Being Me

Self Expression

2007-06-19T14:07:00.000-07:00

I've been intending to make a new blog but mostly just caught up in the exciting world of the AAAC forum.

This here is my own little creation. My story telling place. I love to be heard, to express myself. Blogging is valuable because it allows me to say exactly what I think I want to say. Even if it's only for me. But sending my words out to the internet, the public eye is a sweet challenge too. It's such a freeing feeling to choose to say exactly what I want to say to people I don't know; so they can read me, respond to me, judge me. So I can see how this works. How do my words affect others? Do I make a difference to anyone? Is it good? Is it hurtful? I want to know.

I do it mostly because it's valuable for me. The process of expressing instead of holding/withholding is very expansive, like breaking bonds and restrictions on my breathing and on my awareness. If you want to read more of my stories you can find them at http://jmomma.wordpress.com/

APs

2007-05-10T16:01:00.000-07:00

this just seemed really appropriate right now

http://harlowmonkey.typepad.com/harlows_monkey/2007/05/first_person_pl.html

It brought to the surface more complications in my story --

She says more than I can.

Shedding

2007-04-25T14:05:00.000-07:00

I actually wrote this 2 weeks ago but I couldn't make blogger work then...

Today I feel like a snake, shedding skin.

*Not a cold and unfeeling reptile. I actually rather like the sinuous feeling of handling live snakes – ehh—ok*

But expanding and quite vulnerable. Eying life anew.

Discarding another layer that is no longer necessary, a skin that once protected me and allowed me to move forward has outlived it’s usefulness.

I’ve been challenged again by my gorgeous human daughter.

Every relationship I have is colored by my sense of myself, which is colored by adoption.

So many judgments. I read and sort and forgive and grow and repeat.

So many layers of judgment.

So many attempts to disguise myself.

Oh, I’m really ok.

Really.

And slither off under a rock.

And shed.
And look at life with fresh eyes.

Integration

2007-03-26T16:49:00.000-07:00

Danger -- Construction zone. Enter at your own risk.

Hey did you see I have a link?!! to my firstborn, Joy.

Every little bit of integrating her into my life brings more of me into my picture. I have three children. The youngest was born 14 1/2 years after the first. They are sisters, though they hardly know each other.

My beginnings in motherhood were tragic. A year before I became pregnant with Joy, I miscarried. I didn't even know the word miscarriage before then. The OB/GYN congratulated me on escaping a tragic pregnancy. I grieved my loss, despite being 16 with no idea how I could have prevailed with a baby.

Later, losing my baby to adoption was the greatest pain I've ever known. Abortion wasn't an option for me, even if it had been legal. I've never been anti abortion. I just couldn't imagine it personally at that time. Looking back, it seems like motherhood was aborted.

And then I got married and had two lovely children. Having a "lost" child was my separate reality.

I couldn't speak of it. I couldn't accept it, integrate it into my happy family. It would have been tragic, but acceptable to have lost a child through death. Everyone knows that.

Something connected to all the praise and approval I got for my two lovely children and my happy family shifted the pain of adoption loss i guilt anto guilt and shame. It was too gruesome to explain.

I had two separate motherhoods. One was tragic and aborted. The second was nourishing and growing.

Reunion. For a long time it just meant reunion with my daughter. Getting to know each other. Getting to know myself. Gradually learning to accept, own, claim ourselves as family. Reaching out to other family members, going more public, inch by inch.

I'm beginning to know the richness of reunion inside me, of knowing I have three children. No, it didn't start out that way, inside me. But my two motherhoods are uniting, through Joy's and my reunion. It's becoming one, integrated within me.

Accepting that though I wanted to be her mother, to raise her--I didn't get to; She has other family has been confusing to me too. How, what, where do we fit together? How do we accept our own and each others' disappointment, most especially Joy's loss as an abandoned baby?

Though I loved her every day of her life; physcially I wasn't there. Her life connection into this physical world was lost. She had to make it on her own through the maze of adoptive family rites.

My dream of her happy family didn't make a lovely happy easy life for her.

My aborted motherhood was a tragedy we both had to survive as well.

What this post is really about is that we are surviving it all. We are integrating ourselves in each others lives and expanding and growing independently and together. Bit by bit.

feelings

2007-03-15T18:05:00.000-07:00

Just now I want to reach out and be able to touch her. I want her closer. I want it to be simple and common to reach her. I want her to see me, her mother. I want to be there.

I want to have strength, to stand in my heart no matter what comes my way. I want to watch my feelings, to own them, learn from them but not be ruled by them.

I want to take every thing that comes my way as a blessing, of learning, expansion and growth.

Recovery

2007-03-04T10:19:00.000-08:00

Asking, listening, receiving and expressing. Those four steps are my method of learning and growing. Communicating with myself, with God, with you.

I remember holding thoughts and feelings inside, afraid to share them, thinking they were mine, thinking I could be crucified for making an error in consciousness if I let them out where you could see them. I was stuck in self protection.

I've discovered expressing these things allows me to see them more objectively and I experience myself expand, move, change. It makes more room inside. The kaleidoscope of my awareness expands.

An imaginary banner posted on the side of my imaginary bus reads,

"Whatever you think It's more than that, more than that"

--from Job's tears by Robin Williamson.

This is all prelude to revealing what I learned from my last post, the part about rude questions.

The "What kind of person..." was all wrong.

We're all the same kind of person.

We're all
Humans.
Humiliating
Humble
Humming

I want connections, inside and outside. We're all in this together whether we know it or not.

I want to ask "What's going on when a person makes their desire for a baby more important than the baby's desire for it's mother?" What are we doing?

Lets go for a drive.

Helter Skelter

2007-02-28T10:13:00.000-08:00

Will you, won't you tell me the answer?

No. I have to figure it out myself.

Asking is something I'm learning. From my father I learned to ask challenging and direct questions. At 22 my best friend asked "Why are you always trying to prove yourself?"
I learned from my dad that I better be able to defend anything I had to say or not say it. When push came to shove I tended to leave or challenge. He abhorred "just getting along".

For years I wrestled with the question: "What kind of person gives her child up for adoption?" Last year I awakened in blogland to the twist, "What kind of person takes another mother's baby?"

It's evolved to, "What kind of person makes their desire for a baby more important than that baby's desire for it's mother?"

But, IRL I don't bring up these questions that roll around in my head. They are challenging. They are rude. I don't want to expose my vulnerability of being the mother that lost her baby in that context.

They point out a habit of being ornery, of asking questions that put others on the defensive. Questing for answers, proof.

REquesting, asking for information, inquiring is a habit I would like to cultivate. Can my interest and caring go beyond self protection?

That is what I am asking the universe for right now. Please help me to trust myself enough to ask without defense. To remember that we are all doing the best we can with what we know right now.

"Right and wrong
Right and wrong
Never helped us get along"
-Tenderness by Paul Simon

Dear Grandson,

2007-02-24T10:29:00.000-08:00

This is my first imaginary letter to TomTom. Now that I've written it, I want to write a completely different letter, a real one.

Hi _______,

Your mom tells wonderful stories about you. She's a good story teller and she thinks you're marvelous. For a long time I held back, knowing you have quite a few grandparents. You're their only grandchild.

