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.

Posts tagged ‘loss’

Unexpected Experiences

I told her.  “Put me at the top of your list, girl.  I wanna be the first one you call if you go into labor and need a ride to the hospital.”  I love babies, and I love her (my sweet friend).

Sure enough.  I got “the” phone call at 2:30ish a.m. a few nights later.  Her water broke.  ??  I hopped out of bed, pulled myself together (kind of) and picked her up.  She, herself, had only that very night packed her own hospital stay bag–just in case she went early.  And she did–two weeks early even.

So, I’ve given birth to four sweet babies prior and pursued and waited for our daughter from Haiti over a ten month period of time; and, I’m not unnerved by this situation.  Interestingly, she doesn’t seem to be either (too much, at least).  I have my own reasons why I believe she is taking this in stride.  My friend’s childhood into adulthood process, barring any strange or unexpected happenings during delivery, really was probably more difficult to handle than what she is about to face now.  And that’s a whole separate story; in fact, that’s her story to tell.  I”ll just tell mine.

We arrive at the emergency room close to 3:30 a.m.  I feel fatigue throughout my body.  She is focused and excited.  I’m wondering how she is feeling/if she is feeling pain due to contractions, as she shows no signs of such.

I think back to my first pregnancy.  The contractions woke me up.  My husband and I played cards until I was uncomfortable enough to know this was the real deal.  24 hoursish later–with a terribly painful and dreadful labor and two hours of pushing–our first boy was born via c-section.  Yes.  These thoughts go through my mind for this sweet young new mom friend of mine.  But, I keep them to myself.  🙂  She and her man have their own journey, and it is unfolding now for them.

We move from the emergency room to a kind of “testing?” room; the nurses there check her over–make sure that her water has truly broken (duh :)) and that she shows sign of labor.  As I sit alongside her–very Not pregnant, I recognize my role.  I am standing alongside her while her body and her baby do their thing.  This is my first time to stand alongside a pregnant woman about to deliver.

I think back to my birth parents.  How in the world did that all go down??  How in the world did she go into labor?  Where did she live?  Did she live with him?  Did she live with a friend or by herself?  Did her water break?  Or did she have contractions first like me?  Is the story of him being with her when I was born true?  Was he by her side as I am by my friend’s side right now?  I don’t know.  I don’t really have time to think about it much, and if I do think about it too much I will no longer be of much use to my dear friend who needs me.  Hmmm . . . .  What thoughts/feelings did my birthdad have to shut down and refuse to think about in order to be supportive to my birth mom and her baby as they did their thing?  Was he supportive?  How?

We move to the “Family Suite” where her baby will be born.  The place?  The same portion of the hospital where I visited (only a few years ago) my dear friends and their newly adopted little baby boy M.  My eyes and heart are flooded with images.

I wasn’t expecting to be ushered into that same place now.  I wasn’t expecting a phone call tonight.  I’m Not Expecting.  But we are now walking through hallways I once walked through with my dear friends (adoptive parents), a birth grandma, a sweet new baby in intensive care, extended family members and visitors, and a tucked away and hidden birth mom somewhere . . .  I wasn’t expecting to go there that night physically or emotionally.

I think back, in fact I can’t help from thinking back because the memories are flashing through my eyes, of my friend (little baby boy M’s adoptive mom) with red patches of stress on her neck.  Of her restrained (?) excitement over this precious new boy to add to their family as their first.  Of her feelings that she must dance (in front of others who are watching!) so carefully between loving on her boy and being thankful/respectful of his birth mom.  Of never having done this before–how to do it?  How to do it well?  Is there a manual for any of them?

Whoosh.  Focus.  I am here to help my pregnant and soon-to-deliver friend.

We get settled in the “Family Suite.”  She is in a much more comfortable bed according to her, and I am lying on the couch–hoping to catch a few zzzz’s before her man arrives and I exit the scene.  Interestingly, as the not Expecting one in the room, I can see signs of what is to come all around her bed–things she need not see.  All manner of contraptions exist under that comfy bed to assist in labor and delivery–things I did not know existed until just NOW even after delivering four babies.  That’s OK.  She is happy, her giggly self yet subdued, mostly unaware of her contractions, hungry, and tired.  I do not know what the next hours hold for her.  And again, I keep my mouth shut.  No need to share any stories of mine or anyone else’s labor and delivery experiences at this point; she is about to have her own.

