Grace

Thank you.

Some of you went out of your way to offer me some support and insight through your comments here as well as some very kind private emails.

Thank you.

I’m not sure I deserved it but thank you anyway.

It’s hard to tell when to shrug and say nothing or when to stand up.

Low roads, high roads, the lines are blurry sometimes.

And of course, everything is subject to interpretation.

I often think of Dr. Phil (who, by the way, is an idiot) and his famous quote:

“Do you want to be right or do you want to be happy?”

Most of the time I want to be happy. I want to be liked. But sometimes, I think happiness is overrated.

Shades of gray.

So I’m just sitting here, drinking some really good coffee from Ethiopia and thinking about life, and family and love and conflicts.

While we were on our trip we saw a lot of family. Two of my husband’s brothers and their wives have been angry with each other over events that happened at one brother’s wedding seven years ago. They came together for us but there is still tension. Seven years of tension over a wedding and it affects everybody including the kids who weren’t even born when all the stuff went down. It’s no way to live.

Family is family, that much I know.

As far as the blogwar that brewed over here and in other places, I’m sorry that feelings were hurt. Believe it or not, I don’t enjoy hurting people’s feelings.

But I also can’t control how other people interpret the things I write and I can not apologize for having an opinion.

Maybe the blogosphere would be better if everyone realized that there are real live people living behind those computers.

Or maybe not.

I don’t have all the answers. I’m just a person with a blog who has some things to say.

And I try not to speak for anyone but myself.

Hate me, love me, I’m still going to be here. I’m not going anywhere.

Rebuttal

Isn’t it clever how people can attack others but then don’t leave their blog open for comments so one can defend themselves?

Use my comments out of context. Call me names but don’t give me a venue to defend myself.

Ok, here goes. The one thing I will say is that my typing skills are atrocious. Attack me for that all you want. I suck at typing. The other thing I recommend is that people go back to the post where my comments were taken from. Firstmothers wishing ill on their children in the name of bonding is disgusting and triggering. No mother should ever wish their child deliberate ill, it’s anti-mothering. I have children, they are not easy but to wish them ill for any reason is just stomach turning. It angered me.

And I have no compassion for any mother who wishes ill on their child for any reason. Ever.

I also remember saying something in that first comment about people like that mother giving firstmothers a bad name (I wonder why that part wasn’t included). Which means that I do NOT in any way feel that all firstmothers are like this. And I said some other things too. And I stand by them. I do.

There is a book “The Girls Who Went Away” that many are using as a scapegoat and as a way to victimize themselves.And it’s a good book, an interesting book but it is only a sample of reality and the reality is that it is not nice to give your baby away.

Word. It isn’t nice. It’s never nice. It’s abhorrent in most cultures.

And as far as the random sampling comment, Fessler (the author) herself admits that there is nothing empirical in her book. She took stories of interest to her. She included a theme, and hand picked these women’s stories and these first mothers are not every first mother. That’s not a personal attack. If you identify with the book, good for you. I’m just saying that those women are not every woman. It was not my mother.

Good lord, do people really expect adoptees to come running back into our mother’s arms yelling, “Mama!” after what was done to us?

Well…do they? Because I know a lot of adoptees. I grew up with about ten adoptees including my sibling and let me tell you, most of us, were pissed. PISSED! Ditched with no explanation whatsoever. And that’s ok? No, it isn’t ok. It will never be ok. How anyone would think their child would develop a Mama relationship with them after years of perceived abandonment is beyond me. I’m going to channel Ricky Ricardo and say if you reunite with your child, You got a lot of explainin’ to do. It will never be the relationship it would have been had relinquishment not happened. I don’t care who you are. Anyone who thinks they are going to pick up with a child they relinquished right where they left off needs more help than I can give them.

Make no mistake, to abandon a child is a definite choice for most women.

I stand by it. There is a choice. There is always a choice.

