Today was not a great day.
I have not been sleeping much the past 10 nights or so and it is catching up. I’m tired.
Work was rough – it was busy, stressful and frustrating. I’ve been trying to get organized for an event that runs the entire upcoming weekend and someone helping me (they only had ONE task to do) screwed up...BIG TIME...and I had to take the blame for it. It makes the entire organization look stupid, but in particular, it makes ME look stupid...and in my field, reputation means everything to me. Burning bridges in my career is not an option and I’m not happy that someone did this on my behalf (this someone being someone who knew better, too). I am trying to figure out some way to patch it up but it’s pretty much impossible now.
On top of being tired, M did not pick up the letter from the post office in her town. The post office says they attempted delivery yesterday and had no luck, so they left a card, advising it could be picked up (w/photo id) at the post office after 3 pm yesterday. I checked the status every half hour today.
Oi vey...
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Patience...
Patience. It is not my virtue. But, it’s certainly something I’m getting a good lesson in lately.
I read a quote yesterday about patience (I do not know who to attribute these words to) that said, “Patience is waiting. Not passively waiting, that is laziness. But to keep going when the going is hard and slow – that is patience.”
Patience and waiting, to me, are two different things.
It’s hard to wait, but we do it daily. We wait for the coffee pot to fill, we wait for the shower to shoot out hot water, we wait for traffic lights to turn green and we wait for our fave TV shows to come on. Life is constantly a waiting game. Yes, sometimes it’s a pain in the butt to wait in these situations, but it’s nothing that should make or break your day when it comes down to it.
Patience is a whole other ball-game. It’s not just ‘waiting’, but ‘waiting’ with awareness and respect and perseverance. It’s waiting when the matter that you’re waiting for, is life-changing. It’s having the ability to ‘sit’ with whatever the issue is and ride it out…hold on…not give up.
I have been tracking the envelope I sent to my birthmother (who I will refer to as M). It moved very quickly. It arrived in her town and went out for delivery and signature (I sent it registered so she’d have to sign for it) this morning. A few hours later it was delivered to her address, but not signed for, so it has now arrived back at the post office in her town. This, I believe, means that she was not at home to sign for it, so she’ll get a notice on her door and will have to go and pick it up at the post office.
Of course, part of me did not rationally think this out and reason that this was the case. Because it matters deeply to me, my first thought was that M had enough of me. She’s busy and has moved on. She’s off doing better things and maybe she even moved away. She’s gone…again. For her, I’m not good enough, worthy enough, pretty enough, smart enough, tall enough…and the list goes on. The list of things that I make up, because of my fear that I will not be lovable or worth keeping…this time.
The truth is; I am enough. I’m more than enough. I know this.
It’s been 12 years since we first had brief contact. I was 17 years old. I can’t even begin to write how my life has changed in 12 years...how I’ve changed in those years. It truly boggles my mind when I think back to when I was 17...and that is another blog entry for another day. That said, I’m healthy, settled, grounded and happy. I like myself. A lot. I’m blessed to have the life I do, because it could be very different. So, yes, I’ve changed. And, I’d guess that she has changed, too. Perhaps we both have a deeper understanding of the complexity of our connection. Perhaps we’re both stronger now.
It’s hard...to wait. It’s even more difficult to be patient, especially in these circumstances. This is huge. In some ways, it’s giving up control and letting life work itself out the way it’s supposed to while staying present and active.
The ‘going’ is hard. The ‘going’ is slow. But, here I am. I’m STILL here.
I read a quote yesterday about patience (I do not know who to attribute these words to) that said, “Patience is waiting. Not passively waiting, that is laziness. But to keep going when the going is hard and slow – that is patience.”
Patience and waiting, to me, are two different things.
It’s hard to wait, but we do it daily. We wait for the coffee pot to fill, we wait for the shower to shoot out hot water, we wait for traffic lights to turn green and we wait for our fave TV shows to come on. Life is constantly a waiting game. Yes, sometimes it’s a pain in the butt to wait in these situations, but it’s nothing that should make or break your day when it comes down to it.
Patience is a whole other ball-game. It’s not just ‘waiting’, but ‘waiting’ with awareness and respect and perseverance. It’s waiting when the matter that you’re waiting for, is life-changing. It’s having the ability to ‘sit’ with whatever the issue is and ride it out…hold on…not give up.
I have been tracking the envelope I sent to my birthmother (who I will refer to as M). It moved very quickly. It arrived in her town and went out for delivery and signature (I sent it registered so she’d have to sign for it) this morning. A few hours later it was delivered to her address, but not signed for, so it has now arrived back at the post office in her town. This, I believe, means that she was not at home to sign for it, so she’ll get a notice on her door and will have to go and pick it up at the post office.
