Never Meant To Be

Tonight I saw pictures on Facebook of "Lyric" the 13 year old foster child we had for four months that we had every intention of adopting.  I realized that I have zero feelings when I look at the picture.

My husband and I tried desperately to get her to want to be a family member, to love us, to see us as her parents.  We wanted so badly for her to be our child.  We wanted to adopt her and ride off into the sunset of our lives with a beautiful daughter.

But it didn't happen.

Maybe it was my fault.  Maybe we weren't strict enough parents.  Maybe I didn't love her enough or support her enough.  Maybe it's because biological mom lived less than a mile from our house, walked past our house often and "Lyric" was never going to accept her present leaving her completely unable to attend to any future plans let alone putting her past behind her.

Maybe it was my fault because I indulged her in allowing her to have more authority or power than a 13 year old should.  I was the opposite of what I have been trained as a counselor to be: I was sympathetic instead of empathetic.

I bought into the narrative that any medication she was on was because of medicated compliance at a residential treatment facility.  She never accepted she needed medication and at some point I gave up the fight because I didn't want the drama of the screaming, yelling, running away, and tantrums you would expect out of a toddler not a teenager.

I felt alone.  I felt defeated.  I felt elated when she left.  I hate I felt that way.  Looking back now, over that entire four month period of my life and the two months since we asked for her to be rehoused I feel nothing like I thought I would.

I miss the Lyric she was when she was appropriately treated and her personality was stable.
I miss the Lyric who would say silly ditzy things and realize how silly it was and giggle.
I miss the Lyric I projected my hopes and dreams of motherhood on.
I miss the possibilities.

I don't miss the Lyric who screamed profanities at me.
I don't miss the Lyric who lied to school teachers/secretaries that I punish her when she's sick.
I don't miss the Lyric who called our house "embarrassing" and "poor."
I don't miss the Lyric who threw things at me.
I don't miss the Lyric who would never accept rules and structure and had to call almost every member of her "team" to find someone to sympathize with her.
I don't miss the Lyric that left me depressed, exhausted, and questioning why we had chosen foster care.

We still aren't sure we're willing to do foster care again. I know the children come with issues but I also know there are awesome kids out there.  I know we may get another Lyric and we may not. But to invest so much of yourself into something that failed so horribly isn't something my heart is open to and I don't know if it ever will be.

It didn't help, as much as I thought it would, to be told "well I thought the placement was a bad idea in the first place and I said so much to the team."  I really could have used that knowledge when I was in the thick of it trying to hold everything and everyone together.

I have never wrestled with a decision more than I have with whether or not we want to foster again. With any luck I'll be back to work in a week or two and I won't have the time away from work in order to bond with a child or run to pick up a placement.

But what really hurts my heart the most from all of this: looking at her pictures tonight that were taken yesterday and not feeling a single thing.  No, I take that back.  I do feel something.  Relief.  I wasn't the mom she needs and I was never going to be the mom she would accept as mom.

Foster parenting is so hard. Infertility is miserable.  I need help processing feelings I thought I already processed.  I, a counselor, need counseling.

If this post seems jumbled, it's because my mind is jumbled, my heart is jumbled, and my life is jumbled.  But not for much longer.  I'm going to fix this and get back on track.