Discover Top Posts Tagged with #7-19-21

Dear mom

I'm an adult. I do adult things like pay taxes and vote. I slave away in the name of Capitalism and cry my issues away in the bathtub with a bottle of wine like a true American. I've had major surgery, been homeless, faced a fucking Pandemic and through all of that trauma and bullshit lessons...

My one and only confirmed piece of solid, can't-ever-change-my-mind, advice is this:

There is no true 'right' way to handle adoption. No matter how perfect you are, no matter how well you handle it from the start, adoption is trauma and the children will carry the weight for the rest of their lives.

Mom this isn't negative. I'm not shitting on you. I'm not angry or blaming you for any mistake you inevitably made (And I'm sure they're were, even if I never noticed). I'm not crying over the what-ifs or cursing your name for not handling it the way I would've in your shoes. But I did. I did for a long time. I went through the 5 stages of grief over and over and over.

I cursed every God I could name. I cursed you for picking me and doing it all wrong. I cursed her for not being smarter, for not manning up and taking responsibility. I cried over not being wanted, over a life I never got the chance to even experience, the life I lead that made me a failure and unwanted. I begged for a do over, begged for someone --anyone-- to come and truly want me. I choked on the nothingness, the confusion, the guilt.

I cried over how unfair it was. How everyone could see the trap door but me and yet it was always going to be me that fell through the fucking thing. Everyone knew. And everyone lied.

I resented you and her. I hated the mailman for delivering her letters, for letting you send her photos and updates. I hated planes for making travel so quick and easy that she could always meet me when I wanted; hated those planes for not failing and cancelling the flight. I hated you for never giving me a say, for keeping me in the dark. Hated you more for turning on the Sun, handing me the reins to my choices when you deemed I was old enough to think and choose.

Cursed myself even more for being so grateful and so so guilty for every mood swing, every cold shoulder and slammed door. I hated myself more than anyone, hated the trap door I couldn't escape, the planes I couldn't destroy.

Empty and broken over how confused it all felt. Guilty for wanting to know more. More about her, about us, about me. Guilty for being so angry and you, you so soft. So understanding. Guilty that she was so so nice, willing to accept anything I offered. Loved all my crumbs of interest and daggers of disdain.

Guilty for liking her. So fucking guilty for liking her.

Mom. So fucking terrified of wanting a relationship, worrying how you felt during all this. Scared you thought I was replacing you. Scared I would want her more than you.

Adoption is trauma. It is awful and messy and so much went wrong and so much more was picture perfect.

It is not beautiful. I no longer feel guilt or shame or anger. The Gods can rest easy, the mailman can finish his route on time. You could never be replaced. Your shoes could never be filled and she never wanted to try. She was happy with whatever I was comfortable giving away. I was relieved to know I could never make a wrong choice. And that was because of you.

All of it is trauma. I will carry the skeletons on my soul until the end of time. I would have more if you tried less, if she did less, if I was crueler and vengeful. But I cannot carry the what-ifs of grieving just like I can't carry the ghosts of impossible scenarios.

So mom. Thank you for trying. Thank you for giving and taking every scream, every harsh word, cheap shot, hormone induced snarl. Thank you for not letting me see how much I just you, for understanding how much I was hurting too. Thank you for accepting my apology, years later when I wasn't so selfish, so stupid and petty. Thank you for seeing and knowing all the things I didn't see yet. Thank you for letting me get it out, for knowing I needed to get it out, knowing how much I wanted to hide it away instead.

Thank you for giving me the space to just be. Thank you for letting me take up as much room as I needed, for letting me battle every demon, battle every shadow that ever whispered lies in my mind.

Thank you for seeing all the things I couldn't and being so god damn patient because I'm fucking stubborn. I'm only sorry it took me so long to figure it out for myself. And maybe I'm a broken record by now but fuck it. Thank you for knowing I needed to learn it on my own because I would never have believed it from anyone else but me. And you knew that from the start.

Anyway. That was a lot. I had a really long talk about adoption with M and we chanced on the topic randomly. Just a long discussion about adoption, surrogacy etc. And everything I know, I learned from you and T. And I am so so grateful.

I should probably get some sleep. Talks like this used to be emotionally draining. But now I just feel a little lucky to be part of the exclusive club instead of looking in from afar. You let me learn and grow to use my story to educate others. To be another advocate for the adoptees because we fucking know there's not enough on our side. It's not taboo. My story isn't a dirty secret, isn't some warning to scare women into hiding. My story is trauma. My story is powerful

#7-19-21 #adoption #trauma