Tests done.  Gown on.  Strap around the belly strapped.  Monitor on baby and on mama’s finger.  We are tired.  We both agree we would like to close our eyes and rest.  I try to and so does she.

I close my eyes, and now I have flashes of my birth dad (especially) and my birth mom in this very similar layout. My birth dad alongside my birth mom–perhaps tired, trying not to be selfish and talk about feeling tired, anticipating the birth of the baby, and nervous about how it will all happen.  I can’t really sleep yet.  My mind is whirring around what it must have been like to go through each step, knowing, at the end,  . . .

😦  the baby must stay.  The baby must stay.  The baby must stay here . . . .  We must move on . . .  The baby must . . .

“M . . . ” I mutter to my friend my lingering thoughts–about my birth parents, my parents, my friends who have three precious children through adoption . . . and my unexpected feelings surrounding this experience.  She understands.  🙂  She suggests I go if it is too much for me–making me too sad.  Sweet of her.  I’m fine.

I am not Expecting in the expecting room for the first time.  I watch the Expecting through different eyes.  Ghosts of my unknown labor and delivery and unknown feelings and voices of my birth parents keep me from resting; sharing my thoughts with my friend out loud, however, chases my ghosts away, and we both rest for a while.  🙂

Happy news–easy delivery, sweet baby, challenges ahead (as with any earth-bound soul),  . . .

 

 

The Ball in the Machine

 

Pinball Machine Sequence Launched

A few years ago (about November of 2007–to be exact), I was “shot” like a pinball out of a pinball machine shute.  What happened?

Well, to be most exact and accurate, I was shot like a cannonball at birth; however, because of various circumstances (great parents who instilled in me a high self-esteem and God’s protection are my two best guesses), I survived the initial jolt well.  I was placed for adoption at birth.  Let me rephrase that; I was relinquished by my birthmom and separated from her, my mother whose voice I knew in the womb, whose heartbeat I recognized, whose breastmilk I could have detected amongst samples of nine others within twenty-four hours if given the chance (according to recent scientific studies), whose emotions I shared, whose nutrition I also received, and whose . . . secret I was, at the age of  . . . well, immediately.

Yep.  Immediately. From what I’ve been told, I was born with my birthfather at my birthmom’s side, she held me, and then that was it.  I spent three days in foster care.  After adjusting to that environment, I was placed in the cradle of my parent’s family tree.  Scientifically, more and more, research is showing that the baby is deeply affected by this.  Each change of environment, each relinquishment, and each loss develops a brain differently than the babies who are born and kept by their moms.  OK.  So, I was a baby.  I didn’t “know” what I was going through, I was just going.  And, to carry through the pinball idea . . . I was bounced by a couple of bumpers until I got to a safe place (to my parents who raised me and are the grandparents to my children today).

Here is the real bumper though, for me, it seems.  I heard the phrase “your birthparents loved you soooo much, that they . . . ,” and you can fill in the blank about placing me with parents who could provide well for me/give me what I needed.  So, when I felt compelled (as never before) to seek out these birthparents who “loved me so much,” never in a million years did I expect to be rejected again.  I thought they would be so happy that I found them, or that they had maybe been looking for me–that they would be as happy to know that I was alive as I was to find out from an initial report that they were alive.

Instead, my “aliveness” seems to have horrified them. I don’t know what to do.  They gave me life. They did not physically abort me.  I carry their genes.  I carry more of them than I even know because they refuse to let me know.  I would like to thank them.  My parents expressed a desire to thank them once they were found. . . .

Instead, they refusd to have contact with me, and they have refused their adult offspring (my younger six siblings) and others to have contact with me as far as I can tell.

This shot me out of the shute like a pinball.  Since that time (November of 2007), I have bounced from one bumper to the next (again).  Can you picture a pinball bouncing all over the machine from one bumper to another?  That is what I have been doing ever since I searched for them (with my parents’ and my husband’s blessing) and they said “no, thank you.”

