I mention from time to time here on this blog things about having found “my peace.” Some people don’t like it. I don’t know why. It’s not as if I’m forcing my peace on you or claiming that if you haven’t found your version of peace that something is inherently wrong with your heart, soul or mind. Then there are those who get mad that somehow my talking about having found my peace will present adoption in a happy way instead of a realistic picture.
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.