Dora starts therapy again on Friday. We had two marathon sessions with two therapists each time while we were in Rhode Island at the ATTACh conference, but this will be our first session at home. I have known the therapist for quite awhile and I am confident she will do a good job. I am most excited to have someone else in the loop with me, helping Dora figure out what she is thinking and feeling, and what to do with those thoughts and feelings. I also have little doubt that we will have plenty to talk about each week.


Dora’s anger is spewing out at school, as reported by the neighbor boy who is in her class. She has a boatload of angst lurking barely beneath the surface. Anger is tangible, and as her awesome therapists in Rhode Island told her, anger covers sad, scared or ashamed. She has plenty of reasons why she might feel any or all combinations of those emotions, so we have much work to do.


Dora and I had a long talk last night, clearing the air on some things. She is being quite fakey and we all know it. I told her I’d much rather she be real than pretend she was happy when she truly wasn’t. I also predicted it might be quite some time before she really felt true happiness … there is no time frame on her healing. She has patterns of responses and conditioned reactions that will take time to reframe. She has also spent considerable time dreaming about other places she would rather be, and living in my household is no exception. She has yet to decide to put down roots here (even though she knows she will not be returning to her first adoptive family)… and the main topic of our conversation last night was about her committing to us as much as we commit to her. I told her I would go to the ends of the earth to help her with her feelings and emotions, but she had to make a decision to want to be here before any progress could be made. I reiterated that accepting and/or embracing the future didn't mean forgetting the past ... merely making a decision to look forward rather than backwards. She said she spends a considerable amount of time thinking about "poor pitiful me" and avoiding making any positive decisions. Bingo, she's correct!


I know I am preaching to the choir as far as you readers are concerned, aren’t I? Is this what we all struggle with so much? One of the most recent articles about Nancy Bostock describes how many years she and her husband invested in her son, and how resistant he was to claiming her family. It reminds me of a card I once received from Amy … “Thanks for letting me be a part of YOUR family.” That says it all, doesn’t it? Not HER family, but MY family. She never opted for any response other than dwelling on the "poor, pitiful me" aspect of her life. How sad that she missed all the good that was there as well.