So I thought I would explain more about what “my peace” means to me.

First and foremost, peace doesn’t mean happiness. Quite honestly, happiness is fleeting. If you want to live a full life, you should be searching for joy, not happiness. Happiness is based on life situations and external circumstances. Joy is based on your outlook on life, your core views on life, your inner being — even when the situation at hand isn’t happy. I live a joyful life, but that doesn’t mean I’m always happy.

How does that relate to adoption? I’m not always happy as a birth mother. There are times when I am downright sad. Her birthday, holidays, moments that catch me off guard. They are hard, they are real. Allowing myself the room to be sad is part of my peace.

I don’t allow others to tell me when to be happy, when to be sad, when to feel anything. I feel what I feel. Recognizing that was a big turning point in my healing. I am allowed to feel what I feel.

Because I am a person who leads a joyful life, not just a happy one, I look for the good in everything. Sometimes I fail. I am human. Even when I am sad however, my life is not lacking joy. Even in the darkest of times, when happiness seems a billion light years away, there is joy — in family, in self, in life itself.

So, no, my peace doesn’t mean that I’m always happy. It means that I have a joy in knowing that I gave birth to a daughter that I fought, tooth and nail, to keep healthy during pregnancy. It means that I am allowed to be sad. To be angry. To be scared. To be apathetic. To be excited. To be overwhelmed. To be underwhelmed. To be whatever I need to be at any given moment. It means that, at my core, I’m okay with the mixed bag of emotions that come with adoption relinquishment.

You’ll note, of course, that I mentioned anger. So many fear anger, and I did for quite some time. I don’t feel angry often any more, though I did have a moment on her birthday this past year during which I was so angry with Munchkin’s biological father that I could have spit. But it passed. And there was room for the feeling when it was there. Anger is not a negative emotion. It is simply emotion. When we act out negatively in anger, things can get messy. Feeling it, acknowledging it and seeing how it fits into my journey allows me to nod my head at it and move on to the next emotion — which is hopefully something easier to swallow.

My peace also doesn’t mean that I don’t miss my daughter. Some people assume that, have sent me crazy, ridiculous emails accusing me of “forgetting” my daughter or doing her harm by talking about peace. I miss my daughter. Plain and simple. There is no question about it nor has there ever been. I miss her. But I also can’t do anything about the past which brings me to another key point in my peace: Accepting the past, hoping for the future.

I made choices. Some were helped along by bad advice and lies. But I made choices. I accept those choices and their consequences. Oh, they stink at times. That whole missing my daughter and feeling sad? Not fun. The times when my boys question me about the whys and hows of letting her go? Cuts me to the core. But I accept it. I cannot change my past, but I can hope for the future.

I can hope that someday I will have a decent-to-great relationship with my daughter. I can hope that she will understand and, if not, forgive me. I can hope that my sons will understand and, if not, forgive me. I can hope that I will continue to have a great relationship with her mom. I can hope that changes with come to the adoption industry that make it so young mothers aren’t lied to. I can hope that speaking out educates others and changes long-standing stereotypes. I can hope that laws change so that adoptees get their original birth certificates. I can hope that someday the angry moments are much fewer and much farther between. I can hope that the joy I have for my life overflows into my everyday demeanor. I can hope that someday my peace allows total self-forgiveness someday. I’m getting there; guilt and shame are hard to beat, and even in their overwhelming negativity, there is room for them as long as I don’t allow those two things to rule my actions or the rest of my feelings.

My peace is about living this life the best way I can each and every day. I stumble sometimes. I fall. I don’t have all the answers for myself, let alone other people. But every time I wake up on a new morning, it’s a new chance to live my peace. My joyful, happy, sad, angry, guilty, shamed, excited, proud, worried, anxious, trusting, accepting, messy peace.

And, oh, I am thankful for that chance every day I get it.

