There is so much pain involved in adoption. And, it does not discriminate – pain, I mean.
The pain is complicated and complex. It involves many people and because of the circumstances, it’s life-changing. When the choice is made to place a child for adoption, it changes the paths and lives of not only the birthmother; but the child, adoptive family and all those connected to them. Most adoption literature will mention the adoption ‘triad’ (birthmother, child and adoptive parents), but it touches the lives of all the people connected to these three groups.
I’ve always been aware of the pain, but I could never put it into words, describe it or figure out where it came from and why it was even present. I just knew that I hurt. A lot. I knew that I hurt in ways that I couldn’t understand. In ways that I couldn’t fix. And, I know that when the emotional pain became too much, I made the choice to change it into physical pain…because that – usually – can be fixed. That is another blog entry for another day.
Now that I know that the pain is real – from a real experience, it can be dealt with.
I often discounted my feelings surrounding the issues of my adoption. I thought…I have a family that loves me, friends, relatives and I’m healthy, intelligent and educated. So, why couldn’t I just let go of feeling sad, abandoned, disconnected, lost and not belonging? Why? Why couldn’t I suck it up and forget about being adopted and my birthmother/father? Why?
Why? Because MY experience was real and had not been dealt with.
Take any life changing experience like the loss of a loved one, a flood, being attacked, or whatever the scenario may be - would we expect anyone in any of those experiences to forget about it? Would we take them out of that situation, place them in another and expect the memory of that initial event to vanish? Disappear? Be no longer?
For (probably) the first time ever, I’m aware of the pain, the disappointment and fear…the panic associated with being taken away from all you know and trust and placed in a spot where nothing is familiar. I adapted…and although I’m blessed with an amazing family, I only did so because it was forced. Because, it wasn’t without difficulties.
As an infant, I did not enjoy being held and preferred to be on my own. I had terrible night terrors while growing up and never wanted to be apart from my mother. I sat on the curb, often, wishing that my birthmother/father would come back for me. Everywhere I was, I looked for her…my birthmother. Never did a day pass that I didn’t think of her, wish for her and want her back (despite having a family who adored me).
I adapted, but the memory from the experience is still IN me. It’s part OF me. It can’t be shut off or cut off. It can’t be hidden or pushed under the rug. Like any other experience, it deserves the same kind of care, love, attention, understanding, respect and support that any other experience would get.
The pain is real. For all of us. It’s as real as the sky is blue.
Like I said in my previous blog…for whatever reason – I haven’t figured it out yet – this all being ‘real’ now, makes me feel very hopeful. I think it’s acknowledging something I never could, because I didn’t understand it in the way I do today.
I’m grateful.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Can you tell me, again?
After my meltdown last Sunday in church, all in regard to (mainly) adoption stuff, I picked up a book written by Nancy Verrier (which I had purchased at least a year ago, but never read) called 'Coming Home to Self'. Verrier is also the author who wrote 'The Primal Wound' - which, in my opinion, is the BEST adoption related writing that I have ever read. (I think you can even find it online if you Google it - it's an easy read, too.) 'Coming Home to Self' is also in reference to adoption, but it's a huge book and covers the adoptee's challenges in coming into their own person...why they may have struggled throughout their lives with various issues and again, Verrier GETS adoption.
For me, I can only take in a few pages before I need to close the book and check in with myself. Throughout my life, I have often felt 'lost' and a bit like a fish out of water. I often thought and felt like I was alone and no one understood me. And, I was right. How could my childhood friends, who grew up in a household with parents who birthed them and looked like them, and knew the answers to their medical history and the exact time they were born - possibly understand how it felt to be adopted?!
And I'm not saying the above in a pity party way...at all. I'm saying it, because it's true. And, because Verrier gives me a point of reference that makes sense in my adoption world.
On Thursday afternoon, after reading several pages of this book, I needed to bounce my thoughts and feelings off of someone who I know understands anything adoption related. Sitting at my desk at work, I dialed Sally's work number and she picked up.
We talked. About my energy being low, my birthmother, me writing a letter to M and sending it off, my thoughts and feelings about the book and the issues it's bringing up and about a few other things going on in my life right now.
The day Sally and I re-met in April, we had an intense conversation over a rushed lunch at a suicide prevention conference. I've blogged about this before, but that day I told her that I felt like I remembered the separation from my birthmother the day I was born. She told me at lunch, that I did remember it. That my feelings were real. She told me that when she would go and pick up infants at the hospital to take them back to the adoption agency's nursery, the babies would wail the entire time. Sally said that when possible, if she was able to take a piece of clothing from the birthmother, with the baby, the baby would be more comforted.
