Two months ago, my family traveled across the world. We adopted our son from the Philippines. Between the jet lag and all the changes in our family, we all longed for a good night’s sleep. It is normal to have issues in adoption and sleep when a child first joins the family. Babies wake often and need feeding and care around the clock. Even children who were adopted may struggle with bedtime when they’re older. Nighttime is when we are pushed to the limits as parents, when all we want is a few moments of blissful sleep, and our crying child just won’t allow it. Those long nights are some of the hardest as parents, but they can also be the time when the most precious moments of connection happen. In the lonely hours of a dark night, a child connects on a deep level and they learn to trust mom and dad.
I remember a season in parenting when our oldest daughter, who was also adopted internationally, went through a period of waking each night. She needed me to hold her and carry her around the small nursery over and over. Many nights I was happy to get four hours of sleep. She would cry or even scream when she woke up. She was terrified, yet, at the same time, healing from her past. She had left the only home she ever knew. In a matter of days, she left her country, her language, her food and all that was familiar. She went from an orphanage with too many children and crying babies day and night to a quiet dark house in the suburbs.
The changes would be too much for many adults to handle but this tiny 3-year-old was carrying the weight. I wished each night that I could take away her pain. Despite being safe and loved, she could not heal instantly. I would have given anything to give her a moment of peace. While most children cry because they need something, my daughter was crying from a deep ache in her soul. She was experiencing grief and heartache that no child should ever endure.
In the orphanage, my daughter learned not to cry when she needed food, water, or a change. Too often there were not enough caregivers, not enough food. We had worked tirelessly to meet her needs and to show her that asking for what she needed was okay She had years of pent-up pain, tears, and confusion that would all come out at bedtime. During the day she was starting to be happy. We made meals a happy time and made sure she never went hungry or thirsty even for a short time. I had food on me at all times and I even set reminders on my phone to check in with her to make sure she wasn’t hungry. I tried to anticipate her every need and when she trusted me enough to cry when she needed something, I jumped at the chance to meet that need.
All this is to explain that my daughter crying into my pajama top night after night was actually progress. She knew that crying would lead to comfort for the first time in her life. I, on the other hand, was lonely and dejected many of those nights. I prayed over and over for the pain to go away and that my daughter would just sleep. Many days I would cry for little to no reason. My emotional fuse was so short from extended sleep deprivation. Night after night, I repeated the scripture in Psalm 23, “The Lord is my shepherd.” It was one I had memorized since childhood and when my brain couldn’t conjure anything else in those waking hours, it kept me sane.
Then we had a breakthrough. She would go several nights without waking. When she did wake she would fall back asleep quickly. The sound machine, weighted blankets, perfect lighting, the tailored bedtime routine, and comfortable pajamas finally added together for success. Now she sleeps through the night, in her own room, and in her big girl bed without issues. Three years later my heart still races thinking about how hard that sleepless season was. When she is sick and has sleep regressions or climbs into our bed my mind goes back to that time and I have to remind myself that was in the past.
Now we are in that sleepless season again with our son who we recently adopted. It is not the same because our son is older, understands English better, and generally did not experience as much trauma in his early life. Still, nighttime is when all the emotions we have held in all day come to the surface. The hurts of the past creep in between bathtime and stories. Suddenly, his knee hurts and then he needs a drink of water. There are tears shed over toothpaste and a child who had ignored you all day suddenly wants to have an hour-long bedtime story.
We all get a little vulnerable at bedtime, and for our adopted children it is especially so. When they lay down and their little body finally slows down enough to rest, memories and emotions come to mind. We know that sleep is essential to human survival, and yet we struggle with it. Slowing down and facing my trauma at the end of the day can be scary, and I am an adult.
My children go through this many nights and I wonder why sleep is so hard. Many children growing up in orphanages or group homes do not get that one-on-one time each night. They have lost their families and so much more. Each night is a reminder of those losses.
As hard and painful as it is to stay up an hour later to help my child fall asleep, I am so blessed that I get to be the mom who comforts her child during the night. In the past, my kids have cried in the night for a mother and they were not comforted. Now, I vow always to comfort them when they cry for me. I would give all of me to help them heal—and that is tested at three in the morning when I hear the cries. While I cannot take away all their pain, I can give them my sleep.
I have tried all the sleep machines and products. I have read all the articles and tried all the things to help my children. Some work and some don’t. Some work for a while and then stop working! That is especially demoralizing. My husband and I take turns and give each other rest. I have cried into a pillow at 4 AM wondering why this motherhood thing is so hard. At the end of the day, or should I say at the end of the night, I wouldn’t want it to be anyone but my husband and I as the ones who get to protect and help heal their precious, vulnerable souls. When they cry out for me, no matter how tired my aching body and mind are, I will come and care for my child and pray that I can make up for all the nights I wasn’t there.
