6 Steps to Surviving & Thriving at Panel

As I've not written a post on here for a while, I thought I'd better make my 'return' spectacularly helpful (!!), so here come my thoughts about surviving and thriving the horror that is Panel.

First off, then: it's not a horror. At all. It's not horrible, horrific, horror-related, or even horror-ish. I might even go as far as suggesting it's actually the opposite. Anti-horror, if you like. 

[I'll just pause here to say that, as with all I write, my ramblings are based largely on nothing more than our own experiences. Please don't think that when I write things here I'm assuming that everyone's experiences are similar, or that yours, if differing, is less valid.]

But yes, it's true - I think Panel can be, and often is, an affirming experience. You've come a long way: several months of home visits, preparing yourself for this process, getting your home and your heart ready week after week for lengthy, in-depth chats with a Social Worker who, if you're lucky, has stopped being a Social Worker and has become a Name. You've attended courses, tentatively/giddily/shyly/sobbingly told friends and family of your adoption plans. You've come through something that has led you to the point of choosing adoption.  And, all too quickly, you find yourself here, at the doorway of a conference room, with a table full of unfamiliar faces before you.

And at this point, here are some things you should try to remember:

• Your Social Worker won't have brought you to panel unless they were certain that you'd get approved. That would be silly.
• This panel of people want to approve you. Why wouldn't they?!
• You are not perfect. Don't pretend to be. You're you: a big-hearted, determined, bit bruised & battered, good person.
• The panel aren't perfect either. They're just normal people. (It's not like it's the Queen or Alan Sugar or someone)
• It's really short - you'll probably be in and out in under twenty minutes
• Once it's over you're contractually obliged to treat yourself to cake/McDonalds/ice cream/cocktails

Our experiences at Panel have been positive: positive in that we've been approved, but also positive in the actual experience of being at Panel. After all that time preparing, it's kind of nice to sit and talk and reflect, to share a bit of your story with a group of people who are there expressly to listen and learn about you (how often does that happen to you?!) 

A few weeks ago we went through Panel here, for our second adoption, and there was a lovely part of the meeting that was new to us - afterwards, the Panel Chair came out to share their recommendation decision with us, but before he got to that part he read out a list of positives that the Panel members had commented on in regards to our interview and our paperwork. It was so nice; we felt affirmed and valued and, frankly, a little bit proud. 

Don't let Panel freak you out. See if you can maybe, just maybe, enjoy it a little bit. Good luck!

My Tactful reservations

So I've mentioned, a couple of times, that we've had mixed feelings from the start about the agency we're doing our adoption through this time, TACT (The Adolescent & Children's Trust).

And today, with our social worker not coming (again) for a scheduled home visit, seems like as good a time as any to write about my TACT misgivings and musings, feelings that have been bubbling away since the start. 

Beef The First
The course we had to do was not good. It was over two days, one of which was led by an experienced social worker who spent pretty much the whole day sitting down, delivering an extreme version of death by powerpoint (where he not only read word for word off the screen (which was the same as the handout we all had) but he also added loads of boring, slow, useless anecdotes) all from a chair in which he slumped to the extent of being almost laid flat. 

I was shocked on both days about some of the ways birth parents were referred to. Not actual real people, I don't think, but in pretend scenarios that we were supposed to imagine, it was, "Well Dad he was a useless bloke so he buggered off... Mum didn't have a clue what she was doing...the parents were catastrophic addicts..." That type of thing. So bad. Terrifying that this was coming from the professionals who are supposed to support them. Terrible that this is the tone they're setting for the prospective adopters who may or may not have to maintain levels of contact with these birth parents. There was little to no attempt to engender any sympathy or empathy for birth parents, which I think is a huge oversight. It's hard, but adoption is and always will be a bittersweet process. An adoptive parent's joy is made complete by the often heart-wrenching pain experienced by birth parents. This should be explored, expounded upon, discussed. 