I held back, wanting to get right with your mom first. She and I had a lot of hard times trying to get to know and accept each other, as you know. The old saying "Time heals all wounds" plays in here. It took a lot of time & work for her and I to get this far.

We're each doing the best we can here. I wish I could have known you better before. I'm looking forward to getting to know you better. I want to be your friend. I'm coming to visit for her birthday. I hope to see you then too.

Love,
Justice

parallel?

2007-02-21T11:12:00.000-08:00

Another fill in for the gaps.

Nearly the same time my family discovered I was pregnant, another close family found itself in a similar situation. D. was told to make an adoption plan or get out also. Here her situation had a significant change. She was caught by her boyfriend and his mother. I visited her once at their house. It was crowded and difficult. It was awkward. It was so far beyond me.

My family said, "See how awful it is. How awful it will be."

It was just different.

D. gave birth to her baby girl. I only heard about her occasionally because I avoided my family pretty much. As time went by that baby girl became an especially valued member of her family. D's parents adored her and were terrifically grateful for her.

I don't know. Maybe D's baby worked as hard as an adoptee to please and heal her family. I heard she was a unifying force for the family. I wonder how it was for my folks, to watch how their friends healed over the rejection of their granddaughter. What was it like to know their friends had been able to love and watch that baby grow, when my folks first met their granddaughter?

Rebuilding

2007-02-21T10:51:00.000-08:00

Right after my baby was born I was accepted back into my parents home and waited to die.

I never had a "plan". I thought it would just be the natural course of events. About six weeks later I started thinking about venturing out into the world.

Other unfortunate events led to a referral from my counselor to volunteer at the local facility for psychotic children.

I had a lot of love that needed an appropriate outlet. Psychotic children were perfect. We really connected. I started with a little towhead that I was supposed to reward with M&Ms for doing math problems. But what he really liked was being taken outside the ward for walks. I fantasized adopting him.

There was a little "voluntarily mute" girl whose mother had disciplined her by holding her head under water. She only spoke to herself when she was alone. Her hair was shorn because she used to stick food in it.

An eight year old boy that threw a twin size mattress across his room when he was upset about I know not what.

A twelve year old boy that had set his parents house on fire and frequently reached for my breasts.

A four year old boy that had been institutionalized at three. He quietly spread his feces on his walls and floor.

Those are the ones I remember. In the afternoon we took them to parks and played. I felt very much at home. I was loved and appreciated that summer.

In the fall, a man from "group therapy", took me in, helped me start school, gave me a car.

After 4 months I drove to Idaho to take up with other misfits, trying to escape the "system" and testing it's safety nets. Processing grief and abandonment. Rejecting society, blaming it, for my guilt. Like the world shouldn't be such a crappy place to live. I was looking for a better place, a better world.

Looking for love in all the wrong places as a war between my ideals and reality was going on inside.

Another series of events conspired to bring me to a safe space, an alternate reality. My initial suspicion of my spiritual teacher held him at bay for a couple years. At which point my self doubt held the process off for another 3 or 4 years. One day I realized that the reason I kept coming back was the loving. The quality of loving was the best I'd ever found. There was room for all my imperfection. But it's still up to me to bring myself forward, to confront my guilt and to forgive myself.

For years into reunion, certain words, like abandoned, had me running scared. It was so easy to turn the knife of guilt and shame on myself. I've been learning to breathe, and watch the ocean of emotions flow through me. I endure. I am greater than my emotions.

I feel like an old growth redwood. They can get burned out. Hollowed. They keep growing. The charcoal side can be curled over with soft red bark. Slowly. If they fall over, they may still sprout from the ground. Sometimes a circle of young trees comes up where the mother tree had been.
(http://magickcanoe.com/blog/2006/11/23/in-the-redwoods-part-two/ for some good pictures)

I am.

Embracing the Dark Side

2007-02-16T09:46:00.000-08:00

I started blogging over six months ago. It's been cathartic. I think that's the word. Learning from fellow bloggers I've learned about me and to watch what goes on inside more carefully. I feel both more whole and more aware of areas of my self that are retarded.

Accepting my mistakes and limitations is one of my constant themes. Learning to express my self is an important step in learning to be myself. This is my classroom.

Letting go of expectations of myself and of you. Letting go of what I think should be. I am settling in to what is.

Letting go of my flights of fancy-- that I can/should/might make things "right".

I'm going to a wonderful spiritual retreat again this weekend. Perhaps I'll embrace a little more of embraceable me, making more room for embraceable you.

Before Blogland

2007-02-12T17:08:00.000-08:00

Reflecting on two things: 1) what Joy said about our relationship improving all the time and 2)how I depended on her so much through our reunioning which I referred to in my last post.

I had one opportunity to talk to another mother about ten years ago, but I froze like a deer in the headlights.

It happened while attending a workshop focused on healing and attuning to Spirit.

What came up for me at that time was judgment I'd held against myself for my relationship with Joy's father and getting pregnant by him. I'd been refused birth control by a private OB/GYN and by Planned Parenthood because I was under age. What was I thinking? Didn't I know where I was headed?

Not entirely. I had premonitions. But I didn't see options back then.

It's easy to look back and see how I allowed myself to go into the situation for several reasons. I got some affection, some love, some comfort and a whole lot of pain. Ok.

So that's what I did, but it's not who I am. I came to the end of the workshop with a sense of relief and increased openness towards myself. As we were saying our goodbyes, a woman approached me to say she had also lost a child to adoption and offered me her card in case I ever wanted to talk.

I was shocked. I took her card. I kept her card through a couple of moves. I never contacted her. I threw the card away when so much time had passed I didn't think she'd remember me if I did figure out how to say hello.

Now I am asking myself why was I so blocked that I couldn't take this woman's offering of understanding and compassion? Why did I cling to the illusion that I should (I'm thinking of you Suz) handle this "on my own"?

Why am I still asking myself this question? I may hate "whys" almost as much as I hate "shoulds".

But there may be value in the why was I so blocked. Not really in the why, but what is/was that block? And how do I get it out of me? Can I relax and let myself be?

It almost seems like a big boxed refrigerator sitting inside me. Big, hard and cold. I wasn't supposed to feel grief. Time had passed. I had made a successful life. Everyone thought I was "fine". And I was so afraid to contaminate my precious children with all that stored waste. It wasn't me that had suffered anyway. I just gave my child away for adoption. I had two more children now. How could I be so selfish as to be upset about my loss of my firstborn? I wasn't deserving of her.

At least I had provided a deserving family with a healthy white infant. And Joy was certainly better off not having been held down by my inabilities. Now I did have a sense that perhaps my daughter would have benefitted from knowing something of me, just because she was likely somewhat like me. But I felt I was screwing that up too. I hadn't even owned the word reunion yet. I said we were in contact.

About 5 or 6 years ago, Joy said something about how she and I could help each other because we were the only ones that knew what was going on with us. We could talk to each other about the things no one else wanted to hear about. I opened up to some grief that scared me. It's been crazy at times. But I think we've come through a lot. Accepting her pain and mine has been my greatest challenge.

Balancing Act

2007-02-05T14:18:00.000-08:00

Struggling to accept myself, my actions and my situation. I am doing so much better. And as Joy reminded me recently, I am always doing the best I can given what I know at the time.

