The process of telling people about the Munchkin, the adoption and our relationship is always a hard one for me. I’ve been honest about that here and have frequently used this place as a space to talk through my thoughts on the matter.
I made new friends in the past six months through our local MOPS group. I shared one awful exchange that nearly caused me to quit the group, but I stuck it out and have been rewarded with some particularly wonderful friendships.
With particularly wonderful friendships comes the stress and anxiety of explaining my story.
I had been waiting for it to come up organically. I prefer to do it that way. It’s easier. I just invite people over, they see her photo on the wall and, bam, it’s over and done with. I tried to do it that way, but plans fell through the night I was having all of the girls over. So it wasn’t over. And suddenly, everyone knew but two people — from various organic conversations — and I felt guilty that two people didn’t know.
I went to a playdate a few weeks ago with full intention of making it come up. I didn’t know how. I don’t know how you just randomly come up with, “Hey! This one time I had a baby and now I don’t!” Which is why it didn’t happen. I couldn’t force myself to derail a perfectly noisy playdate (our kids all together are so, so loud but so, so happy). So I