Is It Just Me?

​IWelcome back to Blogville my friends, thanks for joining me again. Today is my normal Orange Pekoe tea with a little milk. There is something to be said for routine. As I write this I am waiting to go out to dinner with my family, to ‘celebrate’ my birthday. I always reframe it to my children and grandchildren celebrating having me in their lives. I am aware that if I had not have been born, they would not have been born, so I celebrate that. 

Every year, as the anniversary of the day of my birth looms, it is hard. It is hard to know if my birth mother had to tightly wrap her stomach as to become breathless, or wore a girdle, to hide me; the‘mistake’, ‘poor judgement’, or even the ‘sin’, growing within her body. Was the pregnancy adequately hidden before she left for the ‘home for unwed mothers’? Did anyone know I was in there?

Once I was aware what ‘adoption’ meant, essentially that I had grown inside another woman before my mom became my mom, I would wonder about her. Especially every year around my birthday when I wondered if she was thinking of me on that date? Could she picture me in her mind’s eye; that is, if she had even seen me. Did she even try to remember what I looked like?

Every year I wondered if she was thinking of me while I was thinking of her, as if we were kindred spirits. My younger self fantasized that she missed me; so much that she went and bought a little cupcake and lit a candle to blow out, making a wish that I was ok. Wishing that I was loved and cared for, wherever I was. 

Every year after I too became a mother, I would wonder. I wondered what her labour was like? Who was there for her while pain after pain washed over her like ocean waves. I wondered who had held her hand, encouraged her to breathe, and finally to push me out into the world? Who had been there with, and for her? 

Every year I wondered how she felt when she heard my first cry. Was she allowed to see me? Did she even want to see me? I have always wondered, if she saw me, did she think I looked like anyone in her family? Did she think I looked like her?

Every year in September I thought about my birth mother, and hoped that she remembered me. Without really understanding, my mother would shut down my questions about my birth mother. Instead she would distract me by chatting about who I wanted to invite to my party or what kind of cake I would like. Even as a child I wondered if my mother was afraid I might like my birth mother more. Would I prefer her because she did the one thing my mother had not, given birth to me. Could that be why she dismissed my questions?

Every year I thought about my birth father too. Did he argue with anyone to be allowed to parent me? Did he worry while my birth mother was in labour in the hospital? Did he fight hospital staff for his right to see his newborn baby girl? Was he allowed to see me, and hold me? Was he even there when I was born? Did he even know I was born? Did he know today was my birthday?

Every year my father was gone hunting on my birthday. When I asked him why he was always gone he simply said, “Because it is hunting season.” He didn’t say he was sorry to miss my birthday and I always thought he wasn’t sorry because my birth did not matter to him. After all, what did my birth have to do with him as a father? I had a birth father. Every year I worried that my birthday was not important to either father. 

Every year I could sense my mother’s discomfort about my birthday. Was she worried because she knew I was thinking about my birth mother? How could I not? There was no one to tell me about the day I was born; no details about my first cries, her first look, how she held me to her breast, or even if she held me. No one could fill in those blanks. Yet I was expected to be excited about my party. Luckily it is ‘bad luck’ to share your birthday wish out loud because every year I wished I could meet my birth parents as I blew out each and every candle on my cake. 

Every year, even still, I think about who I am now. I wonder if all four of my parents would have been proud of me. All of them are gone now. I was lucky enough to meet my birth father, who had not known I existed but loved me unconditionally once we found each other. I was welcomed and accepted by his other children without question. Regrettably, I never got to meet my birth mother but I was fully accepted by her other daughters and welcomed into their ‘sisterhood’. 

Every year I wonder how lucky/unlucky I was/am to have lived my life so far with all my experiences. A life filled with love. I know my parents loved me and raised me to the best of their ability. I have closed the door on what my birth was like for my birth mother, and I accept that it was traumatic. I know my birth father did not know of my birth until some 30 years after the fact but he offered immediate acceptance and love. I welcome, and have been welcomed by all of my birth half-siblings and we have formed different levels of bonding with each other. I am grateful for that. 

For my birthday this year I want to share my message. Children who have been adopted experience many levels of loss, without the ability, or permission, to grieve. We also know that many children who were adopted have experienced trauma. 

We know that grief is a journey, so:

If you have a role in the adoption constellation, please note that the adopted person is the journey leader. 
*They will show you or tell you (if not with words, then with behaviour) what they need as they experience their losses over and over again, at varying stages of development. 
*Be prepared; use the tools you have (life books, social and medical histories, notes you took, etc) to open discussions.
*Listen, take their lead, and ask how you can help. 

If you have been adopted, use your words to help you understand your journey. 
*Ask your questions out loud. 
*Talk about your feelings of abandonment (if not with your family, then with a counsellor) until someone listens. 
*Your parents adopted you, before that they even took some training, and they were told you would have questions. 
*You are not being disrespectful, or ungrateful, with your questions. You should know what they know; your parents have been expecting this. *Keeping all of this inside can hurt you. 
*Some of the answers may need to wait until you are older, when you can understand the complications of some of life’s experiences; accept this but ask when they will be comfortable to tell you, so that you can follow up then.
*Be patient; you have a right to your story, but your parents have the right to keep you safe and that includes your mental health. 
*Some information should wait until you are an adult to be shared with you. Trust that this decision is in your best interest. 

By working together, your family can manage almost anything if you share information at a developmentally appropriate pace. If you need help deciding the pace, talk with a mental health counsellor or an adoption worker. 

You Got This!!!!

So what does all this mean? It means that I’m excited to share my birthday with my family and friends. My birthday wish still needs to be a secret, but it is no longer about the past, it is about the future. So . . .Happy Birthday To Me!

As ever, I thank you for stopping by to join me in a cup of tea and reading my thoughts. If you want to share a comment here, I welcome you to do so. If you prefer a more private format, please feel free to email me at [email protected]. Stay safe my Blogville friends!