23

On Writing and Such

My life has been making all kinds of interesting twists and turns over the past… well, forever. More specifically, however, my life has been making some very specific career twists and turns. As you might recall, I’m working out of the home (very) part-time now as a newspaper photographer. And people keep contacting me for freelancing gigs.

And then there’s that book thing.

Yes, Dawn outed me/us today because she’s insane. Maybe not insane. Maybe she’s less scared than me. I would have been perfectly content to be ten thousand kinds of vague in my request for interviews and the like over the next few months. Why? A few reasons come to mind. One of them is a huge fear of failure (which I’m learning goes away when you believe in yourself; WHO KNEW!). Another reason is because being vague and cryptic creates suspense! Right? Lastly, as I said to Dawn, now I actually have to work instead of sitting over here eating bon-bons as I do.

Oh wait. That last point might not be valid.

Short run down: we’re writing a book. About adoption. Not about our adoptions and the specifics of our open adoption relationships because, well, memoirs are kind of hard to sell right now because there’s one about every thing under the sun right now. (That said I’m reading a fabulously written memoir right now (because I do adore the genre) about death and infidelity and betrayal. It uses cuss words but ohsoappropriately. This particular memoir makes me glad that we’re not writing a memoir because there’s absolutely no way that I would want my memoir writing compared to hers because, really, it’s that good. Perfection: A Memoir of Betrayal and Renewal by Julie Metz. Pick it up but maybe not if your spouse has recently died. Just sayin’.) Anyway, back to our non-memoir. It was at one point in our talks asked if we would write a “how-to” regarding adoption which I initially balked at (and still do). That thought felt icky. What we’re working on right now is more of a critical (not meaning negative) look at open adoption. And such. Which is very descriptive, is it not? Totally.

We’ve been kicking around ideas for a couple of months now. When I was brought into the fold of this project, I was surprised that Delia knew who I was and, as such, I have a word of advice for anybody who aspires to write anything. Ever.

Blog. And blog well. Because you never know who is reading your blog.

All of this feels overwhelming and wonderful and scary and exciting and tedious and thrilling. I think it’s incredibly wonderful, dorky and technologically awesome that we’re utilizing Google Wave to keep track of ideas, interviews, topics, chapters and all that other stuff. I am always amazed at how truly lucky I am to be alive in this current “day” of “stuff.” Sure, it’s overwhelming. Sure, it creates challenges that didn’t exist before all of this “stuff” existed. But, man, sometimes things really work together to make aspects of my life/our lives easier. The argument, of course, then comes into play whether all of this “stuff” has made the publishing industry fall on its doopa but, well, as my grandma says about falling on your doopa: you can always get back up, sometimes you just have to find another way to do so.

I have no idea where this specific journey will take me. I do know that my house is messy, my laundry needs washed, my husband fought a late night fire and is exhausted and I can’t walk in heels. That’s about it right now. Those bits of knowledge aside, I’m loving the encouragement that has been sent to me via twitter today. I just read through everything after returning from an impromptu shopping trip with my boys and my mother-in-law. The retail therapy and the encouragement make me feel ready to conquer the world.

Kind of.

18

Nurturing Relationships or, Rather, The Failure to Do So

I’ve been thinking a lot about the things that have been said regarding whether or not it is appropriate for birth parents to share any regret with the (adoptive) parents of their child(ren). I couldn’t find the appropriate words yesterday as I was quite miffed at a particular comment or two on Dawn’s blog. I couldn’t figure out why I was so put off by the whole “It’s fine if she feels that way but I don’t want to hear it” attitude.

Until it hit me: what relationship could withstand such blatant disrespect?

Example: You’ve been through something with your best friend. She wants to talk about it. It makes you uncomfortable. You reply, “You know, it’s fine that you feel that way but I really don’t care to hear your side of it. Please don’t bring it up again.” Your best friend thinks, “What the…” and moves on. I use a friend in this scenario because people freak out when I dare to compare an open adoption relationship to that of a marriage but you can substitute the best friend for just about any relationship which you care for, cherish and nurture.

Or is that the problem? Are we not caring for, cherishing and nurturing our open adoption relationships? Are we pushing them off as something we have to do instead of something that we can benefit from? Instead of something we want to do? A requirement to fulfill a contract instead of something we have chosen to do because it is good and right?

I know the answer. You don’t have to answer it for me.

I’m not saying I call D up every time I feel overwhelmed with emotion. I’m also not saying that she should carry my burden. She is not my therapist. Nor am I her therapist. I bring up that point, that I am not her therapist, because everyone keeps talking, back and forth, about all the issues that birth parents have and I just want to scream, “WHAT ABOUT ALL OF YOU ADOPTIVE PARENTS WHO ARE IGNORING YOUR OWN ISSUES(**)?” That’s right. In caps lock. Adoptive parents may not be regretting the actual adoption of their child (though some do) but they have their own triggers, their own stumbling blocks, their own problems. I want to know what is troubling D because she is a friend, a fellow woman, a mother whose opinion I trust and the mother of my daughter. I want to know that she is okay, that she is seeking the appropriate help when things are not okay and what I can do to help. I acknowledge that I can’t do much sometimes other than listen, just as she does for me. Her issues are not always easy for me to understand just as I know she struggles sometimes with mine.

