Dark Shadows

“Fear has a large shadow, but he himself is small.” -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. 

4 Thoughts.

  1. I am completely convinced that if I am required to lie down on something hard and flat I have a flashback to my son’s birth.
    I was not in a maternity home but I returned home to live with my parents and so was isolated from all my firends. I did not get very big and with the fashions of the day, I got away with it. I feel like I’d like to put got away with it in quotations because in a way I think it might have been better if I had been obviously pregnant,
    Anyway, I still remember vividly, can see it in my head right now as I write, my mother walking away and leaving me to be induced and have the baby by myself. I could never imagine doing that to my daughter.
    Abandoned, yes we were.

  2. Yeah, “I don’t cry so much anymore over my [son] and our reunion. It is what it is. It hurts. It makes me sad but it just is.” A very familiar litany amongst mothers of loss. If Byron Katie is telling you to love what this loss is, she can suck my dick – oops I don’t have one, maybe she and anyone else in love with being in love with “WHAT IS” can rub up against my stone cold heart and get off. Quite frankly, I don’t care if anyone is offended by this. Quite frankly, IF A WOMAN HAS NOT LOST A CHILD TO ADOPTION, SHE HAS NO FUCKING IDEA OF WHAT WE GO THROUGH. Fuck them and their “ideals.” Fuck loving it for what it is. I’m so tired of people not understanding GENETICS and BLOOD and the innate love that a woman has for her child.
    People use statistics all of the time to “prove” that adoptees don’t have more this or less that

  3. got cut off… was going down the line of statistics/individuals/populations… another story I guess.

  4. No one’s writing has the ability to touch me like yours, Suz. No one I know has the strength you do to “go there” regardless of the pain. I often avoid the things you face, in this case abandonment by our families. Over what? Shame? Embarrassment? Sometimes I wonder how I could ever look my parents in the eye ever again.
    I’m with Carol. NO WAY am I going to love what is. Accept, yes, because I can’t change it. Be with it, find some peace with it, but never love it. HELL, NO!

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