Why have I been bouncing off of bumpers?  One reason:  to numb the pain.  Fill in the blanks.  If you are an adult, you know what kind of self-medicating options are out there to try.  I have tried many, thank you.  Another reason:  in hopes of being wanted.  Fill in the blanks.  If you are an adult, you know what it feels like to be “wanted” in several forms.  I wasn’t wanted twice by my birthparents.  That was hard to swallow.  So, I have gone wherever I was potentially wanted.  Another reason:  I lost my rudder of “your birthparents loved you soooo much.”  That was a truth in my life revealed to be a lie; and believe me, I still hold out hope that I am wrong.  I hope beyond all hope that they really do love me soooo much.  Yet, to me, loving your family looks very different from what I have experienced to date with my birthfamily; but I will probably still always keep hoping.

It is strange and sad to me how being a pinball has affected my life and my family for the last four and a little more years.  I want to chant “four more years, four more years, . . .” and then say “No Way!”  I do not like bumping up against bumpers.  Although, I will admit, the bumpers hurt and the bumpers teach.  Apparently, I learn best the hard way.

Still, I don’t want my life of being a wife and a mother of five to be defined as a ball in a pinball machine.  That trajectory that took place not only once, but twice in my life, must be tapered.  I do not regret (strangely) the “bumpers” that I encountered.  No.  But they can no longer be the definition of my life.  Right?

What “no contact” feels like . . .

Could you please understand this?

Wait. (and please read to the end . . . otherwise you might be helplessly left depressed.  :/  Plus the song is linked at the bottom.)
Let me say what I think I understand.
*I understand that I pursued connection with my biological parents and siblings, etc. with a passion.
*I understand that I angered them, scared them, made them feel threatened.
*I understand that I have done nothing perfectly nor ever will.
*I understand that my conception was unplanned by my birth parents and perhaps devastating to their lives at the time–maybe even still today.
*I understand that I do NOT understand them or my biological siblings, for I have never walked in their shoes.

And why do I write with some anguish today . . . because somethings in my day-to-day life happened (insignificant really) which made me feel unworthy again.  I was pushed back, blocked, scammed, condescended upon . . . again all really pretty insignificant happenings that occur in our daily lives.  But for me (adoptees in general I dare say), it only takes a few happenings like these, and our rejection wound is scratched.  Really, after a while, it gets embarrassing and exhausting.  I know that I have been “pushed back” to my hurt today.  And, I seem to not be able to get past it until I express it.
So here goes.

Again, could you understand this please?  As you continue to choose to not know me nor my husband nor my kids (four out of five of them are your biological grandchildren) nor my parents, etc., I continue to try to breathe without air.

Tell me how I’m supposed to breathe with no air?

If I should die before I wake

It’s ’cause you took my breath away–when you said no to me, in all forms–the antiseptic “no,” the nicer “no,” the brutally mean “no” and “never” mixed with threats . . . especially when you said “yes” and then “no”  😥  that took my breath away.  Yes, IT DID.

Losing you is like living in a world with no air, oh–see above blue.  😦

I’m here alone, didn’t wanna leave–I was alone as a baby for a few days in a foster home until my parents came to get me, and now I’m alone without you still–the only birthchild of yours–left out here.  I don’t need anything from you.  I just need you to not leave me–not leave me alone.  I am one of yours.  I didn’t ask to leave.  I’m still not asking to leave.  You left me and then asked me to leave.  Both.

My heart won’t move, it’s incomplete–today, yes.  My heart won’t move away from this place of feeling incomplete.  It never did move.  How could it?  My heart was formed in your belly and from your DNA and your genes.  How do you think my heart would move away from that?  And, how do you think it would ever be complete without knowing it’s origin.

If there was a way that I could make you understand–I wonder if you feel this way.  I feel this way–wishing there was a way for us to understand each other.

But how do you expect me to live alone with just me?–This is what you have asked me to do–to live as an O and a B (birthmom and birthdad’s names) ALONE.  I am an O, and a B, and Stirrett, and a Nagy, just as my daughter is a Nagy and a Norelus–both.  Her birthmom’s picture is on our fridge because we acknowledge that she has more than one set of parents.

‘Cause my world revolves around you it’s so hard for me to breathe–my world/our family’s world did revolve around finding you.  Not anymore.  You have shut us out.  And once again, I am left to revolve and to breathe without you/knowing you in my life.