Sally has repeated this story a few times, so when I asked her (again) on Thursday, "Is this pain real? Is this what I felt? Is this real, or am I nuts?", she replied with, "Do you remember me telling you about when I would pick up infants from the hospital?" I said, "Yes, I remember."
But, I needed to hear it again.
I needed validation that would be an answer to how much my heart hurts some days. I needed to know that the people who tell me, "You were an infant, you wouldn't remember being taken away from your bmom...", are wrong. Because I DO feel it. I felt it then and feel it now.
And, THIS is real.
When it's REAL, healing IS possible.
For me, I can only take in a few pages before I need to close the book and check in with myself. Throughout my life, I have often felt 'lost' and a bit like a fish out of water. I often thought and felt like I was alone and no one understood me. And, I was right. How could my childhood friends, who grew up in a household with parents who birthed them and looked like them, and knew the answers to their medical history and the exact time they were born - possibly understand how it felt to be adopted?!
And I'm not saying the above in a pity party way...at all. I'm saying it, because it's true. And, because Verrier gives me a point of reference that makes sense in my adoption world.
On Thursday afternoon, after reading several pages of this book, I needed to bounce my thoughts and feelings off of someone who I know understands anything adoption related. Sitting at my desk at work, I dialed Sally's work number and she picked up.
We talked. About my energy being low, my birthmother, me writing a letter to M and sending it off, my thoughts and feelings about the book and the issues it's bringing up and about a few other things going on in my life right now.
The day Sally and I re-met in April, we had an intense conversation over a rushed lunch at a suicide prevention conference. I've blogged about this before, but that day I told her that I felt like I remembered the separation from my birthmother the day I was born. She told me at lunch, that I did remember it. That my feelings were real. She told me that when she would go and pick up infants at the hospital to take them back to the adoption agency's nursery, the babies would wail the entire time. Sally said that when possible, if she was able to take a piece of clothing from the birthmother, with the baby, the baby would be more comforted.
Sally has repeated this story a few times, so when I asked her (again) on Thursday, "Is this pain real? Is this what I felt? Is this real, or am I nuts?", she replied with, "Do you remember me telling you about when I would pick up infants from the hospital?" I said, "Yes, I remember."
But, I needed to hear it again.
I needed validation that would be an answer to how much my heart hurts some days. I needed to know that the people who tell me, "You were an infant, you wouldn't remember being taken away from your bmom...", are wrong. Because I DO feel it. I felt it then and feel it now.
And, THIS is real.
When it's REAL, healing IS possible.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
My Empty Cup
There is a sadness that has covered me, in particular, over the past five days. A lot of things have happened, which could contribute to this…like my adoption stuff, turning 30, marking the second anniversary of my friend’s suicide, pending major surgery for my mother next week, meeting a man who knew my birthfather (did drugs WITH him and sold drugs TO him!) and a very difficult situation with a very good friend.
(That’s a lot of stuff, now that I think about it.)
The adoption ‘stuff’ is weighing heavy on my heart right now. I feel a bit like I’m drowning in it, to be truthful. I’m feeling hopeless that it will ever be worked out or resolved. It is so far from everything that I hoped – and dreamed – it could be. I realize that it could turn out in a way I may not have hoped for, but in a way that I may be thankful for, after the fact (y’know the whole…if I knew then what I know now…deal, maybe I’ll be grateful).
The friend situation is also a bit heavy. This is a friend that I trusted so very much. I don’t want to get into too many details but, in short, I had told this friend something in confidence (I trusted that it would not be repeated), she repeated it to a friend of hers, who then told a friend/someone she barely knows…and it got back to me in a ‘throw it in your face’ and completely unexpected way. Way too much drama to get into.
And, it’s mostly difficult because I consider this friend to be a ‘best friend’ and normally we would talk daily…at length…and we haven’t this week. So, I feel like I don’t even have my regular sounding board and voice of reason. I feel a bit lost without her. I’m also unsure if it will ever be the same. I hope so. I pray so.
My world feels unbalanced.
On Sunday at church, I saw Sally (see first blog entry - click here) and said to her (actually…I burst into tears with her…and as always…she just wraps me up in her faith, love, prayers, hope and arms) that I feel empty right now. My cup is empty. I believe that to be at the top of your game, your cup needs to be filled…and then once it’s filled, it will overflow and that’s where you give from…your overflow. I don’t have any overflow…and barely anything IN the cup...right now.
I'm praying on it.
(That’s a lot of stuff, now that I think about it.)
The adoption ‘stuff’ is weighing heavy on my heart right now. I feel a bit like I’m drowning in it, to be truthful. I’m feeling hopeless that it will ever be worked out or resolved. It is so far from everything that I hoped – and dreamed – it could be. I realize that it could turn out in a way I may not have hoped for, but in a way that I may be thankful for, after the fact (y’know the whole…if I knew then what I know now…deal, maybe I’ll be grateful).