Like I said before Kim, you have your story and I have mine. I was not judging you personally in my comments. I am sorry that you took it that way. (it’s not a story, it actually happened, thanks for kicking me in the face after I poured my heart out to you)

Kicking? There was no kicking. Just codependency on your part. I was never talking about KimKim until she made it about her. And taking the word “story” out of context, well that’s just manipulative. My story is real too, lady.

My mother also says that a big reason she placed me was to keep me from her family. My brain gets that, my heart doesn’t. Not at all. I think we will have to agree to disagree on youth being a factor for permitting something like this to happen. I feel it is in a way ageist to blame it on youth, naivete is more likely. I can accept naivete but not youth. (You do not have the right to agree or disagree with the reasons my daughter was relinquished so keep your stupid mouth shut)

I wasn’t talking about your daughter, I was talking about me. If you want to hide behind the youth card and not examine further, that’s your business but don’t you don’t speak for everyone. FYI that’s what you were doing.

One of my kept acousins has a Phd, another has a Masters degree. I’m not sure how those degrees determine a better life but. As far as i know, none of my cousins are on drugs and I know my amom isn’t…and now that i think of it, she has a master’s degree too. (Like the person who has a next door neighbor with a cousin who is adopted and is happy about that so your opinion about being adopted doesn’t matter? We’ve all got our stories and our experiences. (meaning what exactly? we all have suffered so get off the cross someone else needs the wood?)

You were the one who started that by telling us on Joy’s blog how your daughter is getting her PhD while your kept nephew is on drugs. I wonder why you left that part out? You gave an example, I gave an example. I was just responding to your statement.

And I believe I may be influenced in that I am currently reading James McBride’s “Color of Water” and am seeing how his extremely poor, single mother raised twelve biracial children and sent each of them to college. Two are doctors and most have at least a Master’s degree. Everyone has a story. (because your adopted family and my family are the same and I am the same as the poor woman who had 12 children who all thrived despite the poverty, and you read about this in a book so what happened to me in real life is not valid? That’s so ignorant)

Some people against all odds, keep their children and succeed. People should know that. I don’t think that’s ignorant at all but if it makes you feel better to call me names, then go for it!

I don’t know Kim, I like you and all but we really are going to have to agree to disagree on this one.(what is there to disagree with? I grew up in an alcoholic violent family and my nephew who wasn’t adopted is a drug addict and my daughter who was is doing her Phd….all I was saying is that she was adopted because I wanted to spare her from what I had known as family, why is it for you to agree or disagree with what happened to me when I was pregnant? You’re going to disagree with my reasons for having to relinquish? Sorry I don’t accept that)

Alcoholism is rampant on my amother’s side of the family. So is incest if you must know. So what? They kept their kids, you didn’t. So now we’ve got youth and alcoholic families…and I raised you with an incest. When do the excuses stop?

You want to feel private and protected? You want to feel safe from criticism? There’s a great way to do that, see there are these little things made of papaer you can buy and you can write all your thoughts down in them without anyone attacking you. I think it’s called a diary. those things are nifty.

I got no problem with people disagreeing with me or attacking the things I say on my blog. Just don’t expect me to lie down and take it. I have a right to disagree with someone on my own blog. Even a sacred firstmother. So that’s it. That’s all I got on this. Feel free to comment or not. I do have to say i will be going on vacation in the next couple of days so if your comment doesn’t go through moderation, it’s not because I’m chicken its because I’m whooping it up somewhere else. Have a lovely day.

An Explanation

So… this thing happens, if I comment on a WordPress blog and I’m not signed in, it logs me on my default which is Beth. It’s happened on Joy’s blog. I’ve done it on Judy’s blog too.

And sometimes I forget my password and can’t log in until I figure it out. My memory is not so good for that kind of stuff.

My name is Beth.

My mom knows about this blog and thinks it’s healthy for me. She knows we did not have the best relationship when I was growing up. No one knows it more than her. She’s not really surprised by anything. I mean, she was there, you know?

She’s actually really cute. She thinks I should try to get published. How funny is that?

My natural mother knows that I have a secret adoption blog. I’d be surprised if she hasn’t already found it.

