After receiving our "referral" photo from the adoption agency, I paced the floors of my apartment in the dark night. Realizing that I would never know what type of prenatal care my daughter had received, the conditions surrounding her birth, and the motivations for and circumstances of her abandonment, I felt powerless. Now, four years later, I lie awake in the same darkness, marveling at how these mysteries reveal themselves at each stage of her development.
It took me years to understand how emotional security and attachment create the base from which infants develop. The ability to trust, listen to and respond to others are crucial elements that form the foundation for learning. These processes begin during the first six months of life when the emotional brain develops. A child who has spent that critical time unattended in an orphanage crib is clearly at a disadvantage.
My adoption agency contract was for a healthy infant under
one year. When Xiangwei's photo and medical report arrived by
Fed-Ex, she was eight months old and weighed a scant 11 pounds.
Although worried about her condition, I fell in love with her
picture. She was destined to be mine.
My husband and I traveled to the city of Ningbo on Christmas.
After years of infertility and wondering when I would have a child
to love and care for, this was clearly the happiest holiday of
my life. The orphanage director said "Eeet woood be goood
luck to meet you beebeey on Chreestmas Day." We hailed a
cab and drove through cold rain, on foggy, bumpy roads to the
Enmei Children's Welfare Institute.
When we entered the nursery, my long awaited for baby looked up curiously, smiled and reached out. The love I felt in that first embrace dissipated the unidentified longings that tormented me since adolescence. I resisted motherhood for most of my life. As an artist I could not identify the driving force that kept me wandering the world in search of inspiration and fulfillment. It wasn't until I held Ariela in my arms that I realized maternal love was the hidden treasure I had been seeking.
My baby was bundled in layers of handmade clothing. She appeared bright-eyed, engaging, and affectionate. Hugging her tight, I promised she would never be alone or hungry again. Xiangwei gazed directly into my eyes while drinking her bottles. She wanted to be held and rocked continually. She kissed her caregiver. I was convinced that Ariela Xiangwei was a true survivor who would thrive in my care and quickly catch up like the other Chinese adopted babies I knew back home. In retrospect, I see how those friendly behaviors were her survival skills. If she hadn't been cute and charming, she may not have attracted the attention of an overworked caregiver.
I went to China assuming that babies didn't have memories.
If they can't talk, how can they remember their birth traumas?
Part of me believed she was unaffected by everything that happened
prior to my arrival. Another part wanted her to remember so she
could tell me. China's one-child policy makes infant abandonment
dangerous and risky. We have no information about our daughter's
past, not even her birth date.
At fifteen months, Ariela could not crawl or bend her knees without
collapsing. She could move neither from lying to sitting, nor
from sitting to standing. After initiating physical therapy, we
discovered her rib cage was depressed from lying on her back in
the orphanage crib, thus preventing sounds from coming out of
her diaphragm. This led to speech therapy. And when we learned
that her hypersensitivity to touch, sounds and light were because
environmental deprivation prevented her brain synapses from processing
sensory input in an organized way, I was heartbroken. How could
this happen to my precious pumpkin? Sensory integration therapy
was added to our schedule.
Despite great progress, I sensed there was something else preventing this feisty girl from being whole. When in severe distress, like nighttime teething, she was unable to accept comfort from me, despite her clingy, whiny behavior. The worst times were when she woke in the night, crying inconsolably, arching her back and pushing me away. Was it me? Was it her past? My thoughts turned to her abandonment. Looking at her beautiful face it was hard to imagine that an innocent baby could be so traumatized. I was overcome by defeat. What kind of mother can't comfort her child?
My high-pressure advertising job required traveling and working late with little advanced notice. Often when I returned home, Ariela was mad. She wanted me physically near her, but rejected my attempts to engage her. I found this aggravating.
At 18 months, she started randomly hitting whoever came close. I dreaded changing diapers and clothes, not knowing whether I would get kicked, slapped in the face, have my glasses grabbed, or hair pulled. Ariela hated having her hair combed. We could not touch her head without a screaming fit.
People said "Welcome to the terrible two's. She'll grow out of it." By my observation, her behavior was intolerable. Why was she so wonderful with extended family she rarely saw, but deliberately rejecting me? I despaired. My dream child was opening a Pandora's box of childhood nightmares that I thought were successfully repressed. Her slapping and hair pulling reawakened the abuse and emotional abandonment I experienced growing up in a large, authoritarian family.
I vowed not to repeat the sins of my upbringing. But Time-outs and firm reprimands proved useless. Ariela thrived on the intensity of my reactions. In horror, I watched her abuse our cat by starting to pet him gently and then either try to choke him, or pin him down and slap him repeatedly in the face. Much too easily, her impulses became destructive. Oftentimes, she put a little tykes baby in the dollhouse crib and then cried incessantly. Whenever I said "Oh, babies need to be picked up when they cry. Where's the Mommy?" She picked up the baby, threw it on the floor or into the garbage forcefully and shouted "No, No, No."
In our neighborhood playground, parents and caregivers saw us coming and left. She sweetly approached infants in strollers, gently stroked their cheeks, and then viciously slapped them. One day, an observant mother declared "My daughter went through a hitting phase that drove me crazy, but there is something about the lack of empathy in your daughter's face that scares me." I was embarrassed and humiliated. Although painful to admit, instinct told me this woman was right.
I read articles on disrupted attachment in post-institutionalized children. I didn't want to believe my daughter had an attachment disorder. We had such positive experiences with the orphanage. I blamed myself. I must be a bad mother. It wasn't until I read Foster Cline and John Bowlby that I understood how deprivation and prolonged neglect caused Ariela to feel helpless and angry. Thinking back, I knew she was only held three times per day for her bottles. The remaining hours were spent lying on her back, in an unheated room. Her rage at not having her needs met was her defense against the crying and crying with no one available to offer comfort. My arrival came about 8 months too late.