The friend situation is also a bit heavy. This is a friend that I trusted so very much. I don’t want to get into too many details but, in short, I had told this friend something in confidence (I trusted that it would not be repeated), she repeated it to a friend of hers, who then told a friend/someone she barely knows…and it got back to me in a ‘throw it in your face’ and completely unexpected way. Way too much drama to get into.
And, it’s mostly difficult because I consider this friend to be a ‘best friend’ and normally we would talk daily…at length…and we haven’t this week. So, I feel like I don’t even have my regular sounding board and voice of reason. I feel a bit lost without her. I’m also unsure if it will ever be the same. I hope so. I pray so.
My world feels unbalanced.
On Sunday at church, I saw Sally (see first blog entry - click here) and said to her (actually…I burst into tears with her…and as always…she just wraps me up in her faith, love, prayers, hope and arms) that I feel empty right now. My cup is empty. I believe that to be at the top of your game, your cup needs to be filled…and then once it’s filled, it will overflow and that’s where you give from…your overflow. I don’t have any overflow…and barely anything IN the cup...right now.
I'm praying on it.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Validation
Dictionary.com defines 'validation' as: to make valid; substantiate; give approval to and confirm. I believe that on some level, we all want to be validated. We want to be heard, acknowledged and accepted. It is a part of what keeps us going as humans. We need others and we need validation...whatever that may mean to us on a personal level, because without it, life would be kinda lonely.
I marked my 30th birthday on the 14th and as anyone in the adoption world (and not) can probably understand, the birth day can bring up a lot of feelings and this year - for me - it seemed to be particularly trying. My intention was to make it a great day and to celebrate myself - after all, I have achieved a lot in my 30 years and for the most part, I like myself. I acknowledged that it was a 'choice' about how the week and day would go and I swore up and down that a *date* would not get the best of me.
My intention started to weaken starting on the 11th when my birthmother, M, began to call me incessantly after us not speaking since August. Walking through Walmart on that day, checking out the make-up aisle, my cell phone rang and I assumed it would be my Mom asking me what I was up to...but instead, I saw M's name and phone number pop up. I chose not to answer her call. She called five times by the end of the day, not leaving a voicemail.
I was a little irritated that she did not leave a voicemail and that she kept calling. Why call now, I thought? Why the urgent ringing from her? What was so important?
The next day she called twice while I was in church that morning and when I got home, my Mom told me that M had called the house - but had not left a message. This irritated me even more - enormously...to be honest. In my first conversation with M, back in May, I asked her to please NOT call my house...unless it was an emergency - and I'm talking death or bone marrow needed for her or my two older half-siblings by her. I asked her this to lessen the building tension between my Mom and I, about my adoption issues.
I was somewhat furious because I was feeling the panic of the upcoming birth day and so many other 'adoption' feelings, so I called her back. One of the men that stay with her answered. M was fine, no emergency and would be back in an hour. I asked if I could call back and if he could let it go to voicemail so I could leave a message. He said ok. So I called, told her I got the calls, have been super busy (which I have been!) and that I would try to contact her after this coming weekend and I reminded her to NOT call my house line.
She called again on Monday, on my own phone, and called my work twice on Tuesday and finally left a birthday greeting on my work voicemail. And then she called again on Wednesday. I didn't answer or return her calls.
Tuesday came and went...and the day was ok, but the evening was difficult - not to mention completely worthy of a different blog entry. I needed to get through the day and couldn't invest anymore energy outside of myself.
While avoiding my birthmother's many calls, I kept wondering to myself...why not answer her call? Pick up the phone? Call her back? Let her say happy birthday to me, because she hasn't had the chance to do this often? Why, why, why?
When I thought about what my conversation would be with her had we talked, on my birthday, it went like this in my head:
M: I just wanted to say happy birthday! What are you doing for it?
Me: Actually, I don't like to celebrate on the actual day. I never have. My birthday has not always been a day to celebrate for me.
M: Really?
I'm fairly certain - from my experiences with her - that the above is a pretty realistic expectation, although I admit I could be off (but I doubt it).
In my previous interactions and conversations with M, I have felt unheard. Often M feels the need to explain her choices and let me know that she has no regret about making the decision to place me for adoption. She has said, "You don't understand...when you have kids, you will understand how hard it was, and has been, on me." She has repeated this, in one way or another, to me over and over and over again. I have given HER validation on this point.
Okay! I hear you loud and clear!
I don't want to hear it anymore. At least not right now.
Right now I just want and need to be heard. I need to be...just...heard. No answers. No advice. No comments or suggestions. Just hear me. Please...just hear my words and acknowledge me.
