â€œFear has a large shadow, but he himself is small.â€ -Ruth Gendler
I have been consciously avoidant. I skipped seeing my therapist for a few weeks. I said I could not justify the expense but the truth was I was still angry at him from our last few sessions (where he, like everyone else, got all googly-eyed over my daughter and failed to see me bleeding in the corner like a recently run over squirrel, tail sporadically flipping around. I expected more from him.). He and I have gotten past that for now but as a result it has taken us into dark corners I dont feel equipped to handle. The maternity home is looming in the distance. These days I dont cry so much over my daughter or our reunion. It is what it is. It hurts. It makes me sad but it just is. There you go Byron Katie, I am loving what is.
The latest thing to send me into a puddle of tears is any reference to being sent away, locked up, ignored, denied, avoided. Is it any surprise I abandoned my own child after I had been abandoned? Even as I write those words my eyes fill with tears and my throat constricts.
I need to deal with that. I don’t want anything to have that kind of power over me.
I am so afraid to go there. So afraid to look back, to talk about what it felt like to be so isolated, so lonely, to give birth to your first born child in the company of strangers who could not give a damn about you but cared deeply about the life you would push from your bloody vagina. I don’t want to relive the experience of being the producer of a commodity to be sold on the adoption market. I don’t want to feel that kind of sadness and aloneness again. I don’t want to bring it back.
Yet, I suspect I will have to.
To wipe the stains of Gehring Hall from the walls of my heart and soul, I may have to walk there again, if even in the safety of my therapists office.