I am afraid," I blurted through unexpected tears, "that no one will allow me to express negative emotion."  I had become so raw seeing how the slightest scolding from me would shut Vannesa down into a frighted, trapped, broken animal-whereas the same. exact. words, from my mother would inspire an assertive, receptive, good-natured response.  And there was that same look...in my mother's eyes and body, during what I believed to be a simple, mildly uncomfortable exchange.  "I don't know how to be heard" I groaned, "without having to make a big deal of it."

        The way it goes, the way it's always gone, no matter the form-letters, jokes, broken dishes-I use to express negative emotions, is that people scrunch up and pull away.  And that is, in and of itself, So. Very...lonesome; but it gets traumatically worse that the very same people, the very same ones, yearn, demand, and nurture all that is healing and nurturing in me, never understanding, never accepting that the latter comes from the same source as the former.  I am one being, yin/yang, positive and negative. And my passionate expression of one  is the very same flame I use to fuel the other.  That is the conflict I bare; my confession to share.  I am revered and rebuked, nurtured and negated for things that come from the very same place deep within me.  The conflict is in the reception (expression); I feel faithful in the belief that the source is one whole...holistic being.  

      My confession left a feeling quite different from resolution, there was none of that. There was a gentle meditation on the Truth behind my revelation.  It was sacred, even if we didn't know we knew it.

     Somehow this bright sunshine day led us to take charge, the Little One was strangely drawn to me-well strange as there is usually a balance or her affection slightly favors Mukaka when Mukaka is around (but this isn't so terrible: I'm understandably more childish around my mother, and anyhow they hardly get to see each other, and lastly I would do the same if my grandmother were around).  But today her beaming eyes shined directly on me, like I was...well...a Goddess; and she was beautiful for her attention, though it frightened me to think how I would...manage such fierce light for the next 9 hours or so...

            We went back to the school that has given us our last hope for getting her placed; we went determined to communicate our position: "yes, you do want her, forget what the papers say, she is a light and we need a fireplace to nurture her; here, she. will. thrive". Brigit had spoken for us, it had already been decided, "yes, we do want her, we know she can thrive; we just may have to wait..."  It was good, it was very good.

           Today was a day were the sunshine seemed to burn our fears up, then bathe us in healing light of faith and inspiration.  I gave Vannesa "work" to do, "we all have to work don't we?"  and so forth, she tried to shrink in; she tried to not believe in herself-but the light was too strong for her to hide.  When she was finished she sighhhed, "I could have never believed I could do so much, Ahhh God."  I laughed, "I always knew it," I replied, "Ehhh? Since you met me?" she questioned. "Since I've gotten to know you, more and more I think, look how much she can do when she just tries!"...

             The Malaria kicked in around 5, I had to give in and lay down.  When my mother came I hadn't started dinner, she went right to it, and it was only hours later that she realized I was ill.  She had a huge report she swore she would do, and she never even mentioned it once.  The flow by evening was as if we were all one; there was no longer a need to speak. 

            Three Goddesses are we still searching for the right, the authority, to be in our power, but today we were Brigit in her 3 potent Selves; she didn't ask us to be bright, or cool, or nurturing, she just rose with the sun and in her light, we thrived.

Awww-k-Word

         The last few days have been a marathon of bonding, blog reading, and stifled panicking-fine then, we'll call it a triathlon.  When last we spoke things seemed to be coming to a head-

[ugh I know writing this will feel good, it will stretch out my voice muscles, get me all warmed up again, but I've just spent the last few hours reading other peoples blogs.  I don't know if this happens to everyone, but when I read a certain kind of voice, Victorian, Australian, any kind of unique accent or writing style, all my thoughts take on that voice.  So now I'm trying to write my blog with like 50 different mom voices floating in my head-it's pissing me off-disclaimer]

        As I was saying, things were getting pretty ugly there for a bit.  Actually the beach thing was only the eye of the storm, a relative calm before more energetic chaos in the house.  No matter what I tried to do, I couldn't seem to hit the right note to end the nasty, putrid, thoughts whirling in my head and heart.  I couldn't help whining, demanding; taking everything the wrong way and feeling like it was them against me.  Ooff, I shudder at the memory of how ampt up I felt, how tired and tiresome.  

        The Little One showed me no mercy. Yes, I have confessed, for the most part, it was I who had hit an emotional whirlpool, but I still cooked, cleaned and played housewife, and she would sit staring off into space-going completely mute the minute Mukaka was not in the room-like I just didn't exist.  And all I could remember is how many times I pulled the same shit with my mother; I distinctly remember the purposefulness of it, the cold, empowered feeling of knowing how much I could hurt her just by voiding her existence.  She was getting off on watching my nerves get all the more raw-but only when she knew I wasn't looking.

        So Thursday evening I sit in my room and contemplate walking away.  It was a breaking point.  I had done what I said I would come to do; the transition was over and now it was as if my role had played itself out...

