Agreeing with Adrienne Rich

Subscribe

• Google

• Profound

  The wound is where the light comes in.– Rumi

• Search

  Search

• Recent Posts

  • Sandy Hook Green
  • Words Fail Me
  • Don’t Call Me Mother
  • Helping a First Father
  • Agreeing with Adrienne Rich

• Exactly.

  "When a mother is forced to choose between the child and the culture, there is something abhorrently cruel and unconsidered about that culture. A culture that requires harm to one's soul in order to follow the cultures prescriptions is a very sick culture indeed. This 'culture' can be the one a woman lives in, but more damning yet, it can be the one she carries around and complies with within her own mind....." -- Women Who Run With The Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes

• Recent Comments

  • Carol Chandler on Words Fail Me
  • Suz Bednarz on Don’t Call Me Mother
  • Denise on Don’t Call Me Mother
  • Hilary on Helping a First Father
  • Denise on Helping a First Father

• Yup.

  "The first few weeks at home, I cried all the time. I'd lock myself in the bathroom or go to my room. I cried all night but I didn't let anybody hear me because I felt like I was being bad. I wasn't doing what they said I was supposed to do, which was: "Get over it. Move on with your life and put it behind you." I thought, "Crap, I can't even do this right." - The Girls Who Went Away

• Topics

  Select Category About Me  (357) Adoptee Rights  (21) Adoption Activism  (120) Adoption Artwork  (10) Adoption Baby Brokers  (49) Adoption Healing  (26) Adoption PTSD  (80) birth fathers  (24) Books  (26) Chicago Memories  (9) Collateral Damage  (51) death and adoption  (4) Divorce  (11) ehbabes.com  (15) EMDR  (2) Ethics  (39) Family Preservation  (94) friends of children  (2) Healing  (34) Honesty  (39) Ignorance  (33) Language  (13) Lost Mothers  (2) Maternity Home  (19) Off Topic  (9) Open Records  (12) Personal Poetry  (8) Pullback  (12) Recovery  (24) Reform  (13) Relationships  (65) Religion  (12) Reunion  (174) searches  (27) Siblings  (8) St. Johns Adoption Conference  (10) Successful Teen Parents  (2) Synchronicity  (11) Things I wish I could Tell Her  (11) Trauma  (64) Trauma Recovery  (78) Triggers  (104) Uncategorized  (236) Writing  (27)

• On Loss

  Adoption loss is the only trauma in the world where the victims are expected by the whole of society to be grateful - The Reverend Keith C. Griffith, MBE.

• Archives

  Select Month September 2013 August 2013 July 2013 June 2013 May 2013 April 2013 March 2013 February 2013 January 2013 December 2012 November 2012 October 2012 September 2012 August 2012 July 2012 June 2012 May 2012 April 2012 March 2012 February 2012 January 2012 December 2011 November 2011 October 2011 September 2011 August 2011 July 2011 June 2011 May 2011 April 2011 March 2011 February 2011 January 2011 December 2010 November 2010 October 2010 September 2010 August 2010 July 2010 June 2010 May 2010 April 2010 March 2010 February 2010 January 2010 December 2009 November 2009 October 2009 September 2009 August 2009 July 2009 June 2009 May 2009 April 2009 March 2009 February 2009 January 2009 December 2008 November 2008 October 2008 September 2008 August 2008 July 2008 June 2008 May 2008 April 2008 March 2008 February 2008 January 2008 December 2007 November 2007 October 2007 September 2007 August 2007 July 2007 June 2007 May 2007 April 2007 March 2007 February 2007 January 2007 May 2006 April 2006 March 2006

• Search

  Search

• Own it.

  You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should’ve behaved better. - Anne Lamott

• Agree with Adrienne

  The loss of the daughter to the mother, the mother to the daughter, is the essential female tragedy. – Adrienne Rich.

• Stats and Stuff

  
  
  
  

  Follow my blog with Bloglovin

• The Journey

  One day you finally knew
  what you had to do, and began,
  though the voices around you
  kept shouting
  their bad advice--
  though the whole house
  began to tremble
  and you felt the old tug
  at your ankles.
  "Mend my life!"
  each voice cried.
  But you didn't stop.
  You knew what you had to do,
  though the wind pried
  with its stiff fingers
  at the very foundations,
  though their melancholy
  was terrible.
  It was already late
  enough, and a wild night,
  and the road full of fallen
  branches and stones.
  But little by little,
  as you left their voices behind,
  the stars began to burn
  through the sheets of clouds,
  and there was a new voice
  which you slowly
  recognized as your own,
  that kept you company
  as you strode deeper and deeper
  into the world,
  determined to do
  the only thing you could do--
  determined to save
  the only life you could save.
  
  Mary Oliver

Copyright 2013 WritingMyWrongs.com.

Vigilance Theme by The Theme Foundry