Ariela continued to be superficially charming with adults, hugging strangers in the subway, blowing kisses to store owners. Yet when I wanted to cuddle, she was quick to stiffen up. Affection was clearly on her terms. Reciprocity was an unknown concept. Frustration came easily. She could not calm down when upset. She sucked her thumb to the point of infection. Transitions between activities and changes in routine made her irritable and fussy. Her attention was unfocused. It was difficult to make sustained eye contact. She couldn't sit still. She was excessively clingy in groups. She never played by herself, but rather demanded constant adult interaction/attention. Her behavior was frequently oppositional. She fell apart easily.
I felt like a failure. I recognized the emotional damage caused by my own childhood spankings. But my inability to discipline my child was driving me to do the same. In the 1990's, that would be considered child abuse. I grew up feeling unwanted and undeserving. I wanted Ariela's self-esteem to be better than mine. How could it, when her early experiences were far worse than the ones that turned me into a rebellious teen. How would she survive adolescence if we could barely get through the two's?
In desperation, I went to Barnes & Noble, where I bought "Holding Time" by Dr. Martha Welch, a reputed child psychiatrist. Although her book was written to help normal children achieve optimal development, I had heard she worked successfully with post-institutionalized and adopted children.
Holding Time gave me courage to face Ariela's wrath. Initially, I was terrified by her unwillingness to be held close. Being unused to intense confrontation, I didn't think I could stick it out. The more Ariela raged, the more afraid I was to let her go. Someone might get hurt. In desperation, I held on. I told her it hurt when she hit and pulled my hair. I described specific situations when she had been hitting and asked her why she did it. I told her that instead of hitting she should come to Mommy and use words to describe her feelings. While she screamed and fought, I rambled on. "It's okay to feel angry but you can't be mean and hurt other people any more than I would let other people hurt you." Holding on tight, her heart beating against mine, re-established my sense of being in control. Despite her stubborn resistance, I knew she was listening.
Eventually fury softened to sadness and she turned to me for comfort. Her crying sounded like her forlorn grieving when we returned from China. My tears mixed with hers as she accepted my love. She fell asleep against my chest. Twenty minutes later, she woke up utterly transformed. Tiny hands cuddled my face. She kissed me all over, and couldn't stop hugging me. She was curious. Happy. Calm. That afternoon she actually played by herself, and didn't hit anyone in the playground. My husband, who hates confrontation, was impressed with the results.
Ariela's profound expressions of anger and grief demonstrated how early separations, both from her birth mother, and the orphanage, followed by the transition to America, created a core of insecurity and mistrust that thwarted her development. Holding her through intense emotional outbursts helped create a safe place for her to release feelings that had been bottled up for most of her life. I worried about her stubborn refusal to connect. I thought, "If she can't be close to me, how will she ever be close to anyone else?" By witnessing the terror and pain of her past, and by crying with her, I was able to re-establish her ability to trust. She identified with my sobbing. I once asked "Do you like it when Mommy cries?" To which she replied "When Mommy cry, I not alone." This was the beginning of empathy.
I watched Ariela acquire confidence, patience, trust and security. She has learned to accept limits. As she gained more self-control, frustration levels decreased. She can work harder at learning new tasks.
In her pre-verbal stage, at the end of a holding session, complete sentences tumbled out of her mouth, grammatical structures that I thought she would never grasp. Our speech therapist said "Her whole character has matured overnight." And our sensory integration therapist said "I don't know what you're doing, but keep it up. I've never seen such dramatic leaps in such a short time."
I called Dr. Welch to thank her for writing the book. She invited me to visit the Mothering Center where families do "holding" and discuss parenting issues. The evening after our first visit Ariela eagerly allowed me to cut her fingernails and toenails, brush her teeth, and comb her hair. Three areas of constant battle dissolved after one Hold.
Not all post-institutionalized children have such severe problems. However, it's important to remember that because of their history, they are at-risk for attachment disorder, learning disabilities, and developmental delays. Recent scientific studies have shown that an infant's brain chemistry is altered by trauma and early deprivation. This means that their development may not progress in the same manner as a child who received normal nurturing and stimulation. I know this sounds scary. But what it really means is, the more parents educate themselves and the earlier they recognize and treat symptoms, the quicker damage can be repaired.
My quest for solving Ariela's problems has given me a deeper understanding of who she is, and why she behaves the way she does. After two years of Holding, Ariela and I have re-lived the pain and trauma of her early life. On a daily basis it has been emotionally grueling and physically exhausting. The love and fulfillment I have gotten back has exceeded my expectations. At my grandmother's funeral last month, Ariela hugged me, crying, and said "Mommy, I wish I could bring great-grandma back so she could make you feel special again." Recently Ariela was pushing a toddler on the tire swing, asking her if she wanted to go fast, or slow, spinning or just side-to-side. Her mother commented "Your daughter is very loving and gentle. It's unusual to see such empathy in a 4 year old."
Holding has given me great hope. I went from being petrified of receiving a "damaged" baby to feeling empowered by the knowledge that I, as her mother, have made a dramatic difference in her sense of well-being. Watching Ariela Xiangwei overcome her difficulties has been the most fulfilling and rewarding experience of my life.
Biography: Nancy D'Antonio is a free-lance writer and photographer living in New York City. Her children's book "Our Baby From China" was published by Albert Whitman & Co. in 1997 and is now in it's second printing.
© 1998 Nancy D'Antonio, all rights reserved, may not be
reproduced in any form without written consent of the author.
Nancy D'Antonio, 255 West 98th St., NY, NY 10025
tel: 212-666-1107
fax: 212-666-7578
e-mail: Nldglf@aol.com
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