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I find it so hard to write in a paper journal. Not just physically, but mentally. It is hard to write for “just me.” As a teen, my Mom found one of my (umpteen) journals and used stuff that I had written against me. From that point on, I began censoring what I wrote in my journals. And what’s the point in that? If you can’t be honest in your most personal of spaces, what is the ultimate point? It won’t be a true reflection of what you felt or what you went through so why bother?

And for years, I didn’t bother.

I’ve been writing online for years and years. And years. And some more years. Once truly open with my words, I’ve been censoring more and more. In part because of the unethical actions of my agency, in part because I don’t want the world to see me struggle and in part out of respect for other parties. But censoring gets old. It’s hard to write, even in generalities, when you have to debate every other word, whether it will be used against you in a negative fashion or if you will hurt someone’s feelings. Quite honestly, not many people extend me the same sort of respect for my feelings and it feels cumbersome to always to the same for the world at large and just not those whom are important in my day-to-day life.

But writing in a paper journal again has been a challenge. My voice on the internet, though chronicling my/our journey/journeys, is an outward voice. I often talk to my readers. (HI READERS!) As I said, I do censor myself to some degree online, more and more these days. So when I opened that journal and stared at the blank page, I didn’t know what to write. How honest did I want to be? How deep into the details did I want to get? What if someone read it? Of course, the only persons with actual access to such a thing are my Husband who a) respects my privacy and b ) already knows everything I’ve written (thus far). I mean, my kids could find it but their reading comprehension at this point is rather low unless it’s The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Beyond that, depending on future contents, thus far I would have no problem sharing my struggles with my children. They need to learn what Mommy has been through in order to learn their own stories.

But it’s so hard to be raw sometimes. The words I use are words I don’t want to think about or admit to the general public. No, not foul words. Big words. Like depression. And anger. And hopelessness. Yeah, didn’t know that, now did you? I should be free to write since it’s just me, my own eyes, reading the pages. But what if I don’t want to know for certain how I feel? As long as it isn’t in black and white on a page, it isn’t real, right? As long as I can’t see the words, the problem doesn’t exist, right?

But it was cathartic all the same. I needed to get a lot of stuff out before my therapy appointment this afternoon or I wasn’t going to be able to say any of it out loud. In fact, I’m not quite sure I can say it all out loud even now and so the journal is taking a trip with me to the therapist’s office this afternoon. She can read it while I nurse the little one and gear up for her myriad of questions. So much has changed since my last appointment. My world is crumbling and I’m trying to claw my way out of the rubble.

I see some spots of light but just can’t reach…

I was recently censored by my agency. I’m not going to give more details as I don’t want to involve other parties. But it comes down to the fact that they didn’t like what I wrote and hit me where they knew it would hurt. They chose unique timing as well.

You see, I had recently started working on the anger I still have for them with my therapist. Prior to the past few months, working on that anger wasn’t even a possibility. I wanted that anger. I didn’t want to let go. Letting go of it, in my mind, was excusing their blatant disregard for ethics. But, man, anger can eat away at your soul. I didn’t like who it was making me as a person. And so, I had started working on the process of letting go of the anger.

And then they step all over me again.

So, of course, I got angry again. I was shaking my fist. I was using big, nasty words. I was going to show them what to do with their big, unethical corporation. I figured it was a sign that letting go of my anger was the wrong thing to do.

And then I thought…

Well, maybe this is a test to see if I’m really willing to let go and let God. Ugh. I hate when God tests me. I’d really rather not be tested. And so, I’ve been mulling over my anger the past week. I’ve been trying to decide whether to let it go and let myself continue working towards healing or if I’m not ready to give up that part of my life yet. (Don’t tell me that I’m a bad Christian for having areas of my life that I still want to “control.” Point me out one person who doesn’t have issues like that and they can cast the first stone.)