I need, more than anything, to be validated. I just want to know that I'm heard...so that I don't feel so alone, because I do, right now. I feel very alone. And I know that because I'm not being valdated by M, that I am avoiding her. I'm unsure that she would be able to validate my feelings about my birthday being a difficult date for me, sometimes, to get through.
I think that receiving validation may almost be more important than advice and answers to life's biggest questions and challenges. More life-giving. More supportive. Most of us know deep in our heart what the answer is. Most of us know what is right and wrong, for us, personally.
But, often deep in our heart, we just want to be validated.
To know that we are not alone.
To know that it is ok to be wherever we are on our journey through life.
Heard. Accepted. Loved.
(PS - I'm backkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!!!!)
I marked my 30th birthday on the 14th and as anyone in the adoption world (and not) can probably understand, the birth day can bring up a lot of feelings and this year - for me - it seemed to be particularly trying. My intention was to make it a great day and to celebrate myself - after all, I have achieved a lot in my 30 years and for the most part, I like myself. I acknowledged that it was a 'choice' about how the week and day would go and I swore up and down that a *date* would not get the best of me.
My intention started to weaken starting on the 11th when my birthmother, M, began to call me incessantly after us not speaking since August. Walking through Walmart on that day, checking out the make-up aisle, my cell phone rang and I assumed it would be my Mom asking me what I was up to...but instead, I saw M's name and phone number pop up. I chose not to answer her call. She called five times by the end of the day, not leaving a voicemail.
I was a little irritated that she did not leave a voicemail and that she kept calling. Why call now, I thought? Why the urgent ringing from her? What was so important?
The next day she called twice while I was in church that morning and when I got home, my Mom told me that M had called the house - but had not left a message. This irritated me even more - enormously...to be honest. In my first conversation with M, back in May, I asked her to please NOT call my house...unless it was an emergency - and I'm talking death or bone marrow needed for her or my two older half-siblings by her. I asked her this to lessen the building tension between my Mom and I, about my adoption issues.
I was somewhat furious because I was feeling the panic of the upcoming birth day and so many other 'adoption' feelings, so I called her back. One of the men that stay with her answered. M was fine, no emergency and would be back in an hour. I asked if I could call back and if he could let it go to voicemail so I could leave a message. He said ok. So I called, told her I got the calls, have been super busy (which I have been!) and that I would try to contact her after this coming weekend and I reminded her to NOT call my house line.
She called again on Monday, on my own phone, and called my work twice on Tuesday and finally left a birthday greeting on my work voicemail. And then she called again on Wednesday. I didn't answer or return her calls.
Tuesday came and went...and the day was ok, but the evening was difficult - not to mention completely worthy of a different blog entry. I needed to get through the day and couldn't invest anymore energy outside of myself.
While avoiding my birthmother's many calls, I kept wondering to myself...why not answer her call? Pick up the phone? Call her back? Let her say happy birthday to me, because she hasn't had the chance to do this often? Why, why, why?
When I thought about what my conversation would be with her had we talked, on my birthday, it went like this in my head:
M: I just wanted to say happy birthday! What are you doing for it?
Me: Actually, I don't like to celebrate on the actual day. I never have. My birthday has not always been a day to celebrate for me.
M: Really?
I'm fairly certain - from my experiences with her - that the above is a pretty realistic expectation, although I admit I could be off (but I doubt it).
In my previous interactions and conversations with M, I have felt unheard. Often M feels the need to explain her choices and let me know that she has no regret about making the decision to place me for adoption. She has said, "You don't understand...when you have kids, you will understand how hard it was, and has been, on me." She has repeated this, in one way or another, to me over and over and over again. I have given HER validation on this point.
Okay! I hear you loud and clear!
I don't want to hear it anymore. At least not right now.
Right now I just want and need to be heard. I need to be...just...heard. No answers. No advice. No comments or suggestions. Just hear me. Please...just hear my words and acknowledge me.
I need, more than anything, to be validated. I just want to know that I'm heard...so that I don't feel so alone, because I do, right now. I feel very alone. And I know that because I'm not being valdated by M, that I am avoiding her. I'm unsure that she would be able to validate my feelings about my birthday being a difficult date for me, sometimes, to get through.
I think that receiving validation may almost be more important than advice and answers to life's biggest questions and challenges. More life-giving. More supportive. Most of us know deep in our heart what the answer is. Most of us know what is right and wrong, for us, personally.
But, often deep in our heart, we just want to be validated.
To know that we are not alone.
To know that it is ok to be wherever we are on our journey through life.
Heard. Accepted. Loved.
(PS - I'm backkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!!!!)
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