I have always loved to dance. As an adult adoptee, a bio mom, and an adoptive mom, I dance between love and loss regularly. I dance with joy over small victories and small signs of acceptance. I dance to escape pain and to avoid obvious rejection from my family(ies). Let me continue to dance with the pain, the understanding, the surrender, His plan, and not faint.

I’m still reading that book . . . And I know it’s got the right stuff in it–the good stuff.  I’m stuck for just an hour or two.
Direct quote from Questions Adoptees are Asking:  “If we were created by God from the very fiber of our birth parents’ physical and emotional beings, don’t you think our need to think about them would be innate?  If we had primal conversations with our mother in the womb, wouldn’t you say it is natural for us to think about her as we are growing up and growing old?  And if our birth father’s DNA helped determine the color of our hair and yes, wouldn’t you say that he is just as much a part of us as our mother and it is normal to want a relationship with him?”

Then a little later, she writes, “So what must we do for ourselves?  What healthy choice must we make to move closer toward who we were created to be by a loving God?”

Here is where I discover some anger inside of me.  What must I do for myself??  Are you kidding me?  Me, the baby, . . . my adoptive parents have given me money for the search, my husband gave me cash for my birthday towards the search, I have driven to search–all over Illinois and St. Louis suburbs (even around Orlando in search of a YMCA where my 1/2 sister and her son might be!) which equals time and money away from my own husband and five children/business/two dogs. . . . .  I have sat in an office in tears with a social worker who has SPOKEN to both my birthmother and my birthfather but could not/would not release any identifying information to me.  I have sat in tears across the table from a social worker who had my FILE in her hands and could not release any identifying information to me.  I have two search angels who walked me through the search/journey step-by-step and once I had the smallest bit of identifying information started to search/find for me . . . volunteering all along the way.  I have spent HOURS digging for my family on the computer, ENERGY and COURAGE to make phone calls/inbox messages/emails/send friendly presents/jump through many many hoops to find and know them.

So what am I mad about?  I know this is a rebellious spot that I am in . . . .  I was doing better . . . just need a space to breathe this breath:  I am angry that I now have to fight to make healthy choices.  Me.  The baby me.  I made many healthy choices as a teenager/young adult/young married woman/prior to finding my birthparents and being told to stay away.  Post-search, however, I now struggle.  There is pain to anesthetize that I don’t think was there before–at least not so acutely.  I was pretty busy being “really good.”  So, I must make healthy choices while I am in pain?   I am angry at how much responsibility falls on my shoulder to heal from a choice that was made for me, not by me.  And their choice to place me for adoption was followed 37 years and about 4 months later with another choice to place me STILL . . . outside of their family.  :((

I know this rejection to be a source of my pain because in contrast, I have precious birthfamily members who– once found, embraced me.  They do not cause me pain that I then need to anesthetize.  I trust them, and I am amazed at how each time we talk, I feel their love and assurance that they accept that I am also one of them/part of them.  I have a dual identity.  And I LOVE both sides of my identity deeply.

It is the rejection that drives me to anesthetize, not the acceptance.
It is the rejection that leaves me feeling victimized, not the acceptance.

Finally, in her “action” portion of this chapter, she suggests that I write a letter to and from my birthmom and birthdad . . . “even though they’ll never be sent.”  I sensed anger at that . . . feeling as if she is telling me “you better not send them.”  And in fact, I probably shouldn’t.  But sometimes I’m not sure why.  They are just people.  Why should I be afraid to communicate with them/send them a letter–write them letters that I never send . . . .?  I just don’t understand.

Here is the “good: adoptee–wrapping up for the rebellious one above:

I KNOW better.  I have tender thoughts and accepting thoughts towards my birthfamily.  And as soon as they would want to know me (if they ever do), I will jump to care for/about them.  🙂  And, I love my adoptive family dearly . . . . would never not want to be theirs/be with them/know them.  And I am thankful for the family I have now with my husband–would never want us all to break apart.  These things I know.

In the meantime(s) which I think are fewer and farther between, I get angry/sad/chaotic/and feel unattached.

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