I’m still at a standstill. I’m really hurt by everything that has happened. All of these years, I have only wanted one thing: an apology. They refused to offer an apology even after I filed a complaint with the Better Business Bureau. I’m not trying to have my daughter returned. I’m not asking for money. I just want someone to say, “I’m sorry. We didn’t act in an appropriate manner. We did wrong by you. We apologize for the grief and loss that our negligence caused you**.” That’s all I’ve wanted. And I’ll never get it.

And I can’t decide if that makes me angry. Or just sad.

** = Their negligence caused additional grief and loss. My own part in the relinquishment of my daughter caused grief and loss as well. I accept my part in the process. I just wish they would admit their part.

In a rare 9-0 decision, the Supreme Court extended the full protection of the First Amendment to the Internet in Reno v. ACLU, a decision which struck down portions of the 1996 Communications Decency Act, a law intended to outlaw so-called “indecent” online communication (that is, nonobscene material protected by the First Amendment.) The court’s decision identified the Internet as a “free speech zone,” and extended the same Constitutional protections given to books, magazines, films, and spoken expression to materials published on the Internet.

I won’t be silenced. Just sayin’.

Now back to my regularly scheduled posting. Oh wait, no, impromptu napping! GO!

I didn’t know that I would feel an overwhelming sense of guilt because I denied her what was best (breast milk). I didn’t know that guilt would flow over and into the relationships I would have with future children. I didn’t even know that there would be guilt or any issue! I still have some anger and resentment towards myself here, that I put myself first in this particular situation and not the Munchkin’s best interest. If I had been solely concentrating on what was best for her, as everything else I was doing in the adoption plan was supposed to be geared towards, I would have realized that “hard” or not, breast milk was best. I let that unethical agency cheat me out of giving my daughter what was best. In direct connection, they also cheated my first parented child out of what was best for him by treating it like a non-issue. Had I known it would be an issue, I could have found counseling before hand, not later.

It was actually this particular issue that was a huge catalyst in my seeking out and finding my current therapist. It is only through work with her that I was able to get past some of that guilt and anger. Some! I have more to say on the subject…

but it’s time to feed this guy.

I have an adoptive Mom friend with a blog. She got hit by an anonymous comment on a post in which she talked about guilt for adopting regarding the birth mother’s emotions of grief and loss. The anonymous commenter was an adoptee, telling her she should adopt again. Normally I let adoptees say their piece because they teach me so much about adoption. Today? With this statement? Remember the spitting?

You, the parent adopting, are relieving her of a burden (economic, social, etc.) and keeping the child out of the foster system from an early start.

A) My child was never a burden. I would have and would still lay down my life to that little girl. In fact, the simple act of carrying that outrageously complicated and tumultuous pregnancy to term did put my own life in danger at least twice. By seeking adoptive parents for her while I was pregnant, unable to work because of my kidney disorder that was complicated by the pregnancy and generally down-trodden, I wasn’t sitting in my empty apartment thinking, “Gee, I’d like to relieve myself of this burden.” I was trying to do something right, in my mind at the time, when everything else in the world had gone wrong prior to that point. Burden. None of my children are a burden. They’re noisy to boot but never a burden.

B) Say what? The assumption in the second half of that statement is so painful that I physically felt the sting when I read it. To say that the Munchkin would have ended up in foster care had I parented is the most ludicrous and simultaneously painful thing I have ever heard (regarding our own situation). Why is there this outlandish assumption that parents who place either didn’t want their children (and thus are cold-hearted wenches) or would have made neglectful and abusive parents? Where the heck does this come from? Why is it one extreme or the other? Why are (“voluntarily” relinquishing) birth parents viewed either as saints (oh, so selfless, they made a loving decision, they are to be praised) or sinners (well, they would have ended up dumping the baby in a trash can anyway). Where the heck is the in between?! Why can’t we be viewed for what the majority of us are: mothers and fathers who made a really, really hard decision that changed the course of life for approximately five or more people.

I’m tired of it. The Munchkin would not have ended up in foster care. She would have been loved and well-provided for from birth. Would we have had some struggles financially? Yes, I am sure. Would it have been the end of the world? No. Would I have come up out of the muck and mire and done what was necessary to provide for my child, no matter what? You betcha.

