If you are not adopted, you will not and may never understand this. And that's okay. Just remember that it is real and should never be minimized; ever.
This is my first experience with both mothers and fathers in my life (even though the man who raised me passed a few years ago, he walks with me almost every day). It is wonderful and it is sad simultaneously. I can finally see where I come from and celebrate it. I can answer if it is environmental or hereditary: it's both. I can revel in the things that made me who I am.
I've done a lot of reading and self reflection about how I feel. I have cried, smiled and laughed – and I mean hearty laughs. I have felt remorse, joy, grief, elation, relief, revelations of the heart, and regret.
There is also a realization hurt has been suppressed, compartmentalized, or otherwise ignored over the years. And the hurt was and is new to us all. How could we know? No one in the triad experienced it before and certainly no one told us it would happen and how to be prepared. And as can be the case when adoptions aren't open, how could we express what we felt if we didn't know it was there and what was driving it?
The hurt manifested itself in so many ways and we were oblivious.
Hurt because there was no way to bond with the person who found life in your womb; who heard your heartbeat and breath every day for nine months but whose heartbeat you never heard by laying your ear to her chest. Whose skin you never touched and whose eyes you never gazed. Hurt because your pain and separation was minimized and never spoken of again; even though you thought about it each holiday or family gathering. Hurt when you gave birth to another child who experienced all the things the first one didn't. Hurt when you look at faces of the unknown and wonder, could that be her.
Hurt because of the children who would never be born. And your family never speaks of the loss. Who would never be created by the union of your love and be a reflection of your faces and the faces of your family. Hurt when you finally adopt a child, she reacts to you as a stranger because she truly doesn't know who you are. Then someone comments how much your children resemble you and it cycles again. And you don't know how to answer the questions and hope you do it right; some you do – others you don't.
Hurt because you look in the mirror and wonder who you are. Hurt over the mixed emotions you have at any gathering where happiness is a prerequisite; how can it be happy when you want both families there but you must be happy because everyone else is. You wonder if your parents are alive, if they are okay or happy; if they think about you at all or even care. Hurt when you look at faces of the unknown and wonder, could that be them. Hurt when you chose the wrong relationships because subconsciously you accepted the birth rejection as a part of continued reality.
I say these things as my eyes have been opened to why I acted the way I did. Why it was hard for me to accept certain people or emotions into my life. Why I acted out emotionally and physically against myself and others.
I am sad for what I didn't know; not only for myself but for both families. Not only could I not fathom what they felt, my adoptive parents also had to deal with my emotional issues which were never founded on anything other than actions of an angst ridden teen. I am sad for what we still don't know.
But I am happy that we now get to heal. Painful as it may be, but so necessary to make us complete; so we can love and feel in the right ways. Happy I get to see the faces, revel in the mannerisms and expressions, joy in how they communicate and what they love to do in life. Love of myself because I can now let go of the pain and see who I really am. Love of others because I don't have to keep all my emotions bottled up.
We have been hurt in one of the most egregious ways – and we are okay. We will get through this together.
Share This Article
