It was a damp afternoon in February. I had an hour ahead of me with a family therapist, as part of our ongoing though occasional interactions with CAMHS’s family support services. Kate was asking me what I thought my future held for me.
It has to get better, doesn’t it? It has to always get better.
Outside the light was failing, and the rain slid from the grey purple sky and flattened itself against the windowpane. No sign yet of this winter’s first snowdrops.
She knew me well enough to know that this wasn’t an existential groan of despair. But still, I felt the need to explain. I chose this life. I knew when I adopted what I might be signing up for. Life is good. I am alive and I have a child. I have lived through the grimmest of times, but I have held my nerve, and with friends and family around me, it has got better. I am strong enough for this.
I didn’t tell her this time that sometimes I have not felt strong enough.
The wind picked up.
This evening at dinner J said Get me up at 7, will you please, Mum. He tells me he is going in early to speak to his mentor. He’s heard that there are 2 or 3 adopted children in each year at his school, and he wants to suggest that he’s available to talk to any of the younger ones if they feel they need support at school. He’s been thinking about it for a few months. Maybe get a group together.
My love burns for him.
I am linking my post to the Adoption Social’s #WASO week 107, which is on the theme of Ways to Keep Positive.