Also, the other attendees - all couples, all wanting older children, most wanting sibling groups - cannot possibly have been well prepared by this course. When we did this process for our first adoption, we had a lot of useful content on the courses we attended. Tons on therapeutic play - massively helpful. Lots about trauma and how to approach it - hugely necessary. But both Hubby and I were genuinely surprised and concerned about how unprepared those other couples had surely been by the course - whether they realised it or not. We were hopeful that the Home Visits would help.

We were wrong. Well, in our case. Hopefully not in those others couples' cases.

Beef The Second

I cannot get over how blasé things seem during the Home Visits this time. Chatting about our lives in a roundabout way, irritating repetition of things we've told our first social worker, written in our self assessment, and already told our new social worker. We look back on our first adoption and can't believe the difference. Back then, we felt like our social worker Sarah was a family friend by the time we'd got a few Home Visits under our belts. She was interested in us, remembered things we'd talked about, shared from her experiences. She got to know us, knew our shortcomings, our weaknesses, and our strengths. She knew everything about our families, our home, our jobs. And she used that information to reassure, to explain things to us, to inform us about things that we may come across. She analysed our attachment styles, and questioned us about the sorts of things a baby could do that might push our buttons and cause us to get angry or frustrated. She prepared us. 

This time. Ugh. It's a paper exercise. A form is being filled in about us. It's box ticking. Last time, we wrote around 15,000 words for our self assessment. Sarah read this, chatted it through with us, and then used it as a base for writing the PAR. This time, our two TACT social workers have scoffed - literally - at this. We were sent one weeks ago to fill in - sparingly, we were directed - which we did, but it's been unmentioned and never referred to since. They can't believe we did that last time, wrote all those words, that we were required to do it. But what they don't seem to grasp is that it was good. In fact it was great. We needed time to reflect and we loved doing it. It prepared us. It helped us to 'nest' and get our lives ready for becoming parents. It helped us to address things that might be more relevant in becoming adopters rather than 'natural' parents. It was a perk that those who fall pregnant don't get. And here, that approach is scoffed at. Here, they would rather ask cursory questions with little exploration into who we are. 

Beef The Third
Annoying things like poor communication. It's been exacerbated by our first social worker moving away and us having a replacement, but still. Two missed Home Visits, both of which have required arranging unnecessary childcare as well as Hubby leaving work early. Going over things multiple times in an frustratingly inefficient way. Providing our references weeks and weeks ago, and them only being contacted now, with three weeks to go. Oh, and being told back then that our references didn't fit the bill (two of them being a married couple), so adding a third in, who spent time writing a wonderful reference, and now being told that was unnecessary: the married couple are fine.

And so I'm worried. I can't imagine how on earth we are going to be found a good match. We are not known. Apart from on paper of course. It gives me little faith in the service overall. It seems like a bit of a stab in the dark. Find prospective adopters. Write a perfunctory report on them. Find a child. Simple. I just don't think it *should* be as simple as this. We're talking about lives. Not data on a spreadsheet. Last time vs this time = prepared vs processed.

Whether these misgivings are a result of us being second time adopters, I don't know. Maybe I'm blaming it all on TACT when actually I should expect everything to be different this time. Who knows. But as I said at the outset, I'm doing this blog to chart my feelings throughout this process, so I'll just leave this here, and revisit at another point. If you've read this far - congratulations. That was a beast.

**Update. Having said all that, I've spent some time reflecting and praying this morning. Felt reminded to not allow this organisation to dictate how we're feeling about this adoption. I know that God is with me, and I know that I can trust him to have a hand in this process, and he knows us both far better than TACT ever can. Phew. And there is lots more *I* can be doing to grow excitement and lessen the disjointedness - blog, chat, pray, share, read books, attend courses, follow other blogs. In short, I'm feeling better.**

On Lulling

We're still very much in a lull.

Are we excited about adding to our family? Yes.

Are we keen to get to panel so that we can start looking forward to getting a match? Yes!

Is it the main thing going on in our lives right now? No... not really, no. 