At this point, I really don’t care if she does find it. It might do her some good. I don’t really care anymore. And I’m not just saying that. It’s true. I’m kind of done caring about her feelings anymore as she certainly does not seem to have much thought for mine.

So I was not trying to pull the wool over anyone’s eye’s. I am simply not all that computer savvy.

There is no big conspiracy here.

I apologize for any confusion.

But then again, I am apparently some cold hearted meanie who runs marathons to help fight cancer not out of any kind of compassion or empathy but simply because I like getting sweaty.

Whatevs.

Awww. Screw it. Believe what you want to. You will anyway.

In My Head All Day

I’d always thought that if I held you tightly
You’d always love me like you did back then
Then I fell asleep and the city kept blinking
What was I thinking when I let you back in?

I am trying to break your heart
I am trying to break your heart
But still I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t easy
I am trying to break your heart

Golly I love that song.

And I Feel Guilty

Because I know there are adoptees out there like Possum and Theresa who would give anything just to be acknowledged by their mothers.

And I get that. I so get that because for 34 years of my life it’s exactly how I felt.

I just wanted my mother. My real mother.

I wish it was different and I realize I sound like a complete snot every time I blog about my mother.

I know I sound, dare I say it?, UNGRATEFUL.

I don’t want what that woman is selling.

And I can’t tell you anything that will make this all better.

I have no answers. No secrets. This is not a how to.

I spent 34 years of my life dreaming a dream that turned out to be nothing more than a stupid, silly lie. And most days I feel like the joke’s on me.

I am who I am because I was adopted. Because I knew in my heart that I didn’t have to be like my adopters. I was not of them.

And I made a conscious effort to be better. To be tougher. To be stronger. To be wiser. And most importantly, to be kinder.  I was not raised with a lot of kindness.

And I thought I would find some validation in finding my mother.

I thought she would be like me or at least like how I tried to be. Only softer. Nicer and with more patience. And I thought that when we met, she would see the work I had done to be like I imagined her to be all these years.

But she didn’t see it and if she saw it, she didn’t get it because i was wrong about everything. I was wrong about her.

And its my fault for hoping for dreaming for wishing for something better than what I got.

But really, what else could I do?

But the most amazing thing to me is that I am still here. Still standing. Still living to fight another day warts and all.

It’s not about who I look like or how I came to be.

I am just about me. I’ve always been about me.

I’m like a weird freakish experiment in many ways but I came out mostly ok.

Compassion, empathy, dignity…I have these things. Maybe not in the greatest abundance all the time but I have them.

And even though I came from my mother I realize I don’t have to be like her either.

I can be me.

It is all I’ve ever had.

And Possum and Theresa and Mia and Autumn and all the others who have been rejected by their mothers, I have no words except to say that I’m sorry and I see you and I love you and I wish it was different. It should be different.

But you have me. You have us. And never forget, you have yourselves.

I’m beginning to believe that’s the most important part.

Not In the Family

I reached out to one of my sister’s through my ndad once again.  I told her we would be near her neck of the woods soon and would she like to get together.

She responded with a half-assed lie.  Work for a non-profit…no vacation time.

We are going to be around over a weekend. Somebody just doesn’t want to deal.

Ok.  I tried.

I could say that I am hurt but I’m not.  A little disappointed but not really hurt.

This is the one family member I thought I would possibly really connect with.  She reads…actual books.  She’s fairly witty.  She likes yoga.  She seemed interesting.

But not interested

Bummer.

But I’m not devastated.  Why would I be?  She doesn’t know me.  I can’t take it personally.

And I’m not in her family.

We just share some blood.

Maybe she’ll call me if she ever needs a kidney.  Or maybe not.

I don’t know.  It doesn’t bother me.  I get it.

But it would have been cool if she had given us a chance.

Still Here

Some of my posts may look like they disappeared but they are still here. They’re just private. I awoke very early one morning last week and something was telling me to put them to private. I didn’t want to really but I did it. I try to listen to myself when it’s important and this seemed important.