Aren't we all?

But I screwed up again! After reading (and listening to) Kim's repeated and beautiful explanations of how reunion needs to be about the adoptee, I fell off the wagon again. I went into blaming myself and feeling shameful and victimized. Then when she's picking me up and dusting me off again, I just have to go and shoot for more of what I want.

God bless me. I am shoveling the manure and I will find the pony here.

Cue Van Morrison singing "When will I ever learn to live in God? When will I ever learn?"

The good news about me sticking my foot in my mouth is that I have a bit more understanding of what she is dealing with. Not only is she balancing her son and ex husband, me and my family, her adopted family and her first father and his family. She is also considering her adopted sibling's first family. She wants to be sure she doesn't do anything to jeopardize their relationship.

I'm getting a clearer picture of what she means by providing excellent customer service. I needed to know that.

But I wonder how much she needs it. How did she come to be the master fixer upper of these intersecting fates?

It reminds me of the competitions over who has it the hardest, first moms, adoptees, whoever. Maybe it varies depending on the particular situation. But right now I feel it has to go to the adoptee.

I feel so blessed to have her in my life.

"And up on the hillside its quiet
Where the shepherd is tending his sheep
And over the mountains and the valleys
The countryside is so green
Standing on the highest hill with a sense of wonder
You can see everything is made in God
Head back down the roadside and give thanks for it all

When will I ever learn to live in God?
When will I ever learn?
He gives me everything I need and more
When will I ever learn?"

First Meet

2007-01-31T12:24:00.000-08:00

I never did talk with my parents about adoption. Sometime during my eighth month I agreed to it. I said ok. I gave in. Other people told me why I should, counselors, social workers, ministers, my boyfriend and my parents. I shut up.

When I told my folks that Joy had contacted me and I was going to meet her, they asked me if I was sure I wanted to do that. I said yes. Everyone was surprised because I'd held it all inside of me for so long. I never shared what I felt. There had been no reason to share. It was all pain and helplessness. There was nothing anyone else could or would do because everyone else thought adoption was the "right thing to do".

All the lies of the adoption machine were still in place in everyone else's heads. Actually they were very active in my head as well. But my head and my heart were on different programs.

My memories are all jumbled now. I think Joy and I had been in contact about three months when I had the opportunity to return to the west coast for my grandfather's memorial service. She suggested we meet in a coffee shop.

It's funny to look back and remember worrying about how I looked. I wanted her to be favorably impressed -- attracted to me. I don't think I ever was more careful about how I looked, even though I was only wearing (pink)shorts and a (white)sweater. I think. I just remember looking in the mirror and worrying before I left. I wanted to look like me, but better.

I found the coffeeshop and recognized I'd seen the building before but never been in it. Did we meet in the parking lot?

I just remember she felt nervous to me. We both seemed apprehensive. I remember sitting across from her, looking straight at her. Her brow ridge looked like her father's. And just like she had told me on the phone; she had blue eyes to my brown.

I don't remember what we said. It was surreal. We'd lived just minutes from each other, but in different realms. Now we were in contact and I lived 2000 miles away. I was again rebelliously taking off from my parent's home, this time to see my child who was now a mother herself.

She had a whole life that was foreign to me. I felt like an invader, afraid to claim her, waiting for her cues. On the phone she had told me she wasn't angry. And she wasn't looking for a mother. She already had one. She told me she lied a lot.

At this first meeting I probably didn't say much, like usual. I was at such a loss.

I didn't want to scare her off. I believed all those lies about her wonderful chosen baby status. None of it made sense though. I had a lot to lose and I wanted to say the right thing. We were on storm tossed seas.

It was a brief and odd meeting. I'm glad we met. Next one will be better. OXOXOXOOOOO

Hello

2007-01-27T12:03:00.000-08:00

Mostly I've been sick for the past five days. I've been sick a lot this year. Several people have noticed my usual chipper self has been in the shop.

Seldom feeling ill has allowed me a luxury of enjoying the down time. That's caught up to me so that I'm wondering why I've needed so much down time lately-- To experience letting go, being "out of control"-- Learning to cooperate.

The one thing that's hung over me is have I dropped my end of the game in my electronic relationship with my baby? I had so much rolling around my head a few days ago. But I don't remember what it was.

I've luxuriated in being fussed over by my sweetie. And when I feel particularly spunky I get up and read blogs. But not too much. He's out doing the shopping now and I said I was going to saute some mushrooms to go with the leftovers...

But I just wanted to say hello first.

Suggestions?

2007-01-23T15:22:00.000-08:00

Well that last post had a lot of repercussions for me, to get out of the past, the uncovering, and move into what can I do now? How can I expand our relationship now?

Many years have gone by since what I last wrote about. My husband and I are moving forward integrating Joy's and my relationship. I talk about my feelings with him more, although I'm still a little guarded and protective. That's an area of responsibility that I am expanding in. I talk to Buster and Ezzy about Joy as much as they seem comfortable with, sometimes pushing their comfort zones. I got on My Space so they would have access to each other by being my "friends". The only other blood relative is my brother and for reasons beyond my current understanding he and I hardly see each other. I can't really include his kids at this point.

Reading many other people's blogs has helped me open up and claim my own reality and encouraged me to share it with Joy and everyone else in my life. Sometimes I am quite clumsy about it.

Sometimes my sensitivity seems to be limited to my feelings. Maybe more rather than less often that's been the case. I still hold out hope for me and my maturational process.

I am hoping to see Joy in April. I'll probaby go somewhere near where she lives. I don't know her preference yet and I want to do whatever she prefers, to the best of my ability.

I guess I just want any input anyone has on how to better go about this, to let her know as fully as possible that I do love her. Always have, always will.

I do. But it's more important to me that she experience being loved than that she recognize I love her. I know that she gets that from most of those of you that have left me (and her)comments. And that warms my heart too.

I am grateful for that which I am about to receive.

Uncovering

2007-01-18T13:04:00.000-08:00

OK. What do I have to say? I woke up this morning looking afresh at the past. How do I pull this together? Suz's posting of Joss Shawyer's article http://www.exiledmothers.com/voices_from_exile/february2003.html initiated another roll of the adoption story in my psyche. The article included this: "... the first mother must deal with her own pain in another forum, by entering into therapy, by talking to other women who understand, by kicking holes in a wall, by doing whatever helps." What a concept! I didn't know I needed help, support. I thought I was supposed to be a grown woman now, competent, with children "of my own". It was the "children of my own" that gave me the first glimmer of what I was dealing with. Originally I had no shame, only pain. I didn't care who knew about my failure at motherhood. The pain was much more important to acknowledge than trying to keep up appearances. My parents were the ones that didn't want anyone to know - wanted me to get on with my life productively, to put the past behind me. I distanced myself from them because they didn't want to talk about the most important event of my life. Moving on was messy, but I moved and moved and moved. Until 12 years later when my son was born. And I devoted myself to motherhood, with insecurity as well as gusto.

Buster and Ezzy were in school, (spouse) was in graduate school. I was teaching kindergarten. We'd moved to the midwest, learning to live with ice and cold. And (out of the blue) Joy calls. A new kind of fear entered my consciousness. For the first time I was ashamed. I tried to look at the situation through Buster's eyes. How could I tell him I had given my firstborn away? I was his mother! What would he think? If I could sacrifice one child, why not him? What in the world was keeping me and him together? What in the world could have separated his beloved grandparents from their first grandchild? Projecting myself into his point of view was horrifying.

