Gillian Marchenko

March Home Staging, Jooniper Design, Author & Speaker

Post-adoption depression

Post-adoption depression

Last Thursday I took Evangeline, our adopted daughter from Ukraine, five years old, diagnosed with Down syndrome, to a developmental pediatrician.

“I heard this doctor is good at what he does, and I want his opinion about Evie’s lack of development since she’s been home from Ukraine,” I affirmed rather loudly to my husband Sergei in an effort to hide that really, I was taking Evangeline to this doctor for a second opinion.

A year ago, Evie was evaluated at the Erikson Institute here in Chicago for Autism. At the time, her main activities included rocking back and forth, sitting on her bed, and looking at a light-up toy. Her eye contact was sporadic at best and she could not tolerate textured food nor touch (unless it was rough housing). I was certain we would come home with a dual diagnosis of ASD (autism spectrum disorder) and Down syndrome because almost every time I reached out to my beautiful blond little girl, my hand would get slapped.

After several appointments, Erikson concluded that Evangeline was not on the spectrum, but probably suffered from the debilitating effects of orphanage life paired with cognitive and developmental delays that can accompany Down syndrome.

But I wanted an answer

When the report came in the mail, I opened the letter while sitting on the toilet seat behind a locked bathroom door and cried. On some level, I wanted the dual diagnosis because I wanted answers. I wanted to know why Evie ground her teeth constantly, why she sought out dust and dirt to eat but refused real food. I wanted to know why she scratched her sisters when they tried to hug her, and cried at loud noises, and sat off to the side of our lives alone, most days, rocking.

But I did not get a concrete answer. I got a “keep doing what you are doing. Find more therapy opportunities, give her time to bond with your family.” And slowly over the next few weeks, I started to shut down. I found it too painful to try to connect with my daughter. For months, I went through the everyday motions of caring for my family as best I could, all the while holding back from climbing into bed. I no longer attempted to bond with Evie. If she was fine being a part of our family without really being close to me, than maybe, I could live like that too.

Wrong person diagnosed

I was seeking out the wrong diagnosis for the wrong family member. Sure, it was good to have Evie evaluated a year ago. She certainly had characteristics that could point to ASD. But really, I was the one who needed the most help. I was struggling from post-adoption depression, which could have only been aggravated by a little post-traumatic stress disorder thrown in after Polly’s stroke, diagnosis of Moyamoya, and two brain surgeries. After our time at the Erikson Institute, I quietly unravelled.

I have struggled with depression all my life, but alas, it is kind of like that pesky monthly period for women. Every month I am shocked that my foul mood results with menstruation. And I am 36 years old!

Depression is like that for me, too. It sneaks up on me: a few aches and pains, feeling a little down in the dumps, sleeping poorly. I fight, I do what I absolutely need to for the family and then when I can’t anymore, I get into bed and I don’t get out.

I started to see a doctor and a therapist, but I wasn’t feeling better. I cried out to God to help me, to show me how to trust him and get back on track, but to no avail. I struggled for months, but still, somehow managed to post perky facebook stati often enough so that people outside my direct family wouldn’t suspect a thing.

But I was drowning.

About three months ago, God gave me the strength to try again to get help for my depression. I went back to my doctor and let her put me on a higher dosed anti-depressant. I started seeing a different therapist and we clicked right away. I started to wake up in the morning and notice that the sun was shining.

And I saw Evangeline, a little girl considerably changed from a year ago.

Since Evie has been with us (over two years) there have been little breakthroughs here and there in our bonding. I liken them to nicking the surface of a frozen lake with a BB gun.

Now that I am above water again in life, the ice is starting to thaw. I can sit a stare at Evie for a while, marvel at her button nose, appreciate her smell, want to pull her to me.

Why the second opinion?

So, why did I take Evie for the second opinion last week?

Because I wanted to make sure that a dual diagnosis isn’t in the picture for our girl. A lot of her behaviors have fallen away but she has a lot left. And although we are doing much better, I am now struggling with the guilt of that missed time when a shadow of a mother was parenting my daughter.

At the appointment, Evie climbed up into a chair, uninterested in the train set the doctor attempted to entice her with. But she laughed when he tickled her, and followed his finger as he played with her, and looked both the doctor and me in the eye almost the whole time.

I loved the doctor. He was a bit brash and un-orthodox (took a text from his wife during our interview and laughed out loud at what she wrote :). But he cut to the chase with me and it was just what I needed.