Of course, part of me did not rationally think this out and reason that this was the case. Because it matters deeply to me, my first thought was that M had enough of me. She’s busy and has moved on. She’s off doing better things and maybe she even moved away. She’s gone…again. For her, I’m not good enough, worthy enough, pretty enough, smart enough, tall enough…and the list goes on. The list of things that I make up, because of my fear that I will not be lovable or worth keeping…this time.
The truth is; I am enough. I’m more than enough. I know this.
It’s been 12 years since we first had brief contact. I was 17 years old. I can’t even begin to write how my life has changed in 12 years...how I’ve changed in those years. It truly boggles my mind when I think back to when I was 17...and that is another blog entry for another day. That said, I’m healthy, settled, grounded and happy. I like myself. A lot. I’m blessed to have the life I do, because it could be very different. So, yes, I’ve changed. And, I’d guess that she has changed, too. Perhaps we both have a deeper understanding of the complexity of our connection. Perhaps we’re both stronger now.
It’s hard...to wait. It’s even more difficult to be patient, especially in these circumstances. This is huge. In some ways, it’s giving up control and letting life work itself out the way it’s supposed to while staying present and active.
The ‘going’ is hard. The ‘going’ is slow. But, here I am. I’m STILL here.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Letter Sent
The letter is sent. I was able to finally let it go this afternoon. My birthmother should receive it by the end of Wednesday. It was very brief. I did ask for a reply by mail and told her if I don’t receive a reply by a certain date, that I will contact her by phone. I’m fairly certain she’ll write back almost immediately. She has in the past. That said, I realize she may not reply or she may reply and not want contact.
I don’t feel any relief in sending the letter. I actually feel a whole slew of emotions and none of them are relief. It all feels very intense and complex.
I don’t feel any relief in sending the letter. I actually feel a whole slew of emotions and none of them are relief. It all feels very intense and complex.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Feelings
I painted this ceramic plate back in the Fall of 2007 (click on picture to enlarge photo). I sometimes find it a bit difficult to verbalize my thoughts and feelings, so I get most of my 'stuff' out through writing and other means (music, art, etc). I had a lot of adoption stuff swirling around inside of my head and this is how it came out.
Today has been a bit of an odd day, feeling wise. I did not send my birthmother the letter today. Fear got me. I just couldn't do it. It seemed to get stuck in my head, throat and heart. My goal is to accomplish this tomorrow.
By the way, feel free to leave me comments or questions by clicking on 'comments' below my post.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Fear, Safety, Love & Risk
Approximately four weeks ago I received my packet of non-identifying information from my adoption file. For those of you who are not familiar with this, non-identifying info includes things like age, medical history, occupations, and generally anything that would not be obviously identifying in a search to find someone (ie. addresses, names and that sort of thing). To get this information, you need to fill out forms, provide ID and then play the waiting game. Once your request is given the green light, the government gives permission to the agency to look in the file and pull out whatever non-identifying information they decide is appropriate to pass along.
After waiting for weeks and weeks, I had four pages to read of how I came to be, details of my birth and the supposed circumstances of why my birthmother decided to place me for adoption. Some details I knew, some I didn’t, some I wanted to know and, of course, some I’d rather not. So is life.
I’ll be sending my birthmother a brief registered letter tomorrow. I’d be lying if I said my stomach doesn’t churn at the thought of moving forward and contacting her. I know I’m ready to do this and it’s time. Fear tells me I’m not ready and that it’s not time...but that’s what fear does. It keeps you stuck. It tells you that you’re safer if you stay in the same spot and don’t make any moves. Fear keeps you distracted and tells you that you can’t do ‘it’ (whatever ‘it’ is for you). Fear thrives on safety, love thrives on risk.
I think this is one of the biggest risks of my life.
After waiting for weeks and weeks, I had four pages to read of how I came to be, details of my birth and the supposed circumstances of why my birthmother decided to place me for adoption. Some details I knew, some I didn’t, some I wanted to know and, of course, some I’d rather not. So is life.
I’ll be sending my birthmother a brief registered letter tomorrow. I’d be lying if I said my stomach doesn’t churn at the thought of moving forward and contacting her. I know I’m ready to do this and it’s time. Fear tells me I’m not ready and that it’s not time...but that’s what fear does. It keeps you stuck. It tells you that you’re safer if you stay in the same spot and don’t make any moves. Fear keeps you distracted and tells you that you can’t do ‘it’ (whatever ‘it’ is for you). Fear thrives on safety, love thrives on risk.
I think this is one of the biggest risks of my life.
There Are No Mistakes
Life is not simple. Life is intricately connected with people, memories, choices, rules, expectations and experiences and many circumstances. Life is anything but simple.
