D reads this blog. And a private(er?) journal of mine. She knows how I feel about adoption in general, our adoption, the unethical agency that we both used, the Munchkin and life in general. In fact, D has become one of my best friends. I have three best friends total: TheHusbandMan (ya know, the husband man), Leah (my matron of honor and labor coach for Munchkin’s birth) and, as I just said, D. I tell them all, basically, everything that is going on in my life.

Sometimes each one is privvy to certain bits of information at different points in time. TheHusbandMan is usually the up front information receiver mainly because we sleep in the same bed and he knows when I’m grumpy, anxious, happy or something in between. Leah and I lead very busy lives and we usually end up writing very long e-mails, having very long phone conversations or dishing over veggie omellettes for an hour and a half while catching up on each others’ lives. (Living two hours apart is THE SUCK, we have decided.) D and I try to keep on top of each others’ lives by reading each others’ writings, talking via IM and telephone and our quarterly visits. Sometimes one of these people is a week or a month behind in information gathering but they’re usually pretty up to date.

As I said, D reads all of what I write. Even that not-so-good stuff. She reads the nitty-gritty truth. She knows about my anger towards ANLC (and she has her own issues with their unethical practices). She’s watched me heal in certain areas of my anger, such as towards my own family and towards Munchkin’s birth father. She’s seen me struggle through some really hard times, like the Munchkin’s first birthday party when I felt secluded, alone and very confused. She’s read about (and talked with me about) my revelations in the weeks and months after BigBrother’s birth regardign how I could have parented Munchkin. She’s been there, she’s been there through it all.

And she hasn’t turned me away.

You see, it’s because D is aware of the many complexities of adoption. She is also vastly aware that she had no part in any of the subtle coercive techniques or blatant lies that the agency laid upon me. She knows, through and through, that my issues with adoption are not laid at her feet. She holds no blame in my eyes, my mind or my heart. She knows that I miss my daughter with all of my being. Yet she is not threatened when I voice that longing. She doesn’t tell me not to talk about it because my emotions, my issues and my anger/sadness/anxiety do NOT change who SHE is as the Munchkin’s Mom.

I can cry until the cows come home on this blog, on the forums and on her lap: my daughter is not coming home to me. D knows, no matter what, that Munchkin is going to wake up in her home tomorrow morning in her pretty pink and purple room and ask for her Mommy… and she’ll mean D. Nothing I can say will erase who she is as the Munchkin’s Mom. She simply IS MOM.

So, why then, should D tell me not to share my feelings? Why should she tell me that my sharing of emotions hurts her and that she would wish I would just stop? What purpose would that serve? Isn’t that what we’re trying to avoid with openness in general?! An open, honest flow of communication?! There’s a difference, of course, between discussing one’s feelings and verbally injuring someone but, at the same time, feelings are feelings. The truth is the truth. From what I can understand, some people would rather birth parents lie and say that everything is hunky-dory. Would you really rather hear a lie for twenty some odd years and then find out, “Oh, I was just lying so that I wouldn’t hurt your feelings.” Which would hurt your feelings MORE?! The truth is much easier than a lie in the end. The truth is what we should all strive for…

And sometimes, the truth freaking hurts.

I’m tired, worn out and weary of adoptive parents and society in general telling birth parents to stop talking to them or in general. We’ve been silenced too long. We’ve seen, point blank, that it doesn’t work. We’ve seen the results of being told to shut our mouths, forget our pain and move on. We’ve been witness to what being told that our feelings are “hurtful” can do, how it makes us feel less than because we don’t “feel by the book.” (Who wrote this book anyway?) It doesn’t work.

I can’t imagine too many reasons that I would step in and tell an adoptive parent, “Ya know what, shut up. Your feelings are damaging how I feel about myself. Please stop before you hurt my fragile psyche.” And yet, every day, birth parents receive comments on their blogs that tell them to “accept their role,” to stop saying things that hurt adoptive families or adoptees or society’s view of birth parents.

If D came to me tomorrow and said, “Hey, I’m having some trouble really finding a place for my emotions with how Munchkin views you as a mother/first mother,” I wouldn’t turn her away. Would my heart ache? Yes for a two-fold reason: a) it involves me and b) my friend was hurting. Would I say, “Ya know what, that hurts me and I don’t want to hear it.” No. I would encourage her to discuss with me what was behind those issues and pray to God that I wasn’t doing something out of line. I would reassure her that no matter how she felt about me or our family unit that I would support her role as Munchkin’s Mom.

It’s taken awhile, I admit that, but I am secure in who I am to the Munchkin. I’m sure that security will be shaken from time to time by questions and words like daggers from the girl herself. But as for right now, I don’t need D to validate me (though she does). I don’t think D needs me to validate her (though I think I do). She’s an amazing, wonderful Mom. She’s an amazing, wonderful friend.

The truth isn’t always easy to accept. But we accept it for those that we truly love. And maybe that’s the rub, eh? Maybe some are just saying that they love others because it’s the “right thing to do” or some other lame excuse. Love isn’t a word to be tossed around.

I love my daughter’s Mom. (That sounds funny.) I respect how she feels. I respect what she does. And, bless her, she bestows the same amount of respect on me.

I feel sadness and pity for those that can’t manage the same.

(Additional note: After writing this, I wanted to confirm with D that she still felt this way and that I wasn’t projecting my own wants or needs on her. She reiterated how she felt and then we had fun hypothesizing about why others aren’t able to reach these feelings. Muahaha.)