I just hit the “complete upload” button for the final manuscript of the book to the printer. A friend asked me the other day how I was feeling about the book being released. I replied there was still work to be done and I wouldn’t really know how I was feeling until it was finished. The last few days have been spent going through the document with a fine tooth comb looking for any little thing wrong; a comma in the wrong place, a misspelled word, or something weirdly formatted.
Finally, I had to follow a “rule” my husband has said many times. It’s time to shoot the engineer and move on with the project. So with one last glance and a quick prayer, I hit the button. And waited for the confirmation that it was accepted with no problems.
YAY! Both ebook and print versions were accepted without needing any additional fixing. Now I can answer the question my friend asked. How do I feel?
I stopped to think about it and realized I didn’t know if I knew how to feel anymore. Too many years spent keeping my emotions hidden so our RAD teens couldn’t use them against me and I’m realizing I don’t know where to find them anymore. I try looking inside my heart and there seems to be nothing there.
I think I should feel excited. I wrote a book. It’s been published. People are ordering it. What I really want to do though is cry. This book was written because our family endured so much trauma and that trauma has permanently changed all of us. My teens are still working to recover from the damage and so am I. We are still dealing with the fall out. Life trajectories have been altered. This wasn’t a labor of love, this book, but a mission. A mission I would truly trade for a family who wasn’t broken into a million pieces.
At the same time however, I am grateful. Grateful there is something good coming from everything we lived through. The thought that if this helps one family feel less isolated, one family deciding against bringing a potential disaster into their family, or one family who gets the support they desperately need because the right person read this book is what kept me writing through the tears.
Somehow I thought that writing it, then re-writing it so many times, would help numb the pain. I was wrong. Even yesterday while reading through and looking for errors, going through the passage where one of our adopted boys admitted to molesting my beloved daughter made me seethe with anger. And there is not one thing I can do about him except write and warn others. At the time of the confession he was back in Ukraine, far from my reach, which was probably a good thing.
Adoption Combat Zone was written as a warning. Adopt, but know what you might be getting into. Know what is possible. Eyes wide open. Let your network know what could happen so they are prepared to support you, no matter what.
It’s also meant as a tool. If you’ve adopted and are surrounded by those who don’t believe you, don’t believe what you are going through is all that bad, have them read it. It’s a tool I wrote for you. For your extended family, family doctor, teachers and more. A view into what your life is truly like so they can support you like you need.
And for those of you who think you are all alone. You are not. Far from it. You are part of a quiet army of thousands who have sacrificed everything to help an orphan have a family. You are silent heroes.
And that brings me to my last hope. The hope this book will remove the veil of silence around us who have adopted and are living in tragic situations. That the truth is brought out that there are thousands of us living in untenable situations with no way out and no support and in many cases, surrounded by those who don’t even believe us.
I pray every day to Yahweh that He would heal my family and that this book will make a difference for all of you.
Simply My Opinion,
Kathe
www.adoptioncombatzone.com