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[FONT=Times New Roman]Fifty years ago my, six-teen year-old, birthmother was as big as a house and only days away from delivering her baby. I cannot know what was going through her mind, but I have seen enough pregnant women, new mothers, mothers whose babies have been removed from their care by the Department of Children and Family Services, mothers who have decided to have a therapeutic abortion because the child within them has developed with gross genetic anomalies, and women who have lost their babies to know that the maternal bond is profound and irrevocable. I have lost three dear children of my own who never drew a breath and mourn for love of them even after these many years. Somewhere in the sharing of body and blood, between the mother and her child, is an eternal and transcendent love and nurture which survives the ravages of poverty and drug abuse, emotional deficiency, profound malformations, even death.[/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman] [/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman]For fifty years I have struggled, to a greater or lesser degree, with so many of the issues which confound the lives of countless other adoptees: abandonment, loss, low self-esteem, feelings of unworthiness and of being uniquely and particularly flawed athe core of my being. Years of therapy and seeking the of a deeper relationship with Jesus have helped, but only to an extent, deeper parts of my inner life still carried horrible scars which were made visible in the world by a series of less than self-affirming decisions. [/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman] [/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman]I read books about the adoptee experience, and the internet postings of other adoptees, and have felt the affirmation of their community for my feelings of brokenness. I have read about Adult Reactive Attachment Disorder and the Primal Wound and found affinity with the traumas they describe. But I have also always felt a still deeper piece of me struggling to be affirmed, one at the deepest level of my being, whispering that my worth, value and wellbeing as the child of the One who called all Creation into being is not dependent on the vicissitudes of the other broken people and systems I have encountered across my half century of life. [/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman] [/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman]Those whispers rose to the level of shouting the other day when a baby, over a month old, was given over to the care of our hospital by its young mother. Her act of love unfolded among us, as I watched nurses and nursing assistants, social workers, interpreters and housekeepers, administrators and secretaries, and so many others lavish love and good wishes, prayer and petitions on this little life given over to our care. Quite against my own intention, I ended up spending over an hour with the mother as well. In those minutes, I came to understand, for the first time the deep and profound love of the woman who shared my life and then offered it to the care of others. No matter what her circumstance, the offering of the gift of a new life into the care of strangers takes profound love and courage, hope and trust. I watched them in the eyes of this young woman, bleary from little sleep; I heard it in her voice, buried deeply beneath a shield of anger and bravado; watched her return to it, time and time again as particular circumstances offered her other avenues and motivations. Always, she returned to her deep loves course, the one which would offer her child the best chance at a life of love and happiness. [/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman] [/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman]Somehow my questions of the inheritances of physical characteristics, intellect, talents, temperament and emotional tendencies have receded before my small part in the handing over of care of this one little life. My own paradigms of pain have been split open in a way which is at once terrifying and disorienting, healing and hopeful. [/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman] [/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman]I have reflected many hours on this thing, which is being born anew in my life. There is a true disparity between my fifty years experience of myself as an adoptee and the miracles of love and compassion which I experienced as I shared a small part of this one childҒs sojourn among us. I am split open and seeking new ways of understanding my self and the experiences of my lifetime. At this time, I am seeking guidance not only from Jesus, but also from the French psychoanalyst, Jaques Lacan, and his interest in how language shapes, or misshapes, our understanding of reality and the French philosopher, Michael Foucault, and his notion of the metanarrative,Ӕ language in which is embedded a theory or story which passes itself off as truth without exception, a story which is more often than not more false than true. [/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman] [/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman]I am beginning to think that adoptees are more hurt by the language and cultural myths of adoption than by the act itself. I am beginning to believe this is true, even if the family into which a little one is given over for care, is more broken than not. I certainly know that the family entrusted with my care failed miserably on many, many levels to offer me the love and acceptance that any child deserves. Yet, they are victims as well, victims not only of the metanarratives of adoption, but also of fertility and family. For I have struggled as well with my own feelings of worthlessness and flaw in the face of menopause and my failed fecundity and the absence of family. I am not the ideas of others. I am not their fears and prejudices, misconceptions and misdirected longings. I can never be who I was born to be, if I do not free myself from the notions of people who do not care for me. At age fifty, time is running out. If not now, when?