Which is weird. And we've been trying to work out why this is how we're feeling. I feel a bit guilty about it to be honest; trying to explain it to our social worker earlier on didn't help either because I think I may have inadvertently given the impression that we weren't bothered about being in this process, which is not at all how I actually feel. Some writing is therefore in order, I feel, to help clarify what and why I'm feeling at the moment. 

Last time, we were first time parents. We had dealt with four years of trying to have a baby naturally (I say 'dealt with;' it's not the sort of thing you ever deal with in a concrete way, but you know...) and were pleased to have landed on the adoption process runway. It wasn't a quick decision or something we rushed into; instead it had been on our minds and had been growing in our hearts for a few months as we slowly came to the conclusion that we weren't going to fall pregnant. And then it was all pedal to the metal: home visits, paperwork, courses, medicals, paperwork, phonecall, questionnaires, observations, paperwork, home visits, forms, courses, etc. It wasn't all consuming, but it was consuming. And that was fine. We enjoyed having a focus, being busy with an end point in sight. But this time, partly because the process is different here (more about this in another post), and partly because we have Bounce, and partly because I'm working doing something I really enjoy instead of slogging away as an unhappy teacher; for all these reasons, and probably more, it doesn't feel like it's taking up much space in our lives. 

I'm not sure how I feel about this.

It's possibly healthier. I don't think obsessing about anything is a good thing, whether it's your children, your diet, your job, your house, your bank balance - it's not healthy. Balance is good. And so while I don't think we obsessed about it last time, it probably overtook a little, which was fine, but it's nice to feel this time that we can still pursue other things, and hopefully have more a patient outlook as we wait. 

But then also it feels wrong. We are having a baby. We don't know when, we don't know anything really - but we are having a baby, and this is Big with a capital B. I don't have that excitement bubbling away inside, I don't feel broody really, and Hubby and I don't often talk about it. Surely we should do!? 

It doesn't help that today's home visit was our first in almost a month, and we've not had any homework to complete in that time apart from an online DBS application which takes all of about five minutes. So in the most literal terms, it's taken up next to none of our time over the past four or five weeks. Also I've started a new job, doing some part time work, which has been hectic and busy and really fun, so that's taken up a lot of my thought-life, as well as my spare time. 

And perhaps, finally, it's also to do with others. If my belly were growing big with impending child, it would probably naturally become the focus of lots of conversations. Friends and others asking how I'm doing, checking for updates or scan photos or whatever. But with a prospective adoptive parent, those small-talk conversations which shunt the upcoming baby into the forefront of your mind (if they're not already there!), don't really happen in the same way. Perhaps, with adoption, it's easier for friends and family to forget. Perhaps they asked me how things were going last time we chatted, and they don't feel the need to ask again yet. Perhaps they don't know how much I even *want* to talk about it. Perhaps they don't want to offend, or are fearful of using clumsy language or upsetting me or something. All of these things are fine with me, in fairness. I wouldn't want it to dominate, in any sense; I wouldn't want to sound like a broken record. But perhaps these reasonings do help me to understand more about why it feels like we're in a bit of a 'dry patch.' 

So. Some conclusions: 

 - I'm not obsessed about the adoption: Good Thing

 - I'm excited deep down: Good Thing

 - I have lots of other stuff going on in my life: Good Thing

 - I don't talk to Hubby about it very often: Not a Great Thing - - - do this more

 - I don't pray about it enough: Not a Great Thing - - - do this more

We've got a new social worker and I'm freaking out

I've been wobbling a bit this week. 

We were told that our lovely social worker, Billie, was leaving her post to move to a new job, and so we would be allocated a new social worker, Helen. 

Also, one of our home visits had to be rearranged, because of the new social worker, to a weekday morning which meant that I had to ship Bounce out to a friend's house when really we just need some quality time together. 

Also, we are being asked to consider Foster For Adoption (FFA) because we want to adopt a baby, and where we live most placements of babies occur on an FFA basis. (I'll write about this in another post because otherwise this post will be ridiculously long!)

So it's been a wobbly week.

