It’s starting to look quite likely that I may only be able to write my minimum number of posts this month. It’s not a time issue for me as I can blog quickly, rather it is a number of challenges in my home right now that I’d prefer to resolve first.

A big one is criticism and outright condemnation. I’ve finally gotten to my computer after a few days away from it and have caught up on Nancy Spoolstra's recent posts about facing unwarranted blame.

I’m reminded of Thumper in Bambi, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”

Words hurt people and I’ve noticed a large movement of folks assuming that adoptive parents don’t mind all the armchair criticism that I’m also often guilty of participating in as I’ve hollered from my stove through two rooms to inform Bobby Cox that he needed to take the pitcher out of the game. Do you think one of the winningest managers in baseball needs my help? I publicly apologize here for that.

I’ve been so devastated lately over disparagement, negative judgments and outright wrong opinions of others that I’ve been rendered speechless; an odd state of affairs for such a high-intensity person. Arising at 4 this morning as I like to do, writing early in the dawn, and perusing blogs and newspapers while it is still quiet in my home, I read two different adoptive mom’s battles here and here to get help for their mentally ill children as I also am in the midst of doing.

We are looked at as if we are the cause of their problems. We are the ones who adopted older, traumatized children who came from marginal circumstances and sadly we later find ourselves dangerously mistreated by our emotionally disturbed children, by mental health workers, and other overseers of resources. We tell and retell our story and the many manners in which we have sought help, yet we are looked at askance and we see in their eyes, “It really must be your fault.”

I want to scream, “Well if I did this and this, would my child then not present schizoaffective disorder symptoms? What would you have had me to do differently?”

Fortunately, I have documentation of nearly two years worth of his psychiatric diagnoses from before his adoption. Because I do not split up sibling groups, I went against the sage suggestion of his then psychiatrist who ventured an educated conclusion that this son was seriously disturbed. He was right on target. This is the same son who has threatened to murder me for quite some time now. His verbal list of victims has greatly expanded lately.

I’m reminded of that old saying, “If you don’t want to be criticized, say nothing, do nothing and be nothing.”

That’s simply not an option for a high-energy, committed and dedicated mother. I’ll continue to seek help, resources and understanding.