Tell me how I’m supposed to breathe with no air?

Can’t live, can’t breathe with no air  

It’s how I feel whenever you ain’t there–just an emptiness–a place of trying to breathe on my own apart from what she knew in utero for nine months–GONE

There’s no air, no air

Got me out here in the water so deep–This is how I felt when I was searching, finding, wading through all of the effects it was having on my faith, my marriage, my parenting, my relationships, . . . I felt like you got me out here in the water so deep–that I might drown.  I was drowning.

Tell me how you gon’ be without me?–I wonder this.  How are you going to “do” the rest of your life without me–knowing that I’m out here, that my kids know about you and love you from a distance and so do I.  Really?  Is this how you thought it would be?  That you would never be with me again?  I know that’s what they told you at the time–from what I read at least.  I think you had to sign away your rights to me, and that you were told that everything would be sealed and that you should just go on as if nothing ever happened because that is what would be best for me.  Did they think that is what would be best for you?  Has it been best for you?  It hasn’t been the best for many, which is why they do things so differently now.  Answer me.  How are you gonna be without me . . . all the way to our death beds?  Don’t they say that life is too short?

If you ain’t here I just can’t breathe

There’s no air, no air

I walk, I ran, I jump, I flew–You already know this.  I took planes, trains, and automobiles along my journey, and I run too!  I run half-marathons because it was good for me when you were denying my existence to feel my feet hit the pavement–proof that I really do exist!  I worked hard and traveled hard to find you–did crazy stuff, stuff I’ve never done before and stuff that I took a ton of courage. . . see lyrics below!!

Right off the ground to float to you with no gravity to hold me down for real

But somehow I’m still alive inside  You took my breath but I survived–Finally!!!  I like this part of the song best!  :))  I am still alive inside.  You did take my breath, but I’m still surviving.  My breath, to me, is my connection to who carried me in my tummy, whose DNA I have, my siblings who welcomed me at first and then saddened me with their refusal.  That was my breath.  

I don’t know how but I don’t even careI sing this the most loudly now.  It’s a miracle really.  And it’s not perfect or finished yet, and I’ll have days that set me back.  But are you kidding?  I am different than I was and I don’t even really know how.  God pulled the splinter out without me asking Him to or watching how.

So the lyrics below are still true.  I still don’t have air, and I am left out in the deep.
But I’m doin’ OK.  That will be my next post because I already feel better.  🙂

So how do you expect me

To live alone with just me?

‘Cause my world revolves around you

It’s so hard for me to breathe

Tell me how I’m supposed to breathe with no air?

Can’t live, can’t breathe with no air

It’s how I feel whenever you ain’t there

There’s no air, no air

Got me out here in the water so deep

Tell me how you gon’ be without me?

If you ain’t here I just can’t breathe

There’s no air, no air

No Air lyrics  Click below to watch. 

Songwriters: Griggs, E; Fauntleroy J Iii; Mason, H; Thomas, D;

What a great article to further my understanding of “the other side”

Why Won’t My Mother Meet Me?

By Carole Anderson
Copyright 1982 by Concerned United Birthparents, Inc., 2000 Walker Street, Des Moines, IA 50317
Why did your natural mother refuse to meet you? There are probably as many answers as there are natural mothers. From some of my own feelings and those of other natural mothers, though, I do have a few possible themes to suggest.

Your natural mother lost a great deal when she surrendered you. She lost the chance to give you all of the love she felt for you, that all mothers feel. She lost the opportunity to share in the important and the humdrum events of your life. She lost all the joys and problems of raising you, of guiding you from infancy to adulthood.

She may feel guilty that she was not there. She may feel cheated because she was not allowed to be there. Either way, loss is both painful and unnatural.

In addition to the pain of the losses themselves, there is the additional pain of feeling different from other people, outcast from society. Often there is the pain of feeling that the loss was unnecessary and that the separation need not have occurred “if only…” If only her parents had helped her. If only the social worker had told her what adoption would really be like for you and for her. If only society had supported single parenthood at the time you were born. If only she had not believed she was unworthy of you. If only she had had the money to support you. If only she had somehow found a way to keep you. If only she had believed in her own feelings instead of in what others told her would be best for you.
The list of “if onlies” is endless. Knowing you could make her losses more real to her, and thus more painful. She may ave worked very hard at denying her feelings, at convincing herself that your adoption was necessary, at telling herself that giving birth does not make a woman a mother, at pretending that she was not a mother and so did not lose anything. She may have denied to herself that it ever happened.

