So now we see those seeds of early trauma finally bear their terrible fruit. That story is not mine to tell, so I shan't but I do have a story.
It comes down to two choices; intervention or non intervention. Those choices have been chewed over and talked round for months. Do we as parents step into our adult child's life and 'fix' the unraveling that has occurred?
Every fibre of my being kicks against this, issues of consent and personal choice loom large. These are countered by questions of vulnerability and capacity. Bad decisions layered on bad decisions all trauma informed replaying earlier lives. My mind races to the 'nature or nurture' question, science seems to have a new view on that and so do I as the impacts of intergenerational trauma plays out before me.
But the 'intervention or non intervention' question rages, putting a new and unexpected challenge between me and MrsC. We have always sat squarely in different camps. I'm the non interventionist because that's what's right and proper. 'How will they learn if we always catch them before they hit the ground?' I say. MrsC is a rescuer, it's her DNA. Now we both are unsure of our default positions.
The curse of all parents, not just adoptive, seems to be the uncertain future of our children. We extrapolate todays problems through the lens of our experience and we see the dangers ahead. Right now these dangers seem very real, tangible and beyond what I ever imagined, see no easy way out without my stepping in.
I talk to my other adult children, I seek their counsel. We see that perhaps if we step in now we may always have to. It seems dramatic writing it but I ask if they are prepared to step in when I'm too old to do it. I try to recalibrate my mind, 'always step in', this was not my plan. Again is it time to adapt, new paradigms of parenting that cut against the parenting norm and accepted wisdom.
Some minds cannot learn, for whatever learn, some scripts are already written. After years of being the safety net it's clear that it's no longer accepted or wanted. I fear that the ground on which the child is going to fall this time is rockier than all of us anticipate.
So now I'm an toying with becoming an unwelcome interventionist, a position that is an anathema to me.
I'm not sure that makes much sense really but many of my friends that have walked the adoption road before me nod in agreement, my peers tell tales of young adults adrift in a world that seems to have laid out more snares and traps than the one we inhabited. Is it all doom, hell no and the adoption rule of thirds seems to ring true again. Some fall, some falter but keep on and some run.