Entry 2: Gaslighting

If you missed it, I am telling our story in a series of entries on this blog. If you didn't read the first, please go back and do so. 

This story begins and ends with gaslighting.

I didn’t know what that word meant before a few years ago. And it fits perfectly with what I have experienced with my now ex-husband, who we will call John. Gaslighting is basically lying to make someone else doubt their own reality. So when you tell someone a story and they say, “that didn’t happen” or “you’re remembering it wrong, you always do this!” that is them gaslighting you.  Or you say, “I feel hungry” and they say, “no you don’t, you just ate!” Your feelings are minimized, your thoughts are wrong.

In my case, it really started when I became a mother.

We adopted our first child- our oldest son, who we will call Adam. The adoption process was long and arduous, but the minute I saw his picture the first time, I knew I would devote my life to raising him. Holding him the first time was truly magical. I felt the weight of what it meant that another woman had given him to us to give him his best chance in life. I pledged in my heart to try and never let her down. I would work my hardest to give him everything he needed to have a healthy and happy life.

Adam was unusually happy after we brought him home from his birth country. He was 9 months old, and never cried. Never. He never asked for anything- food, drinks, sleep. He accepted what we gave him and the schedule we wanted. He was content in any situation. He slept like a log, and never woke up at night. I deduced that I was a fantastic mother and was doing everything right! Why else would he never fuss or demand things, and why else would he smile almost 100% of the time?

*not actual Adam

What I didn’t know at the time was he was exhibiting signs of Insecure Attachment- distancing himself from his own needs and feelings and refusing to get attached to any one person. A 9 month-old baby who had already decided that it wasn’t okay to ask for things he needed, because maybe the people he was with couldn’t or wouldn’t give them. We had learned about Reactive Attachment Disorder in our adoption classes, but it was always depicted as a child who screamed non-stop or threw things or completely rejected their adoptive family. They never talked about what to do if your kid was unusually happy, but later I learned it might have been just as demonstrative of RAD as if he was throwing knives at me.

Around age 4, I had begun to notice that Adam didn’t behave the same as kids his own age. He never wanted to play with other kids, and he was very low-energy. His favorite hobby was laying on the ground on his belly and rolling Hot Wheels cars back and forth in front of his face so he could watch the wheels. He was unusually smart- he could read well before he started kindergarten. And he still loved being the clown for close friends and family, but had begun fearing strangers. And he didn’t show much emotion for any reason. He snuck around and stole snacks from our pantry- even though if he had asked, I would’ve happily given him some.  He would take sharp knives from a drawer and make marks on our kitchen table with them- small areas at a time- until it looked like a dog had bitten it. He destroyed his foam mattress topper despite us tell him over and over to stop pulling pieces of it off.  

When I mentioned these things to family or friends, they (justifiably) told me that all kids are different, and maybe he was just an introvert. Don’t worry, they said.

*not Adam

I gave birth to his brother, who we will call Isaiah, when he was 3. Isaiah was the first person I ever felt like Adam really loved deeply. He cared about where Isaiah was and what he was doing. He was distressed when Isaiah cried. Isaiah had some high needs due to medical issues as a baIby, and Adam would sit next to me on my bed as I fed, held, and soothed Isaiah all day.

But by the time he was 5, I couldn’t ignore Adam’s unusual behavior anymore.  Luckily, a friend told me about a counselor who specialized in adoption-related issues, and we were able to get an appointment. She touched on some hypotheticals about how his behavior could be from the adoption trauma, but he presented more as autistic. She ordered testing at a children’s hospital. Their findings showed that he was not autistic or anywhere on the spectrum, but he did have quirky behaviors and fairly bad ADHD. We continued counseling for a while and decided to start ADHD meds. Life went on. Nothing alarming was happening, so we stopped making the hour drive to see our counselor, and hoped everything would just get better with age. Around this time, I gave birth to his two new siblings- twins- who we will call Sammy and Honey. A boy and a girl.

Adam did well in school and was liked by teachers and other kids alike. Since he was an introvert, some extroverts in his class basically took him in. I thought it was odd that he never asked to have his friends over and I didn’t push him. He occasionally went on playdates when he was asked but refused to join any team sports or groups. He hated having to talk to people too much. And he had unfortunately developed a hunger for all things digital- phones, tablets, computers, anything with a screen. I had always wanted to keep my kids as far away as possible from these things, but John didn’t agree and let them slip into our lives. Adam was a monster when he was allowed to play them for any period of time and when we told him screen time was over. He even once told me that screens “make everything feel better."

I had become concerned again when he had difficulty with reading comprehension and storytelling and requested some testing through our local school district. Once again, he didn’t qualify for any certain program or diagnosis. I still wasn’t satisfied, so I took him to a center where supposedly they could help kids like him who were “quirky” but not diagnosed- the kids who fell through the cracks. I told the therapist about all the weird stuff I saw that no one else did.  There, he once again was deemed to not be on the spectrum. As I discussed his results with a therapist there, he frankly told me, “You need to accept that he is not autistic. Instead, he has brain differences from being adopted.” I rejected this idea entirely.  He had been so happy and had integrated into our family seamlessly. How could he be damaged from that?

*not Adam

All through this time, John complained that I was overreacting- that I was too worried about everything. Sure, Adam’s personality was different, but he got good grades and didn’t cause trouble, so what was I worried about? He began building a narrative about me that went something like this: You see a miniscule problem and blow it up into unreasonable proportions. You are too tightly wound and too overdramatic. No one else sees a problem, so it must just be you.

Gaslighting.

My mother-in-law backed him up of course. She didn’t want Adam to be diagnosed with anything because “then he is put in a box for life.” I tried to tell her that some sort of diagnosis would help unlock help for him, but once again was told he was perfectly normal- if anything, he was exceptionally perfect. Being the only grandchild on both sides of the family for years had really endeared him to his relatives. How dare I suggest he was different?

I talked with counselors, therapists, teachers, principals, friends, family, and of course poured over articles on the internet. No one else really saw what I saw. It seemed that since he behaved well on the outside, they thought I was making stuff up. He loved Isaiah so much and was so happy. He was a good brother and an easy kid to care for. He loved cars and music and seemed content with life in general.

No one saw it.

〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰

Until one day, Adam tried to drown Isaiah in the bath tub while maniacally laughing as if it was the best fun he ever had.