If she has succeeded at numbing herself to the pain by clinging to such beliefs, knowing you would remove the blinders from her eyes, exposing her to the full impact of all the years of loss and pain.

She may have coped with losing you through fantasizing about what might have been. She may see you over and over in her mind just as you were when she last saw you, see herself raising you, see what you would be like at different ages.

If your natural mother has other children, she may be terrified of losing them, too, if she had not told them about you. Many natural mothers were rejected by their children’s natural fathers and by their own parents during their pregnancies. If the people she loved and trusted and whom she thought would always love and help abandoned her when she most needed them, she may be unable to trust anyone now. She may regard all relationships as fragile, and fear that she will be abandoned again if she disappoints the people who are now important to her. Having already suffered the pain of losing one child, the fear of losing her other children and suffering that same pain again may overwhelm her. She may also fear losing you a second time around, if you want to see her only once. Many natural mothers have internalized others’ rejection of them and believe they are unlovable. Not loving or respecting herself, she cannot believe that others could care about her if they really knew her.
Suspecting that adoptees who search will ask about their fathers after they have satisfied their curiosity about their mothers, her rejection may be tied to her feelings about your natural father. If she loved him, accepting you could mean reopening the deep wounds she suffered in being rejected by him. If she did not love him, she may dread having to admit that fact to you. She may not want to explain her relationship with your natural father or her feelings about it, and fear that you will reject her if she does not answer your questions about him. She may fear that you would prefer him to her and she could not bear to lose you to the very person whose abandonment made your surrender unavoidable. She may believe that your natural
father is a terrible person and feel shame at having had a relationship with him, fear that you might hate her if you knew him. She may fear that you would be upset or would think less of her or of yourself if you knew him.

Mothers want their children to be happy, but they also want to feel needed and important to their children. They want to be the ones who make their children happy. Generally, a mother’s needs and her child’s compliment each other, so that both are satisfied by her raising her child, with each needing and receiving the other’s love. The special situation of adoption, though, assures that the natural mother cannot win. If she believes your adoption was the best for you, she may feel worthless or useless as a mother because you did not need her. If your adoption was not the best, she may feel guilty that she did not protect you from whatever happened and she may therefore feel she failed as a mother and as a woman.

Your natural mother’s image of herself as a mother, a woman, and a human being may be at stake. If she has internalized society’s judgments that “nice girls don’t” or that only an “unnatural woman” could surrender her child or that “any animal can give birth but that doesn’t make her a mother”, it will be difficult for her to acknowledge to herself that it is she who is that bad girl, the unnatural woman, or only an animal in society’s eyes.

Subconsciously, some mothers feel that their babies abandoned them. Mothers were often repeatedly told that their babies needed or wanted more than they could give them, and that surrender was necessary for the child. Many mothers were told that to keep their children would be selfish, that they had no right to satisfy their need to love and nurture by raising their children, because the children deserve and need more. Other people spoke for you, telling your natural mother you wanted more than she could give. To your natural mother, this may have been experienced deep within as a rejection by you, as her baby deserting her for other people. Even though she knows on an intellectual level that this feeling is not rational and she may feel guilty for it, on an emotional level what she feels may be that, although she needed and wanted her child, her child was not there for her.
Closely related are the problems of competition and sacrifice. Just as she may have felt that she was in competition with unknown couples for the right to raise you, a contest in which she was the loser, she was also placed in the position of being in competition with you. She may have been told that it was her life or yours, her needs or yours. Because you were not aided as a family but instead treated as individuals whose needs were in conflict, she may have felt that she was choosing between her own happiness and yours.

If she wanted to raise you but believed that your surrender was necessary for your happiness, she may feel that she has sacrificed her life for yours, her happiness for yours. All people want happiness, everyone wants her own needs to be met, and there is usually anger toward injustice. She, however, cannot allow herself to feel or express her anger and resentment, because it was your natural mother herself who decided that you were more important and mattered more than she did, she herself who chose your needs above her own.

