Years ago when I told my brother that my husband and I were planning to adopt a child, his response was something to the effect, “I get it. That’s creative.”
Creative was not a word I would have put on a process that involved nine months of paperwork. But, in the end, I believe he was correct in his succinct assessment of both the process and of me, as a “creative” kind of gal.
It’s my perspective that parenting, in general, is—or should be—a creative process. It’s something you pour yourself into—that’s the part where you play taxi driver and write checks for piano lessons. Then there’s what I call “putting your stamp” on it—that’s the part where you share parts of yourself that you hope will remain with them: a deep sense of belonging, a love for beauty, faith. The thing is, in parenting—particularly in adoptive parenting—one never really knows if the piano lessons will “take” or if the child-turned-adult will bear your stamp.
That’s where “radical acceptance” enters in. I wish my brother—or anyone—would have introduced me to that phrase before my son arrived from overseas. I poured every ounce of my creative energy into his personhood only to learn later that it was quite likely that I would see little or no part of me in the man he became.
It’s a funny thing about being a creative type: you do what you do because you have to. I had two children and my fondest memories with both are those in which I freely gave them something of myself—a part of the stamp—that they could keep or discard.
But I gave. And giving is radical. And letting go of the desire to live on somehow through our children is a matter of radical acceptance.
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/47823583@N03/8700814222″>ORIGINAL Rubber Stamp</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/”>(license)</a>