I tried to put distance between him and Joy, to make it impossible that I could have done something so horrible. I had to make it not horrible, just something that happened that he couldn't, wouldn't have to possibly understand. Nobody wanted to acknowledge what had happened. Everyone had their own reasons. They all had to do with it being too horrible. I clung to and repeated the story I'd been fed, about how my baby was wanted by a family that could really take care of her, really love and support her, in the way I couldn't. I was too young. I didn't go into the shaming of how it was also because I had no husband. Or that my parents refused to help me with my child. Or that I was just too alone to raise a child. I didn't want my kids to see their mother as a loser, unwanted. So I made it out like it was all ok(!?!?!?!) Yep everything's fine here. Don't you worry about a thing. We're a happy family here.

All that trauma, all that pain would just have to go someplace else. That's supposed to be a secret. That didn't even really happen. So yeah, Joy and I will have an occasional phone call. We'll write letters, see each other every couple of years. We even started an email correspondence of frequent misunderstandings that is so damn messy we'll just keep it away from Buster and Ezzy. There's something wrong with Mom and Joy but it's their problem. No one else needs to be brought into their mess.

When Buster and Ezzy became hormonally charged teenagers I brought up the fact that I personally knew that an unplanned pregnancy was devastating. Losing my baby to adoption was the worst experience of my life and should be avoided at all costs. But I haven't yet told them that it was the worst thing that ever happened to my baby too. They are no longer 'teens'. They are doing well. I am sharing more and more about my relationship with Joy and her beauty and success. I have fantasies about moving more and more into "normalcy", meaning open acceptance of all of my family, my three children knowing each other, knowing they are siblings, not separated. They grew up in a strange kind of broken home, separated. I am bringing them together inside myself, so I can share them with each other and give them the choice to share with each other too.

This blogosphere is my therapy.

Being Me

2007-01-06T19:32:00.000-08:00

I am loving my old drafts as much as any published posts and enjoying incorporating them.

Conception: Here I go responding to someone else's issues/concerns. But why? I suspect I am again trying to justify as well as to explain myself. It's not as simple as it looks from your angle. From a distance you know it looks so much better. Soft focus.

Everyone wants to think they were conceived in love, their particular definition of love. What if we were each conceived in love? The love that was available at the time.

Oh I've entered my impatient phase and I'm trying to balance. I remember KimKim's happiness pact and I am striving to be happy. I am happy! I am remembering that I get what I look for. I am looking for the good, for the divine, in people and situations. That's what I want.

It's fabulous that I am responding to other people's issues and concerns. It's really prodding me to examine my own, to remind me to get on track myself. That's what this blogging is all about, learning about myself so that I can better participate in my relationships.

Name that J.

2007-01-06T11:55:00.000-08:00

Last night my fabulous son helped me set up a MySpace account, (friends only). So far he's my only friend. The first thing I noticed is that it opens up with "Hi Justice" because that's the name I listed on my "profile". That's not my name. J. is the alias I was given before I broke into this blogging adventure. J. is too anonymous for me. I considered expanding it to Jemima or Jezebel too. Justice kind of appealed to me in the way I paraphrased it from the Bible: instead of "vengeance is mine" (so says the Lord) I was thinking "justice is mine". That makes me God's, and I like being on God's side. Justice also rings with "doing myself justice" as in doing myself right, doing my best-- even reaching to practicing judiciousness, wisdom.

Maybe it's my developing judiciousness that took a closer look at Justice when I saw "Hi Justice" on the top of my My Space. I started to think about what other people might read into the name Justice. As in seeking justice, righting wrongs, justifying, vigilantes. Ambivalence reigns.

My son certainly didn't seem to take any of those connotations from it. But I guess seeing Tom pop up as "my friend" (before Buster explained Tom is simply the Myspace administrator, everybody's "friend") gave me pause to consider how I appear to those that know me only from the internet. While it may often feel that I'm just talking to myself, I'm also talking to the whole world.

What do I want to say to the whole world?

This morning I went through "J" in the dictionary, looking for the most appropriate J. I could find. I like Joy best but it's taken. Jubilant is too much as is jubilation. Jewel, January(as a feminine form of Janus), Joinery, Journey, Jordan and jus sanguine are all up for consideration at this time.

I'm exploring, finding ways that work, cooperating with what is. I am overcoming resistance; not wanting to take an alias, wanting my regular name. And I am expanding into new territory in the name of privacy. I am wondering about the overlaps of secrecy and privacy.

Resemblance

2007-01-01T23:04:00.000-08:00

When Joy first talked about not looking like her aparents I really didn't get the significance. My reference point was people talking about how adopted kids usually turn out looking like they fit in their afamilies. But she didn't. She didn't match or fit the profile.

At a Christmas gathering this year with my husband's family there were 17 of us including a fiance. People were remarking how much the fiance looked like another brother. He fit right into the family. I and another woman were the only ones besides the fiance that weren't blood relatives. Sharing a little geneaology with her we discovered that we can trace ourselves back to a common ancestor. It's over 300 years, but we kind of look alike too. It's comforting to look around the room recognizing yourselves.

Genetics is only part of the picture. Living in close proximity with each other we learn to mimic facial expressions and verbal inflections. Our appearances are altered to match our family culture and to go along with the stories we tell each other. That's part of the mystery of discovering Joy. I recognize her so deeply within me in some ways. And in other aspects I look and wonder where they came from. Did it come from her father? From her afamily? Friends?

These layers of discovery are part of finding our way with each other.

Owning and Honoring

2007-01-01T16:53:00.000-08:00

What more is there to say? KimKim nailed it with her post about secrets and lies. I am still learning to step more delicately around others' sensiblities, but I'm not cooperating with deceit.

I'm curious about Joy's many families. She's got her son and her ex husband and the inlaws/grandparents on that side. She's got the family she grew up with. She's got me with hints of siblings. She's got B and his clan. That's a lot to juggle on holidays -- and maintain her own sanity.

Lately everywhere I go I find someone to listen to me talk about me and Joy. People are excited to learn my family is bigger than they knew. I wonder how much of it is dependent on the way I introduce the story. Or is it just fun to learn there's more to me than meets the eye? Whatever, it's definitely different than the reactions I got when Ezzy and Buster were just 5 and 8 and it seemed people were somewhat put off by me announcing I had just reunited with my long lost daughter.

Breaking out of the silence. Many family members "knew" about the adoption, but I'd never really shared my experience with any of them. I'd felt cut off. Intervening years and maturing had brought us closer together. But I'd never talked to any of them about my loss or my hopes regarding Joy. There have been a lot of intervening years again and things are gradually normalizing ~ I think.

Instead of looking at me askance they inquire with interest. My family has expanded. There are more people to know and share with.

I am developing trust in myself, trusting that I have whatever is necessary to make this relationship work. Trusting that I am going to handle whatever comes up. Trusting that truth is bearable, whatever it is, because loves lies underneath it all. That's been my experience and I'm going with it.

Adoption Loss -- What's that?