I am not an abusive mother. I never was and I never will be. My children, all of them, are the light of my life. (Okay, TheHusbandMan is cool, too.) I make decisions in my life with all of them in mind. I proceed with caution in certain areas because I want them all to be proud of me. Ya know, someday, when they stop thinking that all parental figures are lame-o. (When does that start? Four? Five? Seven? If it’s seven, we’re good, because BigBrother is still boycotting seven.)

To be honest? Though I’m sure they exist (and now I have a story in mind where I think this is the case so, I’ll say one), I know of only one mother who “voluntarily” relinquished a child for adoption and then had others taken by the state at a later date. (This does not count mothers who voluntarily relinquished to avoid having the state take the baby at birth. That, again, is a different scenario.) The birth mothers and fathers that I know are amazing parents. Sometimes they’re a bit overprotective. I know I am. But abusive? Or neglectful? These parents know about loss, about losing a child that they love so dearly.

Then again, what do I know.

“If you bring things to the surface, they lose their power,” Kaysen told her, but Sara knew that that was what happened in an ideal world, in theory but not in practice, that sometimes bringing things to the surface gave them a wingspan you might never clip. “The way to get free of pain is to dive down into it. To acknowledge it.” [...] “Dive,” Kaysen advised, but Sara knewthat to dive was dangerous until you knew you could swim.

I found myself siding with Sara as I pondered the words her therapist was offering, not even fully aware of the relinquishment of Sara’s daughter. There have been times, in therapy, when my therapist has pushed “that” button or made me look too hard or pushed me out on the ledge just a little too far… and I’ve closed up within myself, letting the rest of the session become a wash. Why? In a safe place, with a therapist that I trust, would I clam up?  It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.

Looking at the fictional character’s response to her therapists advice to “dive in” and allow things to “come to the surface,” I think I might not be alone. As it is, I think I am forced to deal with a lot of emotions that would otherwise be buried deep in the wreckage of my ship-wrecked heart. Since Munchkin is such a constant part of my life, I am forced to look at her and see myself in her eyes. Things like that are always brought to the surface. I can tread water, most of the time!, with such things.

But when you make me look at the things that have been lost to memory, possibly for good reason, I forget to tread. I forget to move arms and legs. As those things rise to the surface, I feel myself drowning. My certain triggers, the ones that make me flail my arms like an inexperienced swimmer, include addressing my anger, the agency, fears about the future and how it all comes together in our family and the vivid memories that I don’t really bring to recollection on my own. Sometimes I try to hit on them in blogs but… even still… when I know that anger is not necessarily an “always negative” emotion, anger is sitll a very scary thing for me. When you combine it with the agency, well, I’ll just sink right to the bottom of my own soul.

Perhaps I should be working on some of this more diligently with my therapist lady. Perhaps recognizing that I am purposefully clamming up and/or avoiding such subjectry will help make new headway. Perhaps I’ll learn something really life-affirming in the process.

Perhaps I’ll just freaking drown in my own emotion.

quite frankly…

I don’t know if my own answer applies to the majority of birth parents who took issue with their parents. For me, it took becoming a daily, everyday parent (to BigBrother) for me to realize that I wanted a bond with my Mom and Dad, past issues be darned, and that I was going to just go ahead and let my own walls drop. Of course, in letting those walls drop, my Mom and I had some great discussions about why things happened the way they did (thus leading me to find out about the severe miscommunication) and, in that, I was further healed. Again, I don’t know or think that this is how all birth parents come to forgiveness and I know a few who have felt even MORE angry with their parents upon becoming everyday parents. So, obviously, going off of my own experience here doesn’t fully answer the question.

Help me out with a comment, e-mail or post on your own blog. (Also, any links to sites about forgiveness and/or quotes about forgiveness will be appreciated and welcomed. I have one already but I think that I may need one or two more!)