Nineteen years ago, I was 10 years old. I returned from school one afternoon, running to my mother and informing her that my teacher had told my class that babies who are being placed for adoption are placed in a basket and put aside, to be found by whomever and then given to the proper parents. Being adopted myself, I had already concocted many stories in my head of how I was placed for adoption and none of these fantasies included a basket. My mother quickly denied the story and booked an appointment to visit the adoption home I was placed through and where I spent the first three weeks of my life.
I remember the entire visit. Since I was first told I was adopted (and I cannot remember specifically being told I was adopted) it was always on my mind. That is how I identified myself. I wasn’t just simply ‘Laurel’. I was ‘adopted’ before I was Laurel. Walking into the Home, I saw it as my chance of getting as close as possible to my birthmother who I yearned to find and connect with.
We met with a social worker/counsellor who I will refer to as Sally. I adored her. I memorized her name, eyes and every detail she shared with me. She showed me the nursery I stayed in during the precious first weeks of my life. It held many bassinettes and a rocking chair. She then took me through the house where birthmothers could stay before they gave birth to their babies. I knew my birthmother had stayed in the house for the few weeks prior to my birth and I tried to picture her there. The visit was short, but I often relived the visit in my mind for many years.
This past week I travelled to an out of town conference for work, which just happened to be in the town where my birthfamily is from. As I sat at a table, the other tables filled up around me. No one sat with me. I wasn’t particularly bothered by this, but I did think to myself that this was odd. As the keynote speaker began the conference, a woman walked in and took a seat at my table. I looked over to see her name tag and where she was from and in a mixture of shock and complete disbelief, I read her tag. Surely, I thought to myself, that it couldn’t be right...that I must be dreaming or be imagining things. I turned away, blinked hard and turned back. My eyes weren’t lying. Nineteen years after my visit to the Home, here she was again. It was Sally.
After my initial nervousness settled down, I told her who I was and how I knew her. And, we talked and talked. I don’t think I’ve ever talked so quickly (and honestly) in my entire life. Over the past eight months, I’ve been working towards contacting my birthmother to meet with her and, to me; this wasn’t just a coincidence that Sally was there at my table on this particular day. Connecting with her – at this point in my life – is an amazing gift.
Life is not simple. BUT – there are moments in life when circumstances come about that make the journey a little less difficult and a bit clearer and bring hope. There are blessings and answers that will come, if you’re patient, that will help to push you in the right direction.
I’ve created this blog to share my journey through all of this. So, here goes...
Nineteen years ago, I was 10 years old. I returned from school one afternoon, running to my mother and informing her that my teacher had told my class that babies who are being placed for adoption are placed in a basket and put aside, to be found by whomever and then given to the proper parents. Being adopted myself, I had already concocted many stories in my head of how I was placed for adoption and none of these fantasies included a basket. My mother quickly denied the story and booked an appointment to visit the adoption home I was placed through and where I spent the first three weeks of my life.
I remember the entire visit. Since I was first told I was adopted (and I cannot remember specifically being told I was adopted) it was always on my mind. That is how I identified myself. I wasn’t just simply ‘Laurel’. I was ‘adopted’ before I was Laurel. Walking into the Home, I saw it as my chance of getting as close as possible to my birthmother who I yearned to find and connect with.
We met with a social worker/counsellor who I will refer to as Sally. I adored her. I memorized her name, eyes and every detail she shared with me. She showed me the nursery I stayed in during the precious first weeks of my life. It held many bassinettes and a rocking chair. She then took me through the house where birthmothers could stay before they gave birth to their babies. I knew my birthmother had stayed in the house for the few weeks prior to my birth and I tried to picture her there. The visit was short, but I often relived the visit in my mind for many years.
This past week I travelled to an out of town conference for work, which just happened to be in the town where my birthfamily is from. As I sat at a table, the other tables filled up around me. No one sat with me. I wasn’t particularly bothered by this, but I did think to myself that this was odd. As the keynote speaker began the conference, a woman walked in and took a seat at my table. I looked over to see her name tag and where she was from and in a mixture of shock and complete disbelief, I read her tag. Surely, I thought to myself, that it couldn’t be right...that I must be dreaming or be imagining things. I turned away, blinked hard and turned back. My eyes weren’t lying. Nineteen years after my visit to the Home, here she was again. It was Sally.
After my initial nervousness settled down, I told her who I was and how I knew her. And, we talked and talked. I don’t think I’ve ever talked so quickly (and honestly) in my entire life. Over the past eight months, I’ve been working towards contacting my birthmother to meet with her and, to me; this wasn’t just a coincidence that Sally was there at my table on this particular day. Connecting with her – at this point in my life – is an amazing gift.
Life is not simple. BUT – there are moments in life when circumstances come about that make the journey a little less difficult and a bit clearer and bring hope. There are blessings and answers that will come, if you’re patient, that will help to push you in the right direction.
I’ve created this blog to share my journey through all of this. So, here goes...
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