2006-12-24T14:42:00.000-08:00

Hmmm... another post that hasn't seen the light of day...

I have some work to do. What is it? Oh yeah, what is adoption loss? What is it that makes me want to run and hide when I hear someone walking towards me as I write? I'm an adult now. I've raised two awesome children. I've got people telling me I'm all kinds of cool on a regular basis. Why do I feel like I just got the rug pulled out from underneath me by a simple, "What's that?"

My mind arranges lots of information explaining it from the various points of view: adoptee, adoptor, and mine. Explaining is not what I want to do. I want to be free in my own skin, not to feel like I have to explain my feelings or my situation or me. Explaining my feelings is trying to carve out a niche for myself, to say it's ok for me to be.

I want to look at adoption loss and just see it. To see it without trying to fix it up or hide it or run from it -- without judging myself. My adoption loss in tied up in Joy's adoption loss, which is tied up in her aparents adoption loss.

Denying my own pain blocked me from acknowledging Joy's. I knew nothing worse than giving up my daughter was going to happen to me. I found cold comfort with all the "You did the right thing". Yet I clung to, "She's in a good family". She's being loved, nourished, nurtured, cherished by people who were devoted to providing for her growth and development. I may have been worthless as a mother, but at least I helped to provide some joy in their world. Seriously, I thought of surrogacy as a noble and charitable act, though I wouldn't consider myself a volunteer.

So adoption loss, what's that? Losing. Losing my baby, losing my self worth, losing touch with reality.

It's Christmas

2006-12-23T17:51:00.000-08:00

IT'S CHRISTMAS!!! Actually it's December 23rd and I didn't bother to look on the internet until 5:30pm -- because I met Joy and TomTom for breakfast today. They stayed in a hotel just fifteen minutes from me on her way to visit the home she grew up in. We were a little self conscious exchanging gifts for the first time in years. But we did greet each other with a great big hug. I was reminded of a phrase on my younger daughter's blog, and I quote "really good non-wimpy bursting with love hugs". In contrast to our previous tentative physical relationship we moved in that direction in a big way. I even hugged TomTom when we said goodbye although I wasn't sure he was expecting it...

Hugging. Affection. I wanted to hold Joy when we first met. For the first few years I wanted to hold her, to comfort her. But she was very hesitant to let me touch her.

I don't recall any physical affection in my "family of origin". But once I got out of there I gravitated to very affectionate circles that expanded until when I was 28 my father said , well if everyone else can hug you I can too. So our big hug may have been the "best Christmas present ever".

Anyway breakfast was lovely. We could see the ocean and hear the waves. The waiter was a bit goofy but the sun was shining and we were in a small haven. Simple chatty breakfast. As I was leaving I found my camera! Joy said "oh no". But I promised I wouldn't post them on the internet and we got the hostess at the restaurant to take our picture. All three of us together.

Searching

2006-12-06T18:36:00.000-08:00

I was found almost seventeen years ago. I never took the concrete physical steps to look.

Over a week ago I looked for the Childrens Home Society on the Internet. I found a listing near the city I "signed the papers" in. I wrote down the address and the phone number, thinking I'll probably have to write to make an official request for information. But it would be faster to phone. Joy told me the limited information she'd been able to retrieve about her early life was not what I'd been promised. She wondered why I didn't know what had happened. Reading about other's searches finally spurred me to ask myself what happened? For a long time I thought there was no reason to ask about the past. I know where she is now.

But maybe there is a reason to look into the past.

It took me at least a week to make the time to phone. I mean I meant to do it yesterday but just didn't get around to it. Today it was definitely on my to do list. As the day wore on it became apparent that I was procrastinating, avoiding it. It was a time to assert myself, to take care of my self-- the one that was powerless and had given up when no help was forthcoming. It's time for me to ask, to say what I want.

So I called the number and got a menu for child care referrals. I hung up instead of pressing 1 or 2. I wasn't prepared to tell someone processing requests for childcare that I want to know what really happened to the baby girl they took so many years ago. I'll have to look around for a better phone number. This is harder than it looks.

Patience and Peace

2006-11-29T19:21:00.000-08:00

Patience: It's over sixteen years into reunion. Reunion is a very good word for me. Torn asunder and now stitching, mending and reuniting ourselves. It's taken quite awhile to learn to hold steady for myself, for Joy, for our recovering what we lost of ourselves and our identities. It has seemed horrific at times, facing the loss and pain. For a long time I barely hung on, running over circular anguish in fear that I could lose even more. Now I am finding my place in this world. I am finding Joy's place in my world, getting comfortable and familiar, including her in my general and casual conversations. It all comes from accepting my loss and taking time. I don't have to go anywhere or meet any time limits. I am trusting that each step I take towards our loving open relating is building a foundation together. Being able to check her blog several times a day, getting email messages, sending email messages is such a relief. Looking back at relinquishing I think I would have been a stalker if I'd had a clue to her whereabouts. Now I cruise by whenever I pass a computer and it's OK! I'm just checking, the way one might check a baby sleeping. Yep, she's there. She's breathing, yelling, laughing, crying, creating beautiful images. She is well. I am well. We are discovering ourselves.

Nine Weird Things

2006-11-24T19:11:00.000-08:00

Nine Weird Things: After giving this tag a great deal of consideration, including some discussion with someone close to me, I've only come up with 4 weird things.
1. I'm devoted to large Thanksgiving Dinners, preferably in my own home. I made cranberry chutney and fresh cranberry orange relish, roasted a turkey with herbs and a grilled turkey with lime and oregano, two types of sweet potatoes in additon to mash potatoes, special green salad, roasted green beans with pine nuts, cornbread and chile stuffing, two types of rolls. Actually my kids make the mash potatoes and a jello concoction. The guests bring pies and wine. If we do end up going to someone else's house, the next day, Friday, I make my own at home, with only one turkey and one kind of sweet potatoes, and I make the pies too.
2. I think skirts are way more comfortable than pants. I hate any clothing that grabs my crotch.
3. It's fun for me when Jehovah's Witnesses or Mormon missionaries come to the door. I take it as an invitation to share MY point of view and on rare occasion make a convert.
4. I frequently give into the impulse to run or skip in public even at my age.
5. Oh! Another one is that I really don't care about drinking wine even though I live in "wine country".
6. Now I'm getting on a roll. I don't eat garlic or onions which makes going out to eat these days an interesting dialogue with the wait staff...
7. I have very wide feet. I was very happy to learn that the native women in Oaxaca had feet like mine and made beautiful sandals to fit them.

That's all I can come up with for now.

Oh God

2006-11-06T12:46:00.000-08:00

Let's be friends. I just read Suz's post about religion which aroused some unfinished business here in me. When my boyfriend's mom found out I was pregnant, she pulled us over for some advice. She had been overtly hostile to me before I was pregnant. Now she was insisting that we must be wed, in the (Catholic) church, so that "the baby" would be legitimate. Immediately after the birth, we'd get an annulment. That was the last time I saw her.

Months later at the adoption agency I was asked about my religious preference. Anything but Catholic. My baby was not going to have to put up with the kind of mothering I'd seen from boyfriend's mother.

