"How frail the human heart must be —a mirrored pool of thought. " – Sylvia Plath
Dan welcomed me back. I am not sure I am "back" per se. Frankly, I still don't know where I am.
I reopened the blog for a number of reasons but I am not necessarily posting. I am still trying to avoid certain topics and look inside for the answers to others.
I wrote my daughter a holiday note and did not get a response. I am kinda okay with that. I have learned to expect it. I told her I would write her again for her birthday next year. She has left a few of her on-line sites public so I am able to peek in and see she is still alive and breathing. I have also had the benefit of google alerts and I regularly get updates on her professional work. I guess I am managing. Her avoidance of me makes me deeply sad of course but even that I have started to accept. Mothers who lose their children become accustomed to having our needs, feelings, desires, etc. avoided, neglected, minimized, dismissed or misunderstood.
My task is to not internalize it. I must not become bitter or angry or allow her avoidance of me to erode my own self-esteem. It is about her – not me.
This is actually one of the topics I am working on with my therapist. How to resolve my feelings of sadness and anger and more when I am ignored by my child. I don't understand that. Correction, my heart doesn't understand it. Of course I can understand from a textbook perspective. I understand primal wound, adoptee anger, abandonment from a clinical perspective. My heart just cannot get it. I feel like my heart HAS to get it. If my heart can find some sort of peace it wont hurt so much. Why doesn't she want to know me? my heart asks. My head will respond with adoptee psychology textbook answers but my heart is not happy with them. It needs something more. My heart isn't logical. My heart screams and yells and shakes its fist to the sky and stomps around like an angry toddler. My heart refuses to accept the textbook, cold, official answers. It wants more.
Why don't I even get a "hello" or "thank you" or "I am doing okay, thanks". Yes, yes, again I KNOW (or my head knows) there are adoptee issues and reasons for this. This statement is not about persecuting her or her choices it is about ME and how they make me feel and how I wrestle with understanding them. Lacking any feedback from her, I torture myself with wild thoughts.
I swing out of control between my head and my heart. I really want to land somewhere. I want that place to be comfy and soft and safe and happy and I want to stay there, in that magical land, until the day she feels comfortable to know me.
On and on and on the feelings go.
I am pummeled with them daily, most often at night when my room is dark and my children are asleep. Laying in my bed, I roll on my right side, tuck my hand under my pillow and allow the ache to lay down beside me. It comes slowly at first. I push it away. I tell it that it is not welcome on my fine white sheets. I demand it leave my room. It is not welcome.
And yet it overpowers me. Like a lover it reclines next to me and reaches into my wounded heart and begins to squeeze. Long nails pierce heart muscle and cause me to cry out in pain.
It is in those darkened evening hours that I cry alone for the daughter I was not permitted to raise but have loved since the day she was born.