Meeting Helen went really well, especially if you ignore the incredible meltdown Bounce had, timed to perfection just as everyone arrived at the house. She is very nice, interested in us and in Bounce, friendly and approachable - all of which are brilliant. Brilliant because with our first adoption we got on so, so well with our social worker, Sarah, and felt completely comfortable with her, meaning that this time around the bar was quite high. We were well aware of how different we might find the process if we didn't feel at ease with our allocated social worker, and we have often commented over the past couple of months how lucky we felt to have landed Billie to work alongside this time round. So it's great that Helen is so nice.  

The wobble-inducing problem is that this is her first adoption assessment. She is an experienced social worker but hasn't done one before, instead working on fostering assessments. I suppose it's nice that we'll be her first, and I know that in general we're a fairly straightforward case which I guess is a good way for her to be 'initiated'. But already it's been clear that this is going to have a fairly big impact on the process for us. I spent the whole morning the other day with her just repeating stuff that I've already told Billie, and that we've written in our assessment (which Helen told me she'd read). She also told me that she'll be adding in some extra dates for home visits so that she can make sure she's covered everything, even though with Billie we booked in plenty in advance, taking us all the way up to panel, back at the start of Stage 2. If you've experienced this stage of the assessment, you'll know that trying to fit in the visits around work and home life is tough enough, and so to have to add even more in to a busy schedule doesn't fill me with much joy. Especially as I imagine that a lot of the extra sessions are simply going to be to help her out, not actually anything to do with us. 

Am I being horrible about this?

It just seems like we're going to be accommodating her, rather than the other way round. We've got to fit in extra sessions, and go over stuff again - really labouring the important points so that she doesn't miss anything - and we've got to come to a point of feeling confident that she knows us really well, well enough to match us with a baby. This is the part I'm worrying about slightly. I'm worrying that she'll be so preoccupied by the assessment - the paperwork, working out how to do it all correctly and not wanting to get anything wrong - that she'll not even really have the headspace or capacity to get to know us properly. At our meeting the other day she wasn't relaxed. We weren't simply chatting and allowing her to get to know me in a natural way. It didn't feel like it had felt with Sarah or with Billie. 

I really hope that I'm doing my usual and overreacting about this. I really hope that our first meeting the other day was the worst point, and that from now on Helen relaxes and gets into it, and makes all of us feel at ease. And I really hope that anyone reading this doesn't judge me (especially if you happen to be a social worker!).

Disclaimer: I think social workers are amazing, incredible people. I think Helen is lovely and will do her best and will be easy to talk to, and professional, and well-prepared for Panel, all of which are NOT to be sniffed at. I'm just having a wobble!

No Mascara Needed

I'm feeling nervous! 

Our two days of adoption course training are nearly upon us, and I'm feeling nervous. Anxious. On edge. 

Not because I don't know what to expect; I do, largely. Although presumably some of the content will have changed since last time we attended the same course, I imagine that a lot of it will be similar. And that's what worrying me. 

Last time, I found the two day course full-on, intense, and a lot to take in. They bombard you with quite a lot of information, which you try to absorb while also sussing out the other attendees and trying to make the most of the chance to make friends with others who are potentially in a similar situation as you. 

The course covers lots of things, and a particularly impactful element for me was the part that focussed on birth parents, and reasons for children going into care. You look at the reasons children may be removed, and the way the process works. It's to build empathy, to make sure adopters feel for those whose children are taken away from them. This element of the course, its very inclusion in the course materials, is absolutely right and it's good and it's heartbreaking and it's bittersweet. 

And now I've got to face it again, but this time from the point of view not as a newcomer, with no point of reference, but as a mummy with a son who was taken away from another mummy. As a mummy with a son whose life could have been so different. When the course leaders talk about the reasons children are removed from the birth families, how will I not be thinking of Bounce, and his vulnerable start? When they talk about the issues and difficulties faced by birth parents, how do I not think about Bounce's birth parents, and what they mean to him and what they were to him? 