Decades later I was told that boyfriend's sister wanted to adopt our baby but wasn't allowed to due to my no Catholics restriction. Ironic twist of honoring my wishes, eh? IF that's true, why couldn't they have talked to me, say before I signed the papers?

So there's still anger here. There's still hurt. I want to come to acceptance. I want to know they were doing their best without judging their best as pathetic. I want to accept how much it hurt --That their best, doing what they thought was right, was so wrong to me. I felt so alone -- wrong and wronged.

Misunderstanding. I forgive myself for judging myself for being hurt.

Dancing with Abandon...

2006-11-04T18:25:00.000-08:00

This past week on two occasions, I saw people wearing a green t shirt saying "Everybody lies. Nobody cares."

I do. I care. I lie and I care. I try to catch my lies and come to the truth. I love to watch the TV program House, where the main character, Dr. House is chronically pointing out how much people lie and how it does or doesn't serve them. He is shameless and consciously purposeful with his lies and I love that. And when he discovers his lies are not serving him he investigates to find out how that works.

I want to be ruthless, to root out lies and self deception.

In my early morning reverie that connected somehow to abandonment, justification and control issues. A post formed in my mind that seems to have evaporated this evening. I'll go on anyway.

A dear friend said, "Control is the master addiction". I see my efforts to control boil down to fear of abandonment, fear of being alone.

Lee Michaels' song Heidi hi -- Don't be afraid if you're all alone. That's how you started. It's how you're going to go.

We're all afraid of being alone sometimes. That's abandonment. It spreads out to everyone. It's a function of our egos, our minds and emotions. Part of trying to control it is having a good reason for it. Some of us have very good reasons, elaborate stories, really valid reasons, justification for being scared. Sometimes we don't even know the story. We don't have a reason. But you know, when you're afraid of being alone, you don't always need a reason.

I love feeling like I belong, being a loved member of a family or community. It buoys me up. It's fun. I love connecting. But when I lie in order to insure my connection, it becomes false and desperate, dissatisfying. That's why I want to be ruthless. It takes time & courage to go inside and find out what I'm lying about, but it's very satisfying.

I have two people in my life that have "abandonment issues" including issues with my insensitivity to their abandonment issues. But sometimes I think all issues are "abandonment issues". We just try to maintain our control by pretending they're something else. It takes time and courage to be still and hold to our connection.

God Bless you. I love you. Peace, be still.

Recycling

2006-11-03T12:44:00.000-08:00

I would pick her up and carry her away. We'd fly to another realm where she would be bathed in a crystal fountain and all vestiges of separation would be transmuted into free energy.

MY Daughter in My Life

2006-11-03T01:58:00.000-08:00

WE come and we go. Except I keep coming over and over. I don't really care about adoption in general that much. I come to see what's going on in Joy's life, mind and heart. How is she feeling? What is she thinking about? She is so clever.

Most of the time I turn to the links on her page to see what she may have been reading -- reading others' thoughts and feelings.

I've been looking at a pattern I've had of trying to fix things/people up. I've not been very successful with that. It's gotten a bit crazy in fact -- Trying to fix things up. It's very much like that Joni song she quoted, plus sputtering and sparking emotions.

My "productivity" has really fallen off, as I sit reading and wondering and checking again. (Is this properly taking care of myself? I think so actually.) I've discovered an addiction to information. I google the things she refers to because I want to know what she knows. I want to keep up with her, to understand what she has to say, what she thinks.

Reading about "open" adoption tripped some thoughts. If I had known of open adoption -- If it had been mentioned as an option -- I can't imagine taking it. If I'd considered it, I think it would have led me to not relinquish. Given the opportunity to consider actually being any part of her life, the possibility of contact -- I don't think I could have taken just one sip. If I had known where she was I don't think I would have left them alone.

Even though I'm not getting much done lately out in the world, I'm expanding inside. I'm realizing I'm not going to fix it up at all. That's not an option. I am learning to watch and listen to myself. I'm learning to sit with the things that set me off balance.

And I'm talking again. Right after relinquishing I talked about her to everyone, looking for a way to cope with the loss. I learned there was not help for me that way. It's different now, because she is in my life. Grieving still goes on. There is also growth in our relationship going on.

Learning that my experience is similar to others has given me validation and confidence to communicate my experience, my reality, to people who had no idea that I have another daughter. I'm finding that people love to hear about her. They feel honored when I share my feelings and experience and love for her. It's another way of including her in my life. It's indirect. But I can do it anytime, anywhere.

Where am I going here?

2006-10-26T18:27:00.000-07:00

This blogging world draws me back and back. Sometimes I feel quite sick of it. But then I have to check my daughter's site. I want to know more about her, what she thinks and feels, what she's doing. And then I read a few of her (and my) favorites.

Where am I going with it?

I found tremendous relief in learning others' adoption stories. Finding similarities has assisted me to honor my own story. I've written it here both as a process of self examination and in hopes that I can share -- give some of what I've gained.

I've expanded my knowledge. I've expanded my awareness of the greater world of adoption. I am overcoming awe of women who have been on this search and made great contributions for people like me to read and grow with.

Facing the underbelly of my adoption story, squeezing it and pushing it, poking around to see what's been hidden has given me courage. I love courage, like a bloody gushing energy turning to a full clear fountain of everything. Right now I feel good about my life and confident in reunion despite our ups and downs/ins and outs.

Still, I find myself disturbed easily. I want to gather up all the sorrowing mothers and children and tuck them under my feathers. But I'm more likely to find myself pecking away in wild defense. I go from Mother Hen to chickens are not very nice to each other sometimes are they?

I want to reach out to Joy and hold her and hug her and tell her everything is going to be ok. Time. Separation. Physical. In spite of all that. We are ok. We are in fact fantastic, although we sometimes find ourselves in the valley of the shadow... In my heart we are free.

getting air

2006-10-12T16:17:00.000-07:00

Just found this as I'm reviewing my first entries and think it's worth including.

I am amazed. I am feeling free. Feeling -- what's that? Is my "feeling" an illusion or a lie? Or just ephemeral? Probably -- or a part of a cycle.

Over the past few months I've been excavating, uncovering my past and telling stories. My stories of loss and shame. It feels good to quit hiding. Although it is still habitual. Writing, putting it out in words, checking to see if the words fit, how others respond to them or interpret them. Then checking again to see my response. Externalizing these experiences I see myself as larger than them rather than cowed by them.

It's been so good. Exposing myself.

How Did It Happen?

2006-09-10T14:44:00.000-07:00

I've been reading so much about adoption. Terminology. Conditions. Back when I "surrendered" Joy I felt that I was surrendering, giving up.

I started feeling different in second grade. Before that I wasn't really aware of separateness, just of Being Me, an enthusiastic idealistic introvert. Giving up Joy was defeat and confirmed that I was not right for the world. In the '70s fantasies of becoming a "hill hippie" living in some kind of idealized community attracted me. I quickly discovered that was just fantasy. Recently reading how other first mothers responded to their loss by becoming high achievers startled me. Perhaps they were already high achievers. I remember I was always working "below my potential", an "underachiever". I just could not connect. I wanted to escape. My escape was to her father. We were desperate for and dependent on each other for comfort and love. The first time I got pregnant I miscarried. But my parents found out. They also found some contraband in my purse and sent me to a social worker friend. She said she could tell I was pregnant by looking in my eyes.

