I'm on Spring Break, in Mexico, with my family. We're in Cabo San Lucas. It's beautiful here. The weather is as close to perfect as it can be: 81 degrees with an ever-present light breeze.
I'm told that, in a few short weeks, the heat and humidity kicks in and will linger through September. We've visited at an ideal time, before Spring moves into Summer.
As an adoptee, it seems—for me—that there have been many changing seasons in my lifetime. Many transitions and shifts in the wind.
The seasons of adoption—sometimes temperate and sometimes harsh—have, in the past, had control over my ability to experience a sustainable happiness. Something would be said, or not said. Someone would leave. Something within would be triggered. A calm season could quickly change into a turbulent one.
I would tell myself that I'm worthy of love, but that voice would be quickly drowned out by a downpour of self-doubt. I could offer myself a pep talk that anything was achievable, but that language would be swept away and replaced by words that diminished my ability to see myself as capable of success.
I would tell myself that I was chosen, but the primal voice whispered that I had been rejected and left. I would try and convince myself that it didn't matter that I was adopted. That it was better to avoid the questions looming in my head. Avoidance was hard, though. Adoption is an in-your-face reality.
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