We knew at the outset of this second journey that it would be emotional - because it's beautiful, and exciting, and difficult, and life-changing, yes - but also because it's closer to home now, in a new, different sense. It's a reminder of things that, rightly or wrongly, you forget about in the day to day busyness of mummy-ing and life-ing. It's a reminder of, 'Oh, yeh - Bounce is adopted....his life could have looked so different...I wonder what he would be like if...' aaaand let the sobbing commence. 

So. I will cry. I will not wear mascara. I will take tissues. I will cry, maybe a lot. And that's okay. A deep breath, a quick prayer, a glance at my phone to see Bounce's happy, safe, gorgeous face, a squeeze of Hubby's hand, a nose-blow, and I'll be okay. 

Getting Going...(but not too quickly, please)

It feels, now, like things are really Getting Going. 

We first met with our (now) social worker in the middle of February 2018 (back when we all thought that winter was on its way out...and yet really it has only just left, literally yesterday), and we now have a panel date booked in for July. As second-time adopters, we are able to fast-track to the second stage of the approval process, which means that while we still have to complete the paperwork and checks of Stage One, we are able to do those whilst getting stuck in straight away with the meaty bit -  the home visits and PAR (Prospective Adopter Report) writing of Stage Two. So we've had a few meetings with our social worker, and have so far gone into detail about our family of origin, home and work life, support networks (inexplicably called 'eco-maps'), finances, and employment history (amongst other things).

We were pleased to learn that we were able to fast-track: once you've adopted, there's a lot about the technicalities of the process itself that you don't need to revisit. We know what panel is like and how it works, we understand about things like different options for contact with birth parents. And so being able to get through the process quicker is not a bad thing (even though the process itself really isn't a long affair; our first adoption went from initial registration of interest to Bounce moving in in twelve months). 

But. 

Rewriting our PAR (15,000 words last time)? Fortnightly meetings in our home with our social worker so that she can get to know us? Health and safety checks? All get a big tick from me. Some friends have asked why we have to go through it all again - isn't that just pointless, frustrating: we know what we're doing don't we?? -  which I suppose the two of us probably wondered back at the start. But now, I just feel grateful for this time. For this chance to delve back into our childhoods, to chat about our marriage, to look tentatively into the experiences that have led us back to this point again, a chance to reflect on how our lives have changed since Bounce moved in, and a chance to talk together about what we've learnt and loved and loathed. I'm grateful for this time to pause and savour life as a family of three. 

And really, would I want it to happen any quicker? If things go to plan, we'll go from initial contact to being approved to adopt in five months. And then the waiting for a match begins; last time it was four months. I saw a post thingy the other day about how 'backwards' humans are because our pregnancies last a staggering nine months, but actually I think that's just really, really good. Imagine if you went from no baby to baby just like that - in a week or something. Terrifying! And so that's how I feel: bursting with excitement at times, but also just so, so relieved to have this time to adjust, to get used to the idea of how things might change, to help prepare my heart and my home and little Bounce. 

You may want to remind me of this later in the year.... 😉

Adopting Again

Hello to anyone reading this! At the moment that's just me, but that's fine. I don't mind talking to myself.

So...we're adopting again.

When we adopted our son Bounce a few years ago, one of the things I...regret is too strong a word...one of the things I wish I'd done is to write more during the process: write about the highs and lows, the swinging emotions, the excitement building, the suspense while waiting, and the intensity of the process as a whole. And now - we're doing it all again! So this time, I'm chronicling it. On here, because it's easier and more convenient to type than write, and because this way I'll keep at it. Plus, it might be a good way to connect with other adopters which would be great!

I've decided to keep this blog anonymous for now, partly for my own privacy because we've not told everyone yet that we're adopting again, and partly for Bounce's privacy, and partly to avoid any complications with confidentiality for the new adoption. So I'm having to get creative and think of code names for my husband and my son! I'll reveal (drumroll please) that we live in England, we're both in our 30s, and Bounce is three years old.

And for now, I'll close with memories of Bounce playing sweetly with his baby cousin earlier on today...Aaaand the excitement brews 😌