She lived with another woman and they were pretty high up in the county social services. They and the minister were the resources my parents felt they could turn to. All that was said was I could never see him again. That ought to fix the problem, right? So I kept seeing him almost every day. He loved me. He wanted me. We didn't have much money or resources, but he did have a van... And It was easy to lie to my folks. They didn't really ask. I didn't tell. I miscarried.

I just wanted out. My folks supported that. They probably thought it was worth it just to get me away from my boyfriend. So I was moved 450 miles away. Two weeks later he was there too. I got pregnant and gonorrhea that week. Then he was gone again. When I discovered I was pregnant I told him I never wanted to see him again. I was going to go on welfare. I was scared, lonely but facing forward. He came back wanting to marry me. I knew that wasn't going to happen. But I went with him. We got a hotplate and a cooler from my folks and started camping out in a cheap hotel room. We both got jobs. I pretended to be married. We both got laid off. I was five months along and he drove towards my parents house. He was taking me back. I jumped out of the car and ran. He came back and talked me into going "home". I had a nice room there where I started sewing maternity clothes and got a factory job sewing swim suits. I was throwing up several times a day. When my mom figured it out they started family counseling, except they decided not to go. So I went alone and sat there in silence. I listened and learned a little bit.

The counselor asked where I was going to get loving? It wasn't from my boyfriend or my parents. Boyfriend didn't go to job interview set up by counselor. Counselor explained parents position that they would not let me back home with child. Minister advised me to give baby to a "good home". I had to admit I didn't have a good home. Looking back it's hard to believe that we did this all without ever really discussing it. I went to live with a girlfriend 90 miles away. Boyfriend never came to see me. I finally caved. Alright. I'll give the baby to the good family. As due date approached I was lodged with a young family only 15 miles away. No one to talk to. Soap operas and oreos. Grandpa wrote me letters every week. Grandma sent me a fruit basket at Easter. It was nice to have those gestures, even if no one wanted to actually see me. Suddenly there was water rushing between my legs. What's that? OMG I've peed all over the floor!? The young couple reassured me. Someone took me to the hospital. 15 hours later my dad showed up and rubbed my back as I transitioned. Her actual birth is a highlight of my life. It was transcendent. The doctor placed her on my belly as though she belonged there. I passed out.

I didn't see her again for two weeks, my waiting period. It was another transcendent experience, holding her, looking into her eyes, just the most amazing experience of adoration and peace. It is still precious to me.

I signed the papers sobbing. But a "good family" was waiting for her and I didn't want her to be alone, like I was.

My Grandson

2006-09-09T12:53:00.000-07:00

How do I write bout TomTom? Is it the sickness of regret and loss that I don’t want to look at? I can’t let go. I can let go. I won’t let go. Willfullness. Won’tfullness. I don’t want to be sorry, sad, grieving. OK. I want him in my life. Inside me he lives his beautiful life. I’ve spent a bit of time with him. I’ve delighted in wonderful stories about him from his mother. Beyond the usual ravings of grandmothers, TomTom really is a most remarkable child/young man. I know this even though I hardly know him.

I’m of the age that my peers are starting to have grandchildren. They are so proud. They ask if I have any yet, knowing Buster & Ezzy are out in the world somewhere. I don’t answer quickly. It’s too much information for someone asking casually. Recently someone who’s known about TomTom all his life forgot. She asked me if I was looking forward to having grandchildren, showing how she is looking forward to it. I reminded her, oh yes, I already have one. He’s turning sixteen now.

That sets some people back on their rear ends.

It’s hard to talk about because the relationship doesn’t manifest in the world the way we’d like. So much time went by struggling to come to terms with unifying my families. I was fearful of meeting him. I wanted to come to peace with Joy first. She and I seemed so unstable I feared involving this innocent. I didn’t want him to share the pain. In trying to keep that to myself, I kept everything to myself, a sad, sick selfishness that meant I was holding onto pain instead of letting go and going forward.

So now he’s near grown. He doesn’t want much to do with me. He’s got more than four grandparents that have demonstrated their caring throughout his life. He knows his own mother has hurt terribly in finding ways to connect with me.

He knows that more definitely than either Buster or Ezzy could. And I know how they try to protect and defend me. Even Joy protects and defends me, the childish mother she found.

Now he’s growing up and I’m wondering. Is he able to share with people? Is he trusting to share his pains and triumphs and wishes? Is he living his life fully – my vicarious wish? Am I? I know he is in good hands. And I am keeping him in my prayers, just as I kept Joy in my prayers throughout her life. I see how I’ve repeated with him, the loss experience. Not wanting to intrude seems so useless in retrospect. That’s an important lesson, learning to show up and trust in life, in God, that I can contribute something good to a situation or relationship in spite of the pain.

2006-08-31T14:40:00.000-07:00

OK. Time for a real UPdate -- current. Joy is a joy to me. That we are in reunion is as perfect as it gets in this life. The most marvelous thing is that it all keeps changing. My favorite season is that they change. Thank God! I change. You change. Watch how that happens. And keep moving on...
Blogging is teaching me to keep listening to my heart. Reunion is teaching me to listen to my heart, to look for the loving action in each moment, taking in new information, others points of view. Resist not evil.

Holding onto self judgments in fear is resistance. So far my experience is that stirring through my fears and secrets has not been pretty, but it makes for change, movement. And that's so much better than being stuck holding onto my poor pathetic fears.

Right now I'm listening to People Will Be People by Irma Thomas. I wish I knew how to add music to my page. "Right or wrong, Mr. or Ms, you know the long and the short of it is, people will be people."

So something new. I talked about my feelings with (spouse). He listened. He offered to listen longer than I wanted to talk. It was awesome, going through this stuff and just going on. And thanks to Suz I sent him the website she mentioned a little while ago. Benevolent Society, Post Adoption Resource Center, PARC. (OK I don't know anything about posting links but that will help you find it, if you're persistant, I think) Anyway, all he said about it was, oh ok. For weeks I've been sitting in front of the computer till I'm stiff and when I show my face again, he asks how I'm doing. Or shares something that's going on with him. Yeah, he's another fallible man. He's a good man too.

Funny thing is the more accepting I am of any one of us, the more accepting I am of all the rest. It starts with accepting myself. Joy and I are doing quite well. We definitely have our ups and downs. It's a mother/daughter thing, with extenuating circumstances you know. But the truth is, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree... We're both hypersensitive sometimes. We're both loving. We're both strong. We surprise ourselves and each other. We don't have the blessing of having gone through the teen years together in the usual sequence. Things are all balled up crazily and inappropriately. My other daughter had the opportunity to scream I hate you and storm off, only to show up ten minutes later for a hug. As I watched Ezzy grow into herself it helped me understand Joy better. And myself. We're all a part of each other inside me.

That may begin to express what I want to say. My life is good. I love Joy. Joy loves me. That may not be obvious sometimes, but it is our basis. I just want to spell it out for anyone that might be wondering.

Losing fear

2006-08-26T00:09:00.000-07:00

I'm still figuring out how it is. In a way I have her back now. When she first called me I shook while talking to her. That lasted most of the next 13-14 years. And a lot of that time I had a fear of losing her again. I wasn't prepared to meet her needs. I expected her to have had a happy fulfilled doted on childhood.