If that choice was made by others such as her parents or by her situation instead of by your natural mother, there may be even more anger. There can be tremendous guilt involved for feeling anger, because we have been taught that parents gladly sacrifice for their children. Her anger may therefore be threatening to her, for what kind of person can she be that she could feel anger toward her child?

Yet other parents, other people, do not make sacrifices of this magnitude. What society usually calls parental sacrifice is really more like an investment or a trade-off of some current comfort in exchange for other regards. To give up a full night’s sleep in order to tend a sick child carries with it the benefits of holding and comforting that child, feeling necessary to the child, receiving the child’s love and gaining society’s approval. What most parents think of as sacrifices are small and temporary inconveniences for which they receive personal satisfaction, the child’s loyalty and affection and societal sanctions. The sacrifice of a natural mother’s life for her child’s in unique.

Rather than compensations, the sacrifice is generally answered with guilt, pain and emptiness. Society’s reaction is most often condemnation rather than approval. The natural mother’s sacrifice is unnatural, unrecognized and unrewarded.

Some natural mothers felt less than human during the pregnancy and surrender experience, and may have felt they were regarded as subhuman by society. Just as infants have a need to be nurtured, so every mother has a need to give nurture to her child. You were placed with people who could meet your infant need for nurture, but your natural mother was given no substitute for you. Her need to nurture was not met.

Understandably, many adoptees explain that their adoptive parents are their only real parents and they love them dearly, but that they searched to gain information about themselves. Newspapers are full of articles about adoptees saying that they are not looking for a mother, but for themselves or their own identity.

Your natural mother may feel she is again being reduced to a data bank. Just as she once surrendered you to others while her own needs went unmet, she may feel she is now being asked for information but that again her feelings and needs will be ignored. She may feel she has given everything without receiving anything in return, and will be reluctant to give still more if she fears that you too, will take what you want from her and then abandon her with no thought for her needs.

Even if she is able to struggle through the many pains and losses that have already occurred, your natural mother may fear that there are more to come if she accepts you now. It may hurt her terribly that she could not mother you.

Opening her heart to you would make your natural mother vulnerable to a later rejection by you. If she welcomed you as the beloved daughter or son she lost, how would she feel at being only a friend or acquaintance to you? To what extent would you accept her? Would she be asked to your graduation or wedding? Would you want to spend Christmas or Passover with her? Would you regard her as the grandmother of your children, including her in events in their lives? Or would you want to see her on rare and secret occasions, carefully hiding the relationship from others? She may feel that not only have adoptive parents taken her place in your life as a child and in raising you, but that by accepting you now she would lose you again, this time by inches, by being relegated to a lowly and insignificant place in your life, if she were included at all.

As an adult, you are unlikely to want your natural mother to be the mother she may, on some level, still want to be. Your image of motherhood will always be that of your adoptive mother, not your natural mother. You cannot relate to your natural mother in the same way you would have if she had raised you, nor can she relate to you in the same way. Neither of you are the people you would be if she had raised you. Although the similarities you are likely to share would make her keenly aware that you are her child, the differences resulting from your growing up in your adoptive home would make her painfully aware of the distance between you as well.

Because meeting you requires facing all her feelings about your surrender and loss, it may also challenge your natural mother’s beliefs about the value and meaning of life, the importance of family ties, religion and other basic concepts on which she has built her life. Many people want to believe that the world is fair, that everything comes out even, that people get what they deserve out of life. Adoption issues do not fit into such tidy categories.

If the world is fair, what has she done that is so terrible she deserve such pain? If life is equal why did other people who expressed their sexuality before marriage pay not price for it? If this is justice why did her subsequent children have to grow up in an incomplete family, without their brother or sister. If families are of primary importance and should be kept together why was her family separated? How could her church have told her God wanted her child to be adopted or that God created her child for other parents? How could a loving God want this pain for her? If she allows herself to acknowledge her experience, how can she reconcile it with what she believes about life? If the foundations on which she has build her life
do not match her experience, it will be difficult for her to face her feelings and risk losing those foundations. Facing you may mean reconstructing her entire view of life, rethinking all of her values.