        Vannesa is one of the most adept survivors I have ever known.  My mother had to leave the city for the weekend, and just like that Vannesa was suddenly in love with me again, knowing very well she had no one else to interact with.  I didn't know what was more astounding, how ruthless she was in her cruelty, or how endearing she was in her need.  But whatever the rhetorical conclusion, this did not stop my hurt from soaking up that affection and need, a slave on my raw nerves. So we went swimming and she clung to me like a brand new baby, even though the pool was full of her age mates.  I took a chance and told her that I liked her so much better when she wasn't being mean to me like when Mukaka was around, she was so quick to agree-even though I'd known her behavior had been somehow conscious-I was still surprised how readily she understood exactly what I was talking about. And she vowed to stop.

          That night we sat down to dinner, just the two of us, and I don't know how it all came up. It was all very casual, like she mentioned my sister having volunteered to adopt her, so I ask her, I says, "well, what if I told you that I wanted to be your mother?"  It's weird to even bring all this up, since I'm in such a crabby mood and all, and since I have never been more desperate to get away from her as I am today...haha.  Well, but that's the point, that's how I know it's real. Anyway she was so quick to agree, but with the disclaimer that we would all have to have a family meeting with Jaja, and Mukaka, and my sister, and everyone to make the announcement (where does she learn to be so formal and proper?!?)  And I let her know that she could take her time before calling me mother-ugh-weiiirrrd.  

         Like I said, I hadn't expected this conversation to happen for a few months at least, though it's helped that my mother has already known and she thought the sooner the announcement the better.  The next morning, the last two days, in fact, of unabridged, uninterrupted bonding time has been overwhelming to say the least.  She sits across for me with the exact same intensity as when she ignored me, but she now watches my every move-my EVERY breath, her big eyes pouring "need" into me and soaking up all the thoughts and wants and desires I used to have as my own, my. very. own. MINE.  

          I wish this post flowed better, but I gotta just get it out, editing be damned.  The thing is, this is all double sided. I mean...I was already freaking out when all this happened, remember?  Like there's other shit that's being taken into consideration-for one, I have not had a single conversation with someone my age in I don't know how long, 28 days, that's how long. And I've never had a conversation with someone going through anything like this.  So it's like I'm starving, yeah, and then all this with Vannesa was like a thirst on top of the hunger.  So now I'm quenched, well at least for now, but other needs, other fears are still gnawing in my gut.  And then there is this little girl with her big, big eyes, demanding ME to fulfill HER?!?  I've seen other mothers get that look on their faces (did I just say "other"??) that quiet panic.  And you always think, c'mon what's the big idea? babies are soooo cute. Yes they are. And so is the Little One; she is absolutely gorgeous; It is just kinda crazy to go from zero to sixty with no seat belt on.  And it doesn't help that my baby is too old for naps, cannot be comforted by nursing, and is not yet in school (urgggh) and-continuing the analogy-just became MINE point two seconds ago.  

              Maybe all this is obvious to anyone reading this, but honestly the fact that I would yearn for parenting help did NOT occur to me.  Ha! Seriously, the only people I know who have kids have them by default and as a matter of fact.  I've never known anyone to have to "date" their child; to go through the very same ups and downs that happen when embarking on any other new and serious relationship.  And anyone who does know me knows, I don't know shit about relationships.  My point is there must be a method to this madness, no? There must be a way to navigate through my own life's turmoil while still managing the Little One's passing storms with minimal damage to us both.  OMG, I sound typically naive don't I?  Like a 400 lbs person saying their New Year's Resolution is to lose weight. No really, best of luck, but REALLY. By "typically naive" I mean, typical for me: the grandest adventures always strike me as no-brainers; it's the everyday that fills me with panic.  So what to do?  Does anyone want to judge me for taking hold of this little girl's life when I don't have a very good grasp on my own? Would it have been any better if I'd gotten knocked up by some Indian dude cheating with me on his German girlfriend? (wonder who would have the prettier baby, but I digress)  

           Are we only supposed to be courageous when the risks are pre-designed?  Did I just stumble into this life or did I create it?  Would I change it if I could?  The other day, at the beach, as the sun set on yet another of our bachelorette weekend outings, my mother said, "ughhh, I wish I didn't have to work tomorrow!", and I replied, "I wish I had a job. We can't always get what we want when we want it."  

           I was thirsty and now she loves me, and it's awkward and it's good.  Can I be happy with what I have even though this isn't what I had in mind, when I asked for it? 

...Can you?

FEEDING THE GOOD TO EAT THE BAD: A Method towards Positive Progress

             It's all networking and hustling today, my friends.  The hustle is back on, my faires tell me learning from the past and standing my ground is going to be a challenge.  Since life at home is currently in it's repetitve cycle of chaos, I am nowwehere near centered enough to even begin to figure out what that means.  What ground? I am floating over an abyss and trying to keep my breath shallow, not quite holding it, but reserving what oxygen there is, cause this might take awhile.  Am I supposed to cynically believe that nothing will come of these meetings today, which is what happened in Ug? To think positive and invoke my ambitions into reality, though they are very Ego-based ambitions, really? Shallow breaths, shallow breaths...but in any case, I think I got something here no matter what happens.  What say we:

PREMISE:  The link between “development” (donor countries-developing countries) to “foster parenting”

·         Corruption, internal conflict, disease epidemics, perpetuated poverty, etc all are comparable to a child’s past history of possible abuse, genetics, infant neglect, infant addiction, etc.