I thought of my adopted cousin, an only child and doted on by his adopted parents and his (our) grandparents in Michigan. He seemed happy enough to be in the family he was raised in. My brother and I were very aware that he was completely different than the rest of the family, foreign. By not talking about it we convinced ourselves that he was unaware of it. I felt like we were wrong for noticing. And I thought my aunt and uncle were remarkably accepting and tolerant about the differences. I didn't realize the loss involved in the adoptive parents regarding their infertility. I blocked out the loss my cousin had experienced in being taken from his first family.

Anyway it wasn't what I had expected. She was not happy and hadn't been for a long time. The weird thing was we both went back to the state we were in when we'd parted. I was a teenage emotional betrayed grieving "mom" and she was an abandoned infant emotionally. There were now seventeen intervening years and family members that had needs, complications. I had thought finding each other would be only good. I would love her and she would feel loved. Not that simple.

The way the fear of loss seems to have motivated me is still being revealed. I was afraid of losing her again and tried to fulfill her needs to prevent that. I felt horrible that I was unable to do that, that I was failing her. I was equally fearful of endangering my marriage and B&G in any way. And I wanted to protect my parents who were trying to protect me. I felt that I didn't have any right to be her mother. When I signed the adoption papers, I believed I was freeing her from me, from failure, from disgrace. I wanted her life to be good. When she found me I was torn between desire and feeling unworthy. No right to contact with her, no right to disturb my husband or raised children with my desire and confusion. And then out of her grief she was asking me how I could be so cold as to give my own flesh and blood away. Pretty messy. I was withholding myself from my spouse because I didn't have the right to be so fucked up. I withheld myself from Joy because I wanted to hold myself "together". I withheld B&G from their elder sister because it would be messy. All this time it was chewing inside me.

About 18+ months ago I just let go and said forget it. I'm not going to keep trying to be a good mother to her. I quit trying to fix her or myself. Things have been steadily improving. I recently considered that maybe what she really wants is me, the way I am, not the way I think I should be for her. I mean she'd probably like an upgraded version, but what-who I am, her mother, is what's most important. Acceptance. So she can stop trying to be a good adoptee too.

There's always been a kind of melting happiness in knowing her, talking to her, hearing her voice. Her sense of humor and wit and intelligence scare me when I try to live up to my fantasy, to be the mom I think she deserves. And the part of her that reminds me of her father is still a bit raw. But she is part of my life now and I love that. So the grief part is different. I'd like to integrate her into my family, to spend time together, for her brother and sister to get to know her. But the years of hesitation on my part, the lingering fears, have created a gulf that others have less interest in bridging. It's weird. Another thing I feel is my “fault”. I've got a lot more to learn here obviously.

A lot of my behavior around the issues has been unconscious. I just couldn't face the conflicts for fear of losing anything more.

Ouch

2006-08-17T13:02:00.000-07:00

Still getting over the self consciousness, what if somebody sees me. I keep reminding myself that no one really knows who I am, except Joy. And I don't want to hide myself from her. So it's ok. It was a shock to see a picture of her father today. I'm only partially settled with him. A part of me is still raging. He used to call me on her birthday, for about 4-5 years, till I told him to stop. We had nothing else to do with each other. I just couldn't slip into a sweet sad reminisce with him. There was too much anger and anguish in me.

Back to my previous story. The plan I came up with was to wait until she was 12 years old. That seemed like an appropriate age. And I would contact the adoption agency, tell them to let her know, or her parents know, that I was available, if she ever needed me for anything. In the meantime I got interested in trying to heal the earth, children in general. And trying to figure out how to have, when to have children I could keep. I got married. Coincidentally (?) my second born arrived months before Joy's 12 birthday. I was completely involved with my baby boy. I didn't even leave the house for three weeks. I didn't leave his side for six months. I didn't do anything that I sensed could in any way jeopardize my connection with him. It was a rare person that had the audacity to ask to hold him. They were lucky to be able to watch me hold him.

I forgot about contacting the adoption agency. It was too risky. This is where I anticipate the rush of hate mail and being castigated. Maybe stoning. I abandoned her again. I chickened out. I did it over and over, trying to protect what I had. Avoiding the pain.

my first

2006-08-13T15:51:00.000-07:00

Where to start? With all of me, shifting nervousness to excitement, moving towards freedom, to be who I am and express that for no other reason than I am. Exhilarating.

Hello. I am Such a Joy's first mom. Mom is a short, abbreviated word. It feels impersonal. I am Such a Joy's. She is my daughter. I can say that and feel like I'm really being heard here.

Heard invisibly, but heard. I started out telling everyone that would listen about the baby girl I gave away. And no one knew anything to say that would help me. I didn't feel shame at first, just grief. Gradually the "You did the best thing". "It was the right thing." "You did what was best for the baby. That's very brave." comments got the point across that everyone else was just as helpless as I was and it would be nicer if I would just "get on with my life". Funny to think now, that I never even tried to talk to my parents about my feelings. I never had talked to them about feelings. It's just recently that I began to imagine that they were in pain (and denial too) doing "the right thing" for their child. At the time I didn't even know my father had feelings.

Two weeks after her birth I went to the agency to sign the papers. I insisted on holding her first. It was the most heavenly experience I could imagine. She was perfect. I'd asked my mom to take pictures of her. They got a new polaroid camera, so they wouldn't have to take the film to be developed and no one else would know. They were trying to protect me, as if other people's judgment of me was the worst that could happen. All the pictures showed the back of my head, long brown hair, looking down at the precious little baby in a pink sleep suit. No one else would know who we were. My mom said we were together for about 30 minutes. It seemed more like 5, but time was suspended. Then I went into the office and cried and signed papers.

I gave one of the best pictures to her father. He put it up with a thumb tack. I went to a party and he was there with his new, younger, slimmer girl friend. Trying to take comfort from a puppy, my milk let down.

I remember the first time I woke up and realized that I didn't have any choice but to "get on with my life", meaning I'd better get up out of this depression and go do something, because waiting for things to get better wasn't working. She was only about 6 weeks old then. My fantasies about driving to her adoptive home and taking her away were thwarted by not having a car or a place to take her.

Seventeen years later she called me on the phone. I had a five year old and an eight year old. The closest thing to maternal I could do was pray that they wouldn't be afraid I could give them away too. I was caught up in my own pain and the accretions from burying it. I scared myself. How could I tell my children I had given my first one away? They came from a mother that had been rejected by society and had then brought them into that same society. Putting that into words threatens my equilibrium.

I botched it up pretty good. I told the kids while we were in the car. They didn't ask any questions. My husband was bewildered by my sudden lability. . Dealing with my parents was more than he'd bargained for and he was not comfortable with this expanding well of confusion I was magnetically attracted to. I couldn't explain my desire. He knew the dry facts of the adoption, but not about the reverberating reality. The kids are 21 and 24 now and don't express interest in Joy and me. Reunion has been very much on my own. I feel like I'm starting to come out of the woods, to find my balance with this loss and reunion.

Reading these posts and Journey of the Adopted Self has been very healing and expanding. I'm really looking forward to the rest of the journey, knowing it involves some looking back as well.