“I don’t see any definite red flags regarding a dual diagnosis off the bat, of course, if you’d like, we can do a full evaluation of Evangeline to get more in-depth. But I have to ask, why are you here? You’ve already had your daughter evaluated at Erikson?”

“Because, well”, I took a deep breath. “Because I am afraid I am not doing enough. Our other daughter got sick and ended up needing two brain surgeries six weeks after Evangeline came home from Ukraine and I. . . well, I’ve struggled with depression.” I kind of left my answer there but in my heart I added, I am afraid that I have already failed her.

“Mrs. Marchenko, your family has been through a very difficult time these last few years. I want you to know, you are doing a good job with your kids.”

I had to look away as the tears pooled in my eyes.

“And now, Ms. Evangeline,” the doctor turned to Evie and let me attempt to compose myself.

After the visit to the doctor, I realized I had been looking for two things: 1) the wrong diagnosis, and 2) validation that I am the right mom for my child.

I share all of this with you because I am notorious for putting it all out there. It doesn’t occur to me to keep things to myself. My husband takes issue with my need to tell people how much I spent on the sales rack at Target.

But more importantly, I share this because adoption is beautiful, but it is also very hard. I share this becauseĀ  other parents and caregivers are struggling today. Post-adoption depression is real. I want you to know you are not alone. At some point, your feelings may be out of your control. Get help. There is no shame in taking care of yourself in order to care for your family.

One last thing: With God’s help, we all can be the right parents for our children.

Post-adoption depression resources:

Adoptive Families

Baby Center

Adoption Issues

Jen Hatmaker, After the Airport

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14 comments found

  1. Oh Gillian, I am sobbing at this. I love you, and I hope you are able to wake up and notice the sun shining far more often than not.

    “I have struggled with depression all my life, but alas, it is kind of like that pesky monthly period for women. Every month I am shocked that my foul mood results with menstruation. And I am 36 years old!” ~~This, however, made me laugh right out loud…me, too, sister. Me. Too.

  2. Wow. What a heartfelt and unbelievable story. I cried and I’ve never read your blog before. I’d never heard of Evangeline nor of you, but all my life I’ve craved to be a mother. I hurt inside just thinking about the days passing by in my life that I am still without a child, and I just got married 2 months ago. I fear we won’t get pregnant when we’re ready & I fear for every possible mishap that may come with parenting. Just disciplining our dog I immediately feel guilty about – sometimes to the point of tears. All I’ve ever wanted to be was a mother and yet I’m terrified of it at the same time. Thank you for this honest post. Thank you for showing your feelings & making me feel less alone. (I, too, tell everyone about my bargains off the Target sale rack. $6 pants are a big deal to me!!) God Bless you.

  3. I love your open heart. I love that you are honest because it is so needed. You know I struggle with much the same things as you… different circumstances but same general idea… and as I sit and cry after reading your post just know that I love and know that feeling of “am I really the right mother for this child? am I doing enough? did my depression wreck this child? maybe I should just crawl back into bed and stay there for ever” so so well. In fact I believe I said most of that in my head today already.

    OH… and I am 36 years old and in a foul mood because of my period right now as we speak. The good times just never end let me tell you.

    xox

  4. I love your transparency. I am a person who can share anything and I get you, totally. I also wear my heart on my sleeve and always have done so. I am 53 and your story here is beautiful. I am so glad you got help and you know what parenting is filled with guilt, but you do the best and ask for forgiveness when you screw up and let it go. God knows your heart and your circumstances and He is never about shame or guilt. He is smiling at you and your family and saying “YES!, Look at that family- they are mine and I love them.!” So .as He gives grace- make sure you realize you got and give yourself time to soak in it. Love to you and yours. Momma of 3 and Nona of 7.

  5. I love this, because I definitely went through post-adoption depression too, and this post is a very valuable resource for that. And, because at least two days out of every month, I spend hating life, thinking I am a horrible person, nearly unable to function at all without snapping, seriously wondering if I need anger management, and then I get my period. And it surprises me EVERY SINGLE TIME.

  6. Okay, sorry. Wanted to go back and edit my comment, but I haven’t figured out how, so here’s another. What I meant to say is that your story resonates with me because I can relate. We brought home twins … developmentally delayed and with numerous behaviors that nearly swamped us. Guilt for not being able to do more. Wondering if I am adequate. Loving them, but not necessarily liking them always because of the attachment issues. And yes, struggling with depression and not understanding it. Wow. Wish we were neighbors.

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