[/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman] [/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman]I must lay claim to who I was born to be. I am obligated, for myself and for the woman whose life I shared and for the one who in her own inept way care for me, to strive to fulfill the gift of love and courage, hope and trust bequeathed as these two women struggled to love me best, each in their own way.[/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman] [/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman]Your thoughts and reflections would be appreciated. [/FONT]
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God bless you dear. That was a wonderful post.50 isn't so bad. Those years give us time to be what I call "comfortable in our own skin". Looks like you have arrrived at that place. wonder why it takes so long for this to happen? Doesn't matter, but, FINALLY, we are.Enjoy your life now, knowing what you know and being comfortable. It's a blessing. Big hugs dmca
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I agree. What a beautiful post. I think 50 is the "new" 40 where we think through where we have been and where we are going. It's a mid life crisis of sorts I guess but it does lead to freedom in many ways. It is strange and wonderful all at once how God puts people in our lives at just the right moment to help us with understanding and give us new insight. I am glad you have reached a place of peace. How wonderful. Hugs Snuffie
Hi Cheryl Ann, thanks for your beautiful post. I too am an adult adoptee who has traveled the adoption journey for 51 years. We who are from the closed adoption era had many feelings and questions buried within us about the who, what, when wheres and whys of our adoption. We were not encouraged to know our beginnings or to understand or question our adoption. I sought the answers to those questions from my past when in my mid thirties and found 3 birth sisters. A life changing event and answers to most of my pressing questions about my beginnings, my birth parents and ethnic/medical history. I was fortunate to have been blessed in adoption by a wonderful family. Very warm and loving yet not perfect, for there are no perfect homes. I would say my search and reunion set alot of things to rest for me. The nagging questions about my adoption and my mystery birth family were solved. But foremost I was able to see the hand of God who allowed my adoption and shaped me by adoption and then allowed me to go into adoption ministry the past 12 years leading support groups locallly for the adoption triad. Adoption has been an emotional journey and there has been some painful questions and realities discovered along the way. But adoption has also strengthened me, and given me a whole new world of friends touched by adoption! This has been a blessing and a priviledge! I too have a more complete picture of my adoption and my passion is that other adoptees would find answers, peace and closure to the mystery of their adoptions. Thanks Chery Ann for sharing your journey! It has helped me ponder my own adoption story and blessings! Jody
CherylAnn - Thank you for sharing your story. You have expressed what I hope for so many of the young adoptees who post in these forums. None of us can change what has already happened to us, but we have choices about how to live today. It is so easy for all of us to stereotype others. (Birth mothers are selfish, sluts, whatever... adoptees have been forever damaged by separation form their first parents, adoptive parents are selfish people who care only about themselves.) Reality is actually far more complicated than that. We can choose to use our origins as an excuse for how we live our lives today, or we can open ourselves to the possibilities that exist for us. You have chosen to rethink and reframe your personal story in a more positive light. It is truly an example for others.
Thank you for sharing your story. The things which spring to mind are that both your mothers cared for you. One in giving you up and another in bringing you up. You sound as if you are a Christian: Psalm 139 show that you are a special creation. However I can identify with many of your feelings. I too am 50+, childless and a Christian. I think there is a difference between spiritual and emotional acceptance. I know I am accepted by God, but I still feel worthless. It is a deep psychological issue separate from spiritual reality. I know my birth mother acted in my best interest in giving me up (and into foster care for a year before adoption) but a new-born baby cannot make sense of that knowledge. It only feels loss. My mind tells me that I was loved by her and by my amother, who like yours had fertility issues, but my emotions are desolate. I am asking God to heal me and it is working slowly. There are many issues to deal with and some grieving to be done. You have had great sadness in your life; have you grieved fully? I am convinced that this is necessary to healing. Can it be that our emotions are not reality? Does that make sense? I hope you find peace in this issue and are surrounded by those who do love you, and that you can feel it. Blessings, Peggysue
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