I have not spoken to T since her visit. I don’t plan to.

I have some of my afamily in town at the moment. We took our kids to a children’s museum yesterday. I hung out with my Aunt and her daughter and her daughter. My cousin is one of those “kept” PhD cousins of mine who seem to piss some people off in adopto-land.

I don’t know why her story should shadow someone else’s story but for some it does. Whatevs. Not my problem. I’m tired of being held responsible for other people’s problems.

So anyway, I’m hanging out with my family. My family through adoption. This is my cousin who would come for visits with her brothers and sister. These are the cousins I played cards with as a kid. My grandma would take us bowling and golfing and to the fair. We played cops and robbers and hide and seek. We are family and we have a shared history. We are family.

And none of them ever made me feel adopted.

Not like my biological family does.

And In Other News…

I checked my classmates account. I never check my classmates account. An old boyfriend had signed my guestbook.

He signed it back in March.

Now this is a person who I loved. Deeply. And way, way, way back in Highschool, I wronged him. I broke his heart and stomped all over it.

And I don’t know why I did it. Because I still loved him. It didn’t make sense even to me then.

Why would I do that to someone I loved so much?

Stupid.

But I did. I hurt him. Blatantly and deliberately. I destroyed one of the most loving relationships I have ever had.

For no reason.

Have you ever done that?

It has haunted me for eighteen years.

And he signed my guestbook.

So I sent him an email.

“Hey J. I never check into Classmates but I saw that you signed my “guest book” back in March. I didn’t even know I had a guest book.
So…I don’t even know if you are going to get this email but I thought I would write anyway because I feel like I owe you a huge apology. A ginormous apology.
Oh J, I am so sorry.
Hope you are well. Hope you are happy.
-Issy”

And I don’t care if he does ever write me back. I just am glad I finally got to say sorry. And I hope he accepts my apology. And I really do hope he is happy and well.

And I hope that somewhere in his heart he can forgive me.

And Just So We’re Clear On One Thing…

I’m not a girl.

I didn’t appreciate being called a girl today. I know it was meant to be completely demeaning and I took it as such but it didn’t hit me the way it was intended.  I’m bigger than that.  I’m a 36-year-old mother of two children that I am raising to be strong, sensitive, caring men. I am a wife to an incredible man who challenges my mind and soul every day. I am an educator, a thinker, a lover and a damn loyal friend. I think I’ve earned the title of woman.

In fact, I know I’ve earned that title.

And now I’ve got that damn Britney Spears song in my head.

From the Mouths of Babes

I don’t believe in lying to children. Especially my children. Right after college, I made the mistake of becoming a nanny for a family of crazy people. I didn’t last a year. they were nuts. I got in trouble one day because while visiting a community farm with the little boy, he asked me why there were chickens on the farm and I told him. We get eggs from chickens, and feathers and we eat chicken. He told his parents what I had said and I got it.

“We don’t want him to know that the chicken he eats is an animal.”

Ummm… ok. He’s four and he knows English, he’s going to figure it out. Whatever.

Well my kids know a lot. They know where their food comes from at least. and when one of my children asks me a question, I try to answer them honestly.

When I was pregnant with my second child, my eldest and I were cuddling on afternoon when he pointed to my belly and asked me if he had grown in there once.

“Yes, you did” I answered and you kicked a lot.”

“And did you kick Grandma F(my amom) when you were in her tummy?”

“Well…not exactly.”

He pressed me for more information so I gave him a very limited version.

“I didn’t grow in Grandma ’s tummy. There was this other lady and I grew in her tummy and we don’t know her and we don’t know why but she couldn’t take care of me so Grandma F and Grandpa are my parents.”

“Oh.”

“And I really hope someday we can meet the lady. I really hope so.”

“Me too, Mom.”

And that was the extent of it. I was not reunited at the time, I didn’t really know much more myself. My son would ask more questions and we would often talk about “The Lady” but I didn’t really have any answers for him.

