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More Than Meets the Blog

Recently I was accused of letting adoption rule my life here on this blog. Someone else sent a nasty message on the family blog about how I hide behind my children. Apparently you can’t please everyone by what you choose to share… and what you choose to withhold… on your blog(s).

Adoption has shaped a large part of who I am. Adoption is not all that I am. In fact, even if you read my other blog, the other blogs I contribute to, twitter, Facebook and anything else that I participate online, you will still only have the very basic of ideas as to who I am as a person, a wife, a mother, a birth mother, a friend, a daughter, a sister, and so on.

I read like an open book sometimes. I frequently let it all hang out there, opening up my experience for others to read, learn from, share their own and generally participate in the give and take of life lessons. I’ve spoken, honestly, as to how the experience of blogging has been integral in my healing process. More over, I have made some life long friends, inside and outside the adoption blogosphere/industry/realm. My life has been changed by their sharing, their caring, their challenges and their friendship.

But that doesn’t mean that even the closest among them know every last thing about me.

There are things that I don’t find it necessary to talk about on the Internet or even with my real life friends over weekly coffee. I’m not going to launch into lengthy diatribes about faith; I have mine, you have yours, end of story for me. I’m not going to discuss our finances other than to say the tax refund was good and we’re buying a new couch and recliner. When we’re struggling, I won’t complain out loud. When we’re rolling in the dough (see also point 4 here), I won’t rave out loud. I’m not going to discuss sex or anything associated with it. (Hi, Mother-in-law!) I’m also not going to go into lengthy discussions about family relationships on the blogs because they read. (Also, I’ve learned that if you write about your family when you’re angry, it hurts more than it helps.) Those things, faith and money and sex and family, are huge parts of my life. Not discussing them means that my readers don’t know those parts of my life.

But just because I don’t discuss them doesn’t mean that they don’t exist, don’t shape who I am. I think it’s important that we keep that in mind when we read others’ blogs. Even someone who seems to wear their heart on their blog isn’t likely telling you absolutely everything. I know that I’ve jumped to a conclusion and even, gasp, judged before only to later learn the whole story… and ended up feeling like a heel. I’ve apologized to those individuals. I’ll apologize again in the future because I will forget to take my own advice and I’ll think, “What the heck is this person going on about?” But I try to keep it in mind at all times.

All of this is my long-winded way of saying that I’m more than a birth mother. I am more than adoption. I am even more than an everyday mom. And a wife. And even more than a blogger. So much more.

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Facebook Made Me Anxious

I logged into Facebook, read a few posts in my Live Feed and read the following status update from no less than three people:

This week is First Child appreciation Week: Post a photo of your oldest child as your profile picture. Let’s show how much we appreciate the first born kids in our families for all they go through and all they do! Copy this and comment with name and age

Sounds easy enough.

Unless you’re me. Or the many other birth parents who relinquished their firstborn I know on Facebook. (I made a clarification there because not all birth parents relinquish their firstborn.)

It’s so weird to live this open life that I do, to leave it all hanging out there and still get all anxious about Facebook memes. I’m not going to change my profile picture to a shot of the gorgeous Munchkin. Why? It’s not my right. It’s not my space. It’s not my story. That’s D’s place, should she so choose to get on with her meme-self. Even if she said, “Hey, it’s cool, I don’t mind,” I don’t think I’d do it. It’s complicated even though the vast majority of, well, the world, knows that I’m a birth mother. It’s just confusing for some.

And I’m not putting my oldest son’s picture up there either. He may be the firstborn son. He may be the oldest child in this house. He may have a lot of typical firstborn qualities (hi, stubborn). He is not my firstborn. I struggle to find the balance of letting him be the oldest with reminding him that he has an older sister. It’s hard. Most days he doesn’t want to be the oldest as of late anyway. He wants to be the youngest. That’s a discussion for another time.

I hate the little reminders of this issue. They’re just little things. They mean nothing in the grand scheme of my life, our family or, really, anything. But I get to feeling sad anytime someone has a firstborn meme of this nature (as there was another one in the past that was a survey about your firstborn). I know I could participate. I know she’s still part of my life, that I’m still part of hers. But there’s so many lines in the sand there.

In short: I won’t be participating in First Child Appreciation Week on Facebook. Not that I ever participate in these memes… ahem.

5

I Got Googled

Recently someone from my pre-Munchkin past popped into my Internet life for all of twenty-four hours. Well, no. He skimmed the blogs for two days before contacting me. Our contact lasted less than twenty-four hours. I assume he is done. I know that I’m done.

All the same, I know that he knows about the Munchkin. He was here. He hopped around. He read posts. As our contact didn’t get any more in depth than, “Why are you contacting me,” I don’t know what his thoughts were, what he thinks of me, what he thinks of adoption. I mean, truthfully, I wouldn’t care what he thought of me, good, indifferent or otherwise. But I’m a curious cat most of the time.

I realize that by existing on the web as I do that I will be found. He Googled my name, which I’m surprised he knew considering he Googled my married name. I know that Googling my name takes you to my professional website which includes links to all of my other writing, this site included. (Plus AdoptionBlogs which, you know, says it right in the name.) People who are just casually looking me up because they wonder what I’ve become, what I’ve done with my life, have the truth of my life thrust in their face in the time it takes to do a search string and click a link or two. I think I’m okay with that… mostly.

This person, I didn’t care about. What about my High School bully? Or, rather, bullies? Now, to be honest, I don’t really care about their opinions either. However, knowing that one still happens to be a Gossip Monger that thrives on making other people feel bad, if she happened upon this site, would she spread rumors that are, really, not all that rumor-ish since, you know, I lay it all out there anyway? I don’t know. I might not care if the thought of it didn’t remind me of being a junior in high school who used to avoid the hallway she was walking down simply to avoid the finger-pointing, laughter and general feeling that I was worthless in the eyes of someone else. Then again, I deal with Internet bullies with grace so perhaps I’ve come into my own. Who knows.

The digital age is a difficult one for me as a birth parent. I assume other birth parents might feel similarly. Some lock their blogs, password protect them and have eventually removed them all together. It’s hard to be open and honest all the time. It’s hard to want to tell a story that a large number of people simply don’t want to hear, receive or understand. It’s hard to put yourself on the line time and time again, to get shot down, time and time again. I think the nasty weather has left me holed up inside for far too long. I need some fresh air and a mental refresh.

In the end, I know I don’t care about people knowing my story. I’ve written it. I stand by it. But sometimes I’m left feeling uneasy.