I apologize if I sound like a pompous know-it-all at times. I don’t even know all that much, I just feel that I bring a great deal of experience to the party. Sharing these experiences, and how we overcame our difficulties, is the only way I know how to encourage others to keep on keeping on. I certainly understand your frustrations and despair.

Billy Ray Cyrus, getting kicked off Dancing With The Stars, stated, “What I lack in talent, I’ve made up for in effort,” which describes how I feel as well.

It wasn’t until I’d spent years in the adoption world that I learned that many of the books I’d read about happy, large adoptive families weren’t that close to our reality. I believe that children are much more hardened now; even more damaged, not just by trauma, but by multiple moves in the foster care system, and even inadvertently by society and the media with its emphasis on thug mentality, the glamorization of gang life, the early sexualization of preteens and the lack of sound morals.

I’ve had some pretty wild children move into my house but judging from my email, from children’s case studies, and what I hear from social workers, the older kids now available for adoption are particularly challenging. All y’all are certainly going to need a scrappy, contentious cheerleader like me to remind you that it is truly all worth it in the end. If I did not deeply believe that then I’d have escaped my institution by now.

I had a nine year old tear up his room last night after refusing my instructions to go to said room.

I must teach him respect for authority. That’s the first step at keeping them out of jail.

I physically carried him to his room, he’s large and solid, he was kicking and flailing, when I shut the door after him, he threw shoes and items with bone crunching noises at this door for about an hour. Furniture was overturned, clothes jerked out of the closet and flung on the floor while I inwardly prayed, “Just don’t break that brand new window.”

Eventually he calmed down, had to suffer through my explanation of why I view that as inappropriate behavior. Worse yet I made him explain it all back to me while I went about my business of getting supper on the table. Next option included his room clean up time.

I was very angry; in my head were ugly scenarios. I’m tired of the wanton destruction but somehow I maintained my cool, still seething somewhat, but if I let it show, they’ll feed off of it and it’d be a days long conflict rather than an hour long skirmish.

He sees a psychologist, but again this takes years and years to turn around. He’s been here five years with four other raging, difficult birth siblings that I am daily tempted to call it quits on, this testing process has gone on way too long.

I’m allowed these inward momentary fantasies of life without ragers, but reality explodes in my face once again, I hug the offender, and we start over in our relationship as mother and son.