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Maybe I'm Not Enough...


I sometimes worry that I am not enough for her.

My daughter hasn't had a permanent home in all of her 12.5 years. Unforeseen circumstances in each of her previous homes made permanency impossible. 

And she felt given away, felt cast aside, and felt like she couldn't believe in love. As a result, she closed off her feelings to the world, forced the tears to remain uncried, kept her smile only surface deep, and in her own words, never told anyone that she loved them. 

When I first heard about her, and the initial excitement faded, I just kept thinking...what if I am not enough? What if I am taking her away from the possibility of being a part of a whole home with a mom AND a dad, instead of the broken one I've pieced together that only consists of me?

Was it selfish to throw myself into the position of motherhood without the benefit of a partner? When we all know that two parents are better than just one?

I decided early on that, in order for her to be able to reconnect with her own emotions, I needed to be emotionally available and emotionally vulnerable with her. Neither of which I am naturally inclined to do, particularly after having my heart ripped apart so many times. I am not a real empathetic person, I do not feel deep emotions constantly, I act and react in more logical ways. None of which would work well for the sweet little emotional mess that I brought home over 2 months ago.

And so I adapted my processes. I changed my rhythms to match up with her brokenness rather than mine. I saw the truth in her, the wanting, the desire, the reluctant hope. And I promised that I would call it out of her. I promised that I would patiently speak unconditional love over her wounded heart. I promised to teach her the words she didn't know yet. 

The laughter was the easiest to reintroduce, and it came first. In silly pop songs and TikTok dances. I've never been so delighted by my own lack of dancing skills...and neither has she, apparently. Laughter came in the process of finding that her new cousins reminded her of her old cousins, and that laughter can exist in a new place too.

Tears came next. I shared John with her. I let my tears flow in front of her and told her that he and I had prayed for her for 8 years. That I waited 12 years to be a mother...I showed her that tears can be healthy and healing. It was a miracle...because I actually hate crying. But...but she needed to learn to cry again. So I showed her how. Day by day, we would enter into the battle that is the life of raising a pre-teen and she would often refer to herself in negative ways. I finally told her that no one was allowed to talk about my kid like that, not even her. Because she was a miracle. And not just to me, but also to every single person who loved me, and loved John, she was our miracle. And miracles aren't mistakes. And I cried...because I was so happy that she was mine...and then...she cried too. And she learned that tears can still exist in her world. 

But love...love was a hard one to crack. I started by saying "I love you" to her every single night, and she always responded with silence. I can't say that that was easy...because it did wear my heart down. We long to be loved, to be pursued...and pursuing rejection certainly isn't easy. But I chose to believe that it would be worth it. Whether we walked down this road for months, or years. I chose to show her that she was worthwhile, even in her rejection, she was still worthy of my love. 

I wrote her notes every single day for her lunchbox. I reminded her of my permanency and my love. I covered her in prayer and showed her how prayer changes us, as we prayed each night in bed together, and each morning in the school drop-off line. And I told her that I loved her...again and again and again.

And then, one day, out of the blue...she said it back to me. And I did NOT play it cool! I rejoiced with her! I praised her for all her courage and her strength and I told her how much it meant to me. She deserved to be praised, this was not a small moment to let just pass by without acknowledgment. She didn't say it again for a few more weeks...but then, one evening, she looked me in the eye and said "I love you, Mom". And I think my heart burst right then and there. She never really calls me Mom, just refers to me as her mom. But she said it, and my goodness...how can she possibly be so amazing, my brave sweet girl?

There are a thousand progresses yet to be made and a hundred issues yet to be resolved. 

But my kid wrote me this note this weekend...and I just think that there isn't much that could make this more worth it...and maybe I am...just enough. 

(Please ignore the obvious grammatical error. I 100% know the difference between you’re and your *face palm*)

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