Month: March 2007

“I went to a fancy french restaurant called "Deja Vu." The headwaiter said, "Don’t I know you?" – Rod Schmidt

I thank my lucky stars that they exist.

They validate and comfort me.

Two other moms, both in reunion with daughters the same age as mine. If that weren’t enough, they also have ambivalent reunions as I do.  While I am sad for them about that, I am happy for me.

See, knowing that they have similar reunions allows me to make my situation more about adoption and my daughter herself than about me.  It’s not just me. Others have this experience too.

Ambivalent reunions like mine can be especially triggering.  See, the movie appears to be the same. It feels like we have seen this show and it can be very difficult to separate the frames from a movie of yesterday from todays movie. They get all jumbled and double exposed. Am I feeling this today or did I feel this yesterday and are they different but similar?

Consider this.

An ambivalent adoptee in reunion who ignores their first mother. Contrast that against the treatment the first mother got while pregnant or following surrendered. Many of us were ignored, completely, by our parents, the babies father, the agencies. We did not exist. Enter upon reunion with an ambivalent adoptee and you are sometimes treated again, as if you don’t exist.

Ambivalent adoptee tells you “How could you do this to me? How could you give me away? How could you be so cruel?” (Lots of me me me talk and little compassion for what the other might have experienced)  Contrast that against our families who said “How could you do this to me? To us? How could you embarrass us so? How can you be so irresponsible?” (More me, me, me talk and no acknowledgement of the emotions of the pregnant mother)

See how wires and feelings can get crossed?

An adoptee who tells a mom like me (I am not suggesting I was told this) that they are not wanted, needed, valued, loved, respected strongly echoes what many of us were told when we were pregnant with those very children. This can be massively triggering to days gone by. Rage and anger that has been suppressed, intended for our parents or agency workers or boyfriends, can all too easily come spewing out at the adoptee.

Adoptees who ignore emails, requests to meet? Contrast that with boyfriends or parents who won’t take our calls, who refuse to be seen in public with us.

It is incredibly difficult to keep the situations separate. Boundaries can get blurred to the point where you don’t know who, what, why you are even upset anymore. You just know you felt this way before.

Moms like me carry a huge fear of rejection. We were thrown away before by our loved ones and we fear, expect, worry we will be thrown away by our children (I realize this mirrors many feelings adoptees have).

When I returned to my parents home following the loss of my daughter, everyone around me pretended things were just like they were before I left. No one asked about my daughter, no one asked about pictures, everyone danced around the elephant the room with glee. I wanted to scream SEE ME, HEAR ME, I NEED TO TALK TO YOU, I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS.

I am in the same situation again – only it’s now my daughter. I want her to see me, to hear me, to talk with me. But she doesn’t. I understand (thank goodness) the root cause behind this (to some degree) but I must work very very hard not to blur the boundaries. My daughter knows I exist, so do her parents, yet they are going like I don’t. Just like parents did years ago. I am now the big elephant in the room.

The denial, ignoring of me feels exactly the same as it did twenty odd years ago. I am not good enough. I am not wanted. I am the bad girl. I deserve to be punished. My parents and the agency passed the baton to my daughter (or so it can feel).

I reminded my self daily, many times a day, that her behavior is about her. It is about how she was raised, how she feels and what support (or not) her adoptive parents gave her. She does not even know ME. How could it be about me?  How can she possibly form any real valid true opinion of me based on 24 emails over the past two years?

I am not denying my part in her adoption wounds. I have taken ownership of that and I have even apologized to her for my ignorance and naiveté and lack of self esteem.  But I cannot and will not take ownership of her morals, values, or emotional state or the way she behaves towards me and others. Those are hers and hers alone to own.

This is not an easy task. As a mother, even one that did not raise her, I feel it is my fault – completely (don’t all mothers feel that?). Coulda, woulda, shoulda talks with me daily.

I have a tee shirt from emotionalarmor that says “write your own happy ending”. I am hoping, that with time, this movie will end happier than the one I saw all those years ago.