Until about two years later when I found her.

“Hey, A, remember The Lady? I found her.”

And he was really, really happy. A little wary of the reality of this new person but he was also thrilled. The mystery had been solved and she brought presents!

Sometimes we talk about how interesting it is that The Lady turned into his Grandma T a woman he and his little brother adore. And yes, as my son has aged, his awareness of the truths in adoption has become clearer in his mind. i try to keep the bitterness out of my voice when my son and I talk about adoption. We try to let him draw his own conclusions but it’s been challenging at times for him. He remembers a life before my mother reappeared. It’s tough to take in sometimes.

“Where was she all that time Mom?”

She was at her house with her kids and with Papa.

“But why didn’t she know us?”

“Well she couldn’t find me.”

“But isn’t she your real mom why did she lose you?” My son is full of questions I tell you.

“Well first, I have two moms and they are both real and you love Grandma F.” I said.

“Yes I do.” he answered.

“So Grandma T had me and she didn’t think she could take care of me so Grandma F did, remember?”

And then tear fill my son’s beautiful eyes, “You mean she just left you, Mom?!! Grandma T left you?! How could she leave you?”

And I can feel him looking at me and I worry that he is judging my worthiness like others have done in the past.

Don’t ever tell my family you’re adopted...

If you weren’t good enough for them…

Sometimes the words of that man I once loved still ring in my head.  Good thing he’s long gone but his words still sting.

Not good enough.

But no. Not my son, he doesn’t feel that way about me. I’m good enough for him I hope.

“Why did she leave you Mom?”

“Oh Honey,” I pulled him into a hug, “I don’t know…it was a long time ago.”

What a crappy conversation. And he loves all of his grandmas and he loves me and I feel lucky to have my boy.

And that’s the last major conversation we’ve had about adoption. It comes up. he thinks the Webkins adoption agency is “Inappropriate” and has told me he won’t work there. Did you know your kids can work in the Webkins adoption agency and help Mrs. Bird process the adopees? Sick. Yeah, can you believe that. You buy a stupid stuffed animal to play with online and they get your kid “working” at their “adoption agency”-unbelievable! I didn’t ask him not to do this. He just thinks it’s wrong. And I think it is too. But I keep my mouth shut. He made his own decision with that.

As some of you know, my abrother and his wife had a baby. We will be taking a trip back to the place my husband and I met for a little vacation and attending our niece’s christening while we are there.

We are all very excited about it.

“Is Grandma T coming for the christening?” my eldest asked me, “I bet she’s really excited about the new baby.”

I was confused for a minute, “Why would she be excited about the baby?” I asked him.

“Well the new baby is her granddaughter too.”

Oh! Crap.

“Well honey, actually she isn’t. See Grandma T is my natural mother but she’s not Uncle B’s mother.”

He just stared at me.

“But, Uncle B is adopted too!” he exclaimed.

“Yes. Yes he is but well…he has another mother out there somewhere.”

My son was just incredulous.

“YOU MEAN THERE”S ANOTHER LADY?!!! Another Lady we don’t know?”

Yep.

“And is Uncle B going to find her like you did and meet her?”

“I don’t think so, hon.”

“That’s so sad, Mom. Maybe we could find her for him. I bet he’d like that.”

And I sighed.

“No A. We can’t look for her. I promised Uncle B that I wouldn’t. He doesn’t want me to.”

“But that’s so sad, Mom. That’s just so sad.” And I think he was getting ready to cry. And I think I was too.

It is not my decision to make and I have been sworn to not look. I was told specifically not to look and that if I ever did, he would never speak to me again.

I will not lose my brother. I have been forbidden.

But I didn’t tell my son any of the details, I think he’d had enough adoption talk and I know it hurts him. It hurts him, and the last thing I want is for my son to feel any kind of adoption pain.

“Hey. Let’s go get some ice cream. I bought some chocolate at the store.”

“Ok Mom.” and the smile has returned.

The is another Lady out there. And I wish her well. And so does my son. For what it’s worth.