â€œAn insincere and evil friend
is more to be feared than a wild beast; a wild beast may wound your
body, but an evil friend will wound your mind.â€ – Buddha
He pulled me closer to him, moved my hair and whispered in my ear.
â€œDo you think we could turn the movie off for a minute? The storyline is upsetting me a bit. It is reminding me of similar challenging times in my own life.â€ he said faintly, with apparent angst in his voice.
â€œOf courseâ€ I said as I jumped from the couch and quickly ran towards the DVD player.
As I settled myself back on the couch he explained a little bit of what he was feeling. I listened and eventually responded with an â€œOooooh, noâ€¦.â€ and a hug.
â€œDonâ€™t disagree with me. Itâ€™s my feeling. Itâ€™s true. Donâ€™t say no.â€
â€œOh, gosh, thatâ€™s not what I meantâ€. I explained to him that what I was trying to say in my â€œOh, nooooâ€ was more like â€œI am sorry you are hurting. I see your pain. I cannot help it. It is very real. I respect it and just want to hold you." I was definitely not attempting to invalidate what he was feeling.
This memory flashed before me the other day when for some odd reason, I was recollecting the day that I told my ex husband about my daughters existence.
He was caring in his response. I think he even cried. He held me, said he was sorry that had happened to me and that he wished he could have been there to help me. On the surface, it was a very sweet caring exchange. He did not reject me.
But I wanted more than that.
I realize that now. Sure, the empathy was nice but I also wanted, and have since wanted, someone, anyone to be outraged along with me. Donâ€™t pull me close and say you are sorry. That is somewhat dismissive and fails to acknowledge the depth of my pain.
Grab my hand and fight the demons with me. Stand up and holler. Get mad. Raise your fists to those that hurt me and help me in my fight to stop it from happening to others. Donâ€™t pull me close, say you are sorry and then get on with things like it never happened.
Ask me questions. Probe me on what happened. Appear interested to actually SEE what happened to me. Don’t hug me, shrug it off and pretend it did not happen.
It did happen. It continues to happen. I live with that trauma every freaking day of my life and it continues to happen to others around me. Why doesnâ€™t that bother you?
Of course, I realize that is silly. I cannot expect someone who has never lived the trauma at all to really understand it. Most donâ€™t have the emotional capacity to look at their own scarred souls let alone take a peek at mine. Avoidance is usually easier. Furthermore, most, if not all people I know, have swallowed enormous amounts of positive adoption language and mainstream media goo. They have no idea what adoption is often about. They were assimilated long ago by the Adoption Borg. They cannot think on their own. Their thoughts are those of the collective.
As the New Year approaches, I continue to hope that more and more people will begin to see the ugliness (as well as the beauty) in adoption. I will personally continue to do whatever I can to educate the masses, to write, to share, to speak at conferences, to support mothers in crisis. I am committed to making progress on my novel and yes, form a not-for-profit that will support family preservation and reunification.
We can slay this beast. We can. We can make adoption about finding homes for children in need and not about finding babies for couples who cannot have them. We can stop the womb raiding.
For sake of our future mothers and children, we must.