But we keep supporting one another as friends to because we care about one another.

I guess I’m just absolutely flabbergasted as to the narrow-minded attitude that permeates so much of the adoption world. Why on Earth would you not want to know how the other party felt about things that connected the two of you? The things that brought you together. Why wouldn’t you want to know that the other party was processing something, pushing through the hard stuff and working toward an emotional resolution? Why wouldn’t you want to be able to offer a word of comfort or encouragement if it was well within your ability? Why wouldn’t you want to share any wisdom you have learned from your own trials, tribulations and triumphs? Why why why why why?

I can’t imagine any relationship ever surviving if it was a total one-sided ordeal. If I wasn’t “allowed” to share my feelings or if I was told that sharing them didn’t matter, well, I’d be angry. I don’t know how I would survive a relationship like that before I had to say something. My heart breaks for any birth parent enduring such a one-sided relationship.

As a side note, I hope that birth parents realize how absolutely vital a good therapist can be during those years of break-neck healing. There’s no way that D could have helped me through the hardest emotions that I dealt with during my darkest months/years. I needed someone outside of the relationship to help me along. I kept her informed, when I was ready to discuss any given issue, but without my therapist, I would have gone about the sharing in wrong ways as well. Yet another perfect example of why reform is needed in adoption. I paid for that therapist on my own. I’m lucky enough that I had that money. What about the others that the adoption industry is letting slip through the cracks? Who do they then have to turn to?

Exactly.

_

** = (I use a generalization there because birth parents were generalized in the above linked post. Tit for tat. If you’re not ignoring your issues, kudos. Keep on keepin’ on.)

11

Ornamental Reflection

It’s hanging again. Her ornament. It faces my spot on the couch where I do most of my work day in and day out. It hangs at just about eye view. The silver shininess of the ornament catches my eye when I glance out the window to look at the snow that continues to layer itself on our apple tree outside.

I can’t imagine not having her ornament on our tree.

It’s something little. To most people it might even register as insignificant. It isn’t Earth-shattering or all that big and bold. It’s just an ornament on a Christmas tree. Right?

It still means so much more to me.

I bought it on clearance in late Spring after her first Christmas. I was meandering around Hallmark, looking for things which have long since been forgotten. I noticed that the ornaments were 75% off the lowest marked price so I took a look. One “Baby’s First Christmas” ornament from 2003 was sitting in the pile. Just one. I bought it without thinking.

I didn’t hang it in 2004.

I was just coming out from under the dark veil of denial of the first year of adoption. While our relationship was fine, I was beginning to feel things that I didn’t quite understand. In fact, some of the things I was feeling felt wrong. Was I allowed to regret things? Was I allowed to miss her so deeply, so viscerally? Was I allowed to think of “what if” and ask why? I didn’t know. The thoughts scared me. They overwhelmed me. And so acting like any other reasonable adult, I ignored them just as I ignored the ornament when I pulled the decorations out to deck the halls that year. I ignored what that meant.

I don’t think I hung it up in 2005 either. In fact, I know I didn’t. My heart was heavy with the realization of all I had lost as I cradled my newborn oldest son in my arms. I couldn’t begin to comprehend what hanging her ornament or lacking to do so meant for me. I couldn’t even comprehend at that time how the relinquishment of my firstborn was going to forever affect how I parented the children under my roof. I wasn’t in denial that year. I was clueless as to everything that placing a child had done to my soul.

Come 2006, after completing almost a full year of therapy, I pulled out the box and opened it for the first time. Turns out that the little star that said “Baby’s First” wasn’t properly attached to the ornament and fell off. I hung it that year, the first in our new home, without the star. It was a step. A baby step. But a step.

In 2007, I fastened the star to the ornament with some fishing line, courtesy of my nature loving husband. And every year since, it has been proudly displayed on our tree.

Maybe the story of how an ornament hangs on our tree means nothing to you. It says volumes about my healing. I was once unable to even consider hanging up something that put my heart on the line, my story on a tree, visible to all who entered our home. It has taken me years to get to a point where I not only need to hang it up like the rest of our ornaments but I am proud to do so. That ornament? Is a silver, shiny, dangling representation of my daughter, what she means in my life and what I have been through to keep her in my life. It’s not just an ornamental decoration to me.

This ornament and its reflection, both visual on the ornament and here in words, represent this journey I have endured and will continue to endure for years to come.