The issues a natural mother must face before she can accept her adult child are not simple ones, nor are they obvious to her. Often there are conflicts between what she thinks and what she feels or between her feelings and those of the people around her. Few natural mothers were told to expect these problems or prepared to deal with them. Since little or no hope of a future reunion was offered to surrendering mothers, there was little motivation for attempting to deal with them. Many were told that they would be abnormal if they did not forget about their children, that they should go on with their lives as if they had never had their children.

Most natural mothers, despite the enormity of these issues, do face most of them in the years following surrender. Most people cannot sustain the fantasy that their loss was a nightmare and not a reality. Most people find the strength to face the truth of their own lives, but growth can be a slow and painful process with uneven progress characterized by temporary regression back to suppressed feelings.

To some people, it might seem pointless to attempt reunions when so much pain, conflict and confusion seem to be involved. Reunion, though, does not cause these difficulties. Their source is the natural mother’s unnatural separation from her child. The feelings already exist, and leaving them buried beneath denials and fantasies cannot resolve or eliminate them. However painful the separation experience may be, it is her experience, her life. Attempting to suppress the most profound experience of her life separates the natural mother from herself as well as from her child and is not healthy for anyone. It requires that much emotional energy be spent on denying or numbing feelings, limiting emotional growth in all areas.

Your natural mother’s fear and dread are evidence of the intensity of her feelings for you. If she had no feeling for you, you would be no more frightening to her than a store clerk or a stranger asking for directions. What she feels may be an overwhelmingly intense but undifferentiated fear and she herself may not understand the reasons for it. Her reasons are her deepest emotions, hidden under so may layers of intellect, rationalization and denial that she is unaware of them. She may try to give sensible reasons why she cannot see, understand or articulate the real reasons without much self analysis.

You are offering the opportunity for your natural mother to grow by facing herself and becoming reconciled with her feelings about herself. You are offering the gift of knowing the person her surrendered child has become. These are enormous gifts and you should be proud for offering them to her.

In order to accept them, though, your natural mother must climb a painfully steep and rocky path through her many feelings about your surrender before she can move forward to reconciliation. Her ability to walk a part of that path or all of it is not a reflection on you or on your worth or on your importance to her but on how well she herself can deal with the fears and pains that your loss and society’s attitudes about the surrender have caused her. With time and support your natural mother may grow to accept the gifts you offer.

Goodbyes, separations, space, distance, silence . . . I need day

 On a good day, any of these can make me feel badly–hurt for a while.  I may get angry instead of allowing myself to feel hurt.  But on a bad day, a simple goodbye can send me hurling back to my birthparents leaving me–all the way back.

Yesterday, my parents said goodbye to our family after being here only 2 1/2 days.  They started the drive home this morning.  I was a wreck last night–curled up on the floor in tears, and still need a day today to recover.  😦  I am heartsick still.  Perhaps it’s just part of my process in accessing how I feel about being placed for adoption, because other times when they have visited and left, I’ve reacted in a proportionately normal way.  But this time, I cried like a baby by myself for a while, and then some while my husband listened.

It is a taste of being left/being rejected that I cannot tolerate.  And there are so many in my birthfamily for whom I have pined, searched, layed myself out–who have then chosen to keep me out of their lives, that I can’t bear letting go of almost anyone.  Here lies my “what is wrong with me” currently status:  being shut out leaves me almost physically ill/physically debilitated.  Being ignored/”left”/shut out makes me feel ashamed (as if there is really something wrong with me–that there was even when I was born or my birthparents would have kept me).  It leaves me feeling out of control and helpless to fix or change anything.  It leaves my self-esteem in a pile–that I am not worth the attention.

That one especially–that I am not worthy of attention.

I can tell that my “being left” wound is gaping as I can’t handle goodbyes in a movie today.  I can tell that my “self-esteem” wound is gaping as I am not even self-assured enough to be around my children.  I can tell that my “there is something wrong with me” wound is gaping as I see myself as not capable of producing something good right now.

I need a day to feel.  I will return to doing.  But right now, I need a day to feel the loss:  the loss that my parents went home which pricks open the reminders of the loss of my birthfamily.

Here is all of this that I throw-up/out, and I think of my daughter Naika and see that we are both coping in our own ways.

Tag Cloud

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