Cosmic Treasures (or Not)

This past week has been a strange one for me. A number of incidents occurred that I can only chalk up to the universe giving me yet another good old adoption bonk on the head. Consider the following.

I Heard Her Voice

My daughter posted not one, but two, YouTube videos to her public twitter feed. Naturally I listened and within a matter of moments was in tears. She was acting silly with coworkers. I heard her voice clearly, saw her mannerisms, how she sounds and moves her body. It was a bit overwhelming to say the least. Overall? Bittersweet. I appreciated the opportunity to hear and see her but oh, my, did it send me spiraling backwards for a few days.

(This is the moment where the adoption trolls usually come out and tell me I am violating my daughters’ privacy by watching her twitter feed. I disagree. If she puts it public for the entire world to see, I have free reign to watch it as well, so go away, trolls).

P.S. She has a really nice voice.

P.P.S.I HEARD MY DAUGHTERS VOICE!

If He Had Married Me

I left my employer of eight years two weeks ago. I started at a new employer, doing similar work but in a completely new industry. Imagine my surprise on the second day when I hear the receptionist page Suzan [Birthfathers Last Name].

Yes, I now work with someone named the exact same name I would have had if my daughters father chose to marry me in 1985 instead of, well, not marrying me.

Well Meaning Friends

My 30 year high school reunion is coming up this weekend. The invite went out via Facebook and there was an associated group. This means I can now see names/profiles of former high school classmates and they can see me even if we are not Facebook friends. I perused the list and also the ticket sale site to see who was going. I was pleased to learn a friend (now a resident of Florida) will be in attendance. Seeing her name on the reunion page reminded me of what must have been our 20 year reunion. I found my daughter just before that reunion and I had a line put in the reunion program directed to that friend. It simply said friend’s name, followed by I FOUND HER! I was so excited back then. I was so hopeful, so happy, so wanting to share my daughter with the world that had denied her. I knew friend would understand the message. She did. In fact, the instant she read it she sought me out and we hugged and cried.

Ten years later and I am pretty much in the same place. I found her – that’s about it.

(I am still going to hug that friend this coming weekend when I see her. )

Uncertain on Meaning Friends

Earlier today, one of those reunion “friends” took it up themselves to send me a link to my daughters’ fathers’ Facebook page. The message said “did you know he was on Facebook?”.

Ugh. Jesus H. No. Why would I?

Why was friend looking (birthfather did not go to my high school and is not going to our reunion) and why did friend feel it necessary to share with me?

I responded and stated “No, I did not know”. I had nothing more to say. To me it felt vaguely like rubbing a dog’s nose in their own accident. It felt callous and mean.

But perhaps I am overly sensitive.

(Yes, I looked at his profile. ‘Nuff said.)

 

 

 

 

98 Days Left

I signed off of Facebook yesterday with the knowledge that I would not be logging back in for 99 days. I have many reasons for this but the most compelling is that I want to be more productive with my time. I find, particularly when I am home at night, I spend a ridiculous amount of time browsing through my feed, sharing content or responding to messages. I also peek in now or then during the work day. While each visit may be only a few minutes, cumulatively, over a day, they surely add up.

When I announced my plans, I had several friends express sarcasm and shock.  Comments such as “Good luck with that” and “I could never do that” only strengthened my cause.  I joked with another friend that I felt as if I was in a group of alcoholics who were urging me to drink to justify their own habit.  I opted out and hopped on the 99 day wagon.

I will admit I felt the urge many times to check in on my friends. Each time I felt the need, I turned to my Kindle app on the iPad (currently reading three books) or started writing. While I am still tempted, I am encouraged.  I am already spending my time in more productive way.  I do miss my friends and such but my hope is that we can stay in touch (maybe even spend more F2F time together) via other methods. I do intend to return at the end of the 99 days. My dream is that when I return, I will spend less time there and more time on other projects that will have taken flight during my hiatus.

To my Facebook friends here and there, thank you for hanging around.

 

 

Emotional Carotid

If she hadn’t done it before I might have overlooked it  this time. It might not have hurt so much.

No.

That is not true. It likely still would have hurt. It is the fact that this was done again, repeatedly, that made this time hurt more than the last.

I don’t understand people who do such things. Well, maybe I do, I realize I have the ability myself but I choose not to exercise it.  I know better. I feel differently. I don’t go for the emotional carotid. I have other ways to make my point, debate, argue, and yeah, hurt someone, without going for the deepest wound in their life.  I have my friend Karuna to thank for that lesson.

Years ago, on LiveJournal, I shared a similar experience. I believe that situation involved my ex-husband and his inflicting a similar wound.  Railing in pain, bleeding from the deepest parts of my soul, I turned to my LiveJournal friends at the time and spilled all the details into a journal posting, the title of which I have long forgotten.  As an adoptee and healthcare professional, Karuna likely said much in response. I remember only one sentence:

“you do not use a persons greatest wound against them.”

She was right.

My husband, and my sister years before him (her first offense), had indeed used my greatest wound – the loss of my first-born child to adoption – against me.  It was dirty pool. It is the mark of an unfair fighter, a nasty person, a mean-spirited sick soul that will go for the emotional carotid. Doing so stops the flow of blood from my heart to my head and sends me spinning into shock.  No need to check for a pulse. I am alive but emotionally dead.  It is a guaranteed win for them. A win that leaves me curled on the floor, literally or figuratively, attempting to breathe and regain my senses.  My white flag flies.

This time, this year, when my sister opted for that tactic I was momentarily confused.  The words she chose were out-of-place with the flow of the argument. Clearly she was losing, or felt she was, and she began to grasp at straws.  If there had been a mirror in front of me, versus the face of my older sister, I might have seen my eyebrows raise and squint towards my nose in utter confusion as I turned to my mother.

“What does she mean? Supplementing? Do you understand that?” I asked my mother.

My mother did not turn to me. Rather she stared at my sister and said “Don’t go there, Jule.”

It was then it clicked.

There.

Where would my mother tell my sister not to go? What holy sacred ground would cause my 68-year-old mother to suddenly interrupt a heated argument amongst two of her three daughters and demand her oldest child not go THERE.

My daughter.

Adoption.

I literally stepped back as if I had been slapped. Only I hadn’t been.  All my emotional control, my logic, my desire to contain my own nasty fighting tactics began to shatter. I heard the small cracks forming in my emotional armor. My breath became shallower and my stomach burned and flew up into my throat to choke me.

It was time to go.  There would be no winner here. Nothing gained.   Only more to be lost.

I have lost enough. My child, enough of my soul, my life, my sanity.

I left. Packed up my belongings with the help of my loving husband and left.

Gone.

As we drove away I remembered Karuna’s words and was thankful for them, for her, and for my ability to reflect on them at that crucial moment.  Had I not done so, things could have gotten much worse.  They didn’t. I didn’t. I don’t.

Do not use another persons greatest wound against them. If you do, be prepared for them to be dead to you and you to them. Relationship resuscitation may not be possible.