Let’s ignore the horrible ick-squick factor of the Puck-Shelby kerfuffle. I have to or my brain explodes. (And I repeat: Juno did it first and it sucked then. End of story.)
Let’s dig into the meat and potatoes of why I cried last night while watching Glee (when I wasn’t sobbing over Santana).
Puck to Quinn: I’m not angry at you. I let you down. We all did. You just spent a whole week helping Santana with a secret everybody already knows, and not one person took ten seconds to help you. And you’re a freaking mess. You have been for three years… ever since I knocked you up. You don’t need a baby or a dude or anybody to make you special.
I had to pause and get more tissues, as Santana’s storyline had exhausted them all.
Finally. Finally someone acknowledged, with words, that Quinn is a freaking mess. Everyone has been calling her the crazy, baby-stealing birth mother, but I said that I saw a birth mother who was obviously, without question, hurting. No one had offered her any help, a kind word, any counseling. No one had even mentioned it in a season. She had a baby. And it was never mentioned again save for the last episode of last season and then, bam, this season.
Yes, she’s hurting. Yes, she’s a freaking mess. You don’t relinquish your child without some kind of freaking mess. The best of us are able to talk it out with unbiased counselors who have experience with birth parent grief and loss. The worst of us… they don’t make it. The ones in between, the majority of us, try to find ways to piece it all together, to make it work, to enjoy the good, to grieve the bad, to make some sense of the hurt, the pain and the fear. Some of us hide the freaking mess better than others. Sometimes even those who are masters of disguise fall apart in public sometimes when we’re poked or prodded or put on display as some kind of role model — for the good or the bad.
And I can assure you that not one of us wants to be a freaking mess.
I don’t enjoy the hole in my heart. I don’t like how, as her birthday draws near, my first instinct is to hole up within myself, curl into a ball and hold very still until it all passes. I don’t wish this pain, this hurt, this emptiness on even my worst of enemies.
I understand those who lash out in anger. I understand those who put on the happy face. I understand those who turn to alcohol or drugs. I understand those who put on the ambivalent face of disinterest. I’ve done it all — save for drugs and alcohol (and probably only the latter because my kidney disorder makes me a rather cheap date). I understand that all of that comes back to the hurt, the ache and wanting someone, anyone — just one damn person — to understand how it feels. To ask you if you’re okay. To sit in silence with you as you stare at her picture on her birthday.
I understand.
Yes, Quinn is a freaking mess. I may never have tried to prove Dee as an unfit parent. I may never have tried to get my daughter’s birth father to sleep with me to create another perfect baby. But I’m a freaking mess too. I just hide it better. Maybe because I’m older. Maybe because I’m not a fictional character on a television show mostly aimed at teenagers. But make no mistake: I hurt just as bad as Quinn. I just deal with it differently.
All of that heartfelt stuff aside, I figure Puck’s actions and revelation to Quinn about said action won’t bode well for any real open adoption relationship between Quinn, Puck, Shelby and Beth. I predict a very big and dramatic end to this storyline, all tidied up nice and neat when Quinn decides to go off at the end of the school year and follow her dreams.
Like a good birth mother should. Right? Sigh.
My name is Jenna. I blog here, 
Twitter: Alena29
says:
When I read this the first time {you know last night when I fell in love with it and all} I nodded along. Thinking about the years, and my actions, and my lashing out, and my anger, and my sadness, and my mitakes, and my missteps. The way I tried to figure out how to talk about, how to tell people about it, how to not tell people about it, how to explain it not only to others…but to my own heart.
Everything perfectly summed up with the words “Yes, she’s hurting. Yes, she’s a freaking mess. You don’t relinquish your child without some kind of freaking mess.” It’s so true. You just DON’T. It doesn’t happen. There is a mess, a trail. A broken heart. No matter why or when or how….it’s so emotionally messy.
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Twitter: firemom
says:
I’m more aware of my freaking mess as we slide into December and her birthday awaits and I just… I just fall apart. There’s no two ways around it. I think this is the year where I’m going to stop putting on the Brave Birthday Face and just accept the day for what it is.
Thanks for understanding. I’m glad to have found you.
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I cannot even make a sensible comment here because I tear up just reading your words. They are the cry of every birthmother I know.
I know for sure they are my cry.
I am a mess. Inside. Where people cannot see. Even those closest to me.
I just want to marinade in my pain. But I also want someone who understands how it hurts.
I don’t want someone telling me it will be better. That what I did was good and nobel.
I want a do-over. A big fat do-over that would include not ever being a ‘good birthmother’.
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Hugs to you Jenna and all of us who share in this unwanted sisterhood! I echo Lisa’s words about wanting a big fat do-over! Take care of yourself during this emotional month!
Sara
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I don’t watch Glee (not a big TV watcher). But thank you for your honesty. Your words resonate.
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Twitter: ericadeshetler
says:
I’ve been meaning to reply to your post. It resonates with me in a completely different way. I am adopted, and am fortunate to have my biological mother back in my life. She told me about the pain she’s gone through, the hole in her heart, everything she went through…alone. Her family wasn’t supportive, although her friends were. But regardless of outside support, she still felt alone. And I can understand.
We’ve researched our story, and unfortunately, our reunion seems to be in the minority. My adoptive mother is supportive of my relationship with my birth mother, and having her in my life has filled a hole that I never could understand or explain to anyone else – including my parents.
Although Quinn is a fictional character, the unspoken sisterhood that relates to her (mentioned in a previous reply) are many and I continue to hope that someday, they experience the same blessed reunion that we have. Until then, just know that for every member of that sisterhood, there is undoubted someone out there that thinks about you every single day, whether you know it or not.
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