"and I have the sense to recognize that
I don’t know how to let you go
every moment marked
with apparitions of your soul
I’m ever swiftly moving
trying to escape this desire
the yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
the yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
but I have the sense to recognize

that I don’t know how
to let you go
I don’t know how
to let you go"
Sarah MacLachlan, Do What You Have to Do

“Is it harder pre or post reunion?”, she asked me.

I paused.

I am not sure it’s a matter of harder. But different.  What used to destroy me daily no longer does – but different things do.  The intensity is probably the same. Its like I traded in one color object for another but it’s still the same size and shape object.

It’s a matter of quality, quantity, intensity, frequency.

Pre reunion:
I was filled for 20 years with a general sense of dis-ease. A sickness. A pain. A torment.  Worry. Chronic Anxiety. Nightmares. Flashbacks. Shame. Even survivor guilt (Meaning, I should not be having a good life, I should be punished for giving away my daughter. I could not enjoy anything.) I suffered from low self esteem and shattered self confidence. Always a socially anxious person, I became even more introverted. I was always afraid. Afraid of people, places, new experiences. (OMG, someone might find out what I did!). I became hypervigilant. I struggled in crowds. I worked best alone. I was suspicious of everyone.  I had a small circle of friends. I focused on my work and built a good career. Hours upon hours I would spend alone, in the office, writing, working, developing. My private sanatorium.

I was good at putting on fronts, facades, making things appear as if I was “okay”. No one knew I often went home and laid in bed for days and did not shower or eat. The only thing, and I mean only thing that kept me going and moving was the need to pay for housing and food. I am quite confident if I could have mooched off of someone, I would have done so. But there was no one there. Just me. It was do or die. And I did (do that is).

I thought of her daily. I woke in the morning and the anxiety was there. The knowledge that she was out there, somewhere, with someone. The physical pain of her not being with me. The worry.  I pushed the anxiety and fear away and functioned.  I would retire at night and she would be there again. Ghostly apparitions of her soul.

She changed over the years. I would imagine what she might look like. With each passing year, the apparition grew. Height, weight. I guesstimated what she would look like and act like.

But I could not allow those thoughts for long. They would cripple me.  I would forget to eat. I wouldn’t want to go to work. Reactive depression would prevail.

I thought, early on, that finding her would help with much of this. I thought, good god, just finding that my child was still alive, well, happy would make me feel better. It kind of did but it kind of didn’t. Again, it changed things.

Post Reunion:
Nowadays, I know where she is. I know what she looks like. That ghostly apparition I think of in the morning and at night? It now has a face. And it’s her face. Her real face. Her hair, Her jewelry. Her style. It doesn’t have a voice yet. Its height and weight fluctuates. She is somewhat opaque to me now.

I have come to some better terms with the guilt, shame, embarrassment, anxiety. But the pain, the deep, soul searing, blood curdling, angst? That is still there. As of today, I don’t expect it to go away. I expect to find ways to manage it. To live with it.

I retire at night and I can lay in my bed, for hours, left side, arm snuggled under my pillow, head resting softly. I stare out my window, at the stars and I wonder where she is. If she is looking at the stars too. I often spend hours, days, thinking of her. Wondering if I will hear from her. If I will ever meet her.

I wonder if she thinks of me at all. It appears to me that she doesn’t – or cannot allow herself too. I feel, deep inside, that we could have a very good relationship. But that’s me and my feelings. I have no idea what hers are – not really. I feel she is ambivalent, afraid, unsure, suppressing anger. I could be totally wrong. She has never told me this. I am just assuming based on what little she has shared.

Even though I have found her, I still feel as if something HUGE is missing. I wonder if I will always feel that. Is that the rift of loss? The vacant gaping hole that is caused by losing your child?  Or is that feeling of wanting, aching, grasping for something rooted in the fact that we have not yet met? Does that change once you meet? Is that hole even related to her?  Is it something else in my life that is missing or wrong? Will it ever change?

I am reminded of a commercial on television right now. I don’t recall what product it is for. But there are images of food items and each item has a hole in it, a missing piece. That’s what my life has been like for twenty something years.  A piece of my body and soul is missing.

I know where the piece is but I cannot really ever, truly integrate it.

Not better or worse. Just different.

Just like adoption itself.

My daughter did not get a better life without me.

She got a different one.