QUESTION: How to “parent” a “debilitated child”-how to deal with a history we cannot control whose influences perpetuates into the future of our “parenting” (e.g. program policy-making and implementation)?

ANSWER: FEED THE GOOD TO EAT THE BAD

DISCOURSE: 

            When caretaking for a foster child, you can drive yourself crazy trying to play detective, scientist, and psychologist; trying to retrospectively trace the cause and effect of your child’s past; trying to root out what went “wrong” and what effects it’s had on the child: Is this his/her personality? Is it biology? Did something happen to cause this behavior? OR (as is often the case) is this just one of the phases your child-like any other human, under any other circumstances-is going through during his/her personal journey?

            The true insanity comes when you are doing this detecting, experimenting, analyzing, not as some removed theorist with time to calibrate for multiple variables and adjust hypotheses accordingly, but instead right in the throes of everyday parenting, constantly interacting with the “subject” just as she/he influences you. And so forth.

            The same scenario exists in the countless development programs found throughout the developing world; the same insane struggle, futile results-oriented determination, and naïve heroism.  And always, for those who take a moment to pull their heads up out of the rut they’re determinedly plowing, there is the question: how do we not f*ck this up?

            The answer, for both parenting and development, lays in Ego-less Faith, an apparent paradox, it’s true. But having achieved that rare and heroic achievement of checking our Egos at the door, we must have faith that if we use all our skills, lessons learned, and resources to nurture the Good- that will create the most potent and sustainable force in fighting the Bad. 

            Imagine a child who, since coming into your care, has increased age-inappropriate or destructive behaviors such as thumb-sucking, bed-wetting, and tantrums, despite all the careful love we have bestowed on said child.  With all our ostentatious beliefs that we have introduced elements of far greater quality vis-à-vis food, shelter, education, environment, etc, than what they had before, there will be an instinctual need to panic: “But this can’t be!” we exclaim, “What’s happening? How can things be getting worse? There must be something we missed??!” And we quickly run to don our Sherlock Holmes chapeaus in such haste that we will not even notice our Egos tucked underneath the brim.  We will rush to figure it out, to calibrate the various variables, re-hypotheses, and begin new experiments…

            The answer to that question-the one we asked in our previous moment of grace-the answer is to have faith.  Let us slowly take both hat and Ego off, place them, gently, back at the door where they belong, and understand that this war-this insane struggle can only be won if we resist the urge to fight the Bad and focus our energies in what is Good.  Let us continue to bestow that careful love, re-invest our attentions in any and all positive changes in our child, and have faith that all the Good we put into our child will, in due course, reduce or even eliminate what Bad the past, present, and future may bring.

            Perhaps one could argue that a development program in a developing country is a far more complex process in a far more complicated entity than the parenting of a foster child; this is a moot point.  The achievement of both parenting and development-the goal- has no guaranteed definition, no standardized parameters of completion.  The achievement thus lies in how we decided to proceed and in whether or not we can relinquish our results based vision, stave off our instinctual panic, resolve NOT to INSIST on answers as to the causes and effects of past happenings, and focus on what we can do to nurture the positive with faith that it will be the Sole Hero in defeating the negative.

AN EXAMPLE:

1.      Problem: As programs designed to alleviate malnutrition target the poverty-stricken population of a country and attempt to “re-condition” habits of proper diet and lifestyle, the developing middle class in the same country is concurrently targeted by the private sector (through local and foreign industry-usually foreign) to develop “consumer habits” that often rely on imported and processed foods and goods.

Result: Despite efforts by these programs to implement sustainable changes, the poverty-stricken population will naturally aspire to rise up within their societies into the developing middle class, will thus mimic the developing middle classes lifestyle behavior, will hence be indirect victims of private sector marketing which inadvertently supports habits that result in malnutrition (as evidenced even in the developed world).

Solution: Donor programs should use part of their allotted resources in malnutrition alleviation (including their very real influence into government bodies such as Ministries of Health who can then influence private sector industry development) to target the developing middle class in order to reconstitute the lifestyle habits they are promoting in the middle class, which the poverty-stricken population will thus model; in effect, a double prong influence on lifestyle and habits.

Do not fight poverty, support prosperity!

NOTES:

·         Ego is an inappropriately vague and metaphysical term and I would need guidance on how to properly define the unfortunate  results-based, dogmatic, tunnel-vision way with which donor programs and persons of influences within said programs approach the work of development.  Yea, it’s Ego, but how can I academically elaborate on that term?

·         Faith is an equally esoteric term, but I think the only unfortunate thing is the fact that it draws religious associations it is often seen as a negative and therefore dismissing concept.  I do not mean it religiously, I mean it properly.

·         The final paragraph, before the example, needs to be properly and thoroughly elaborated on so it does not imply the exact opposite of its intention, which would be “go ahead and be dogmatic, tunnel-vision, and blind to all that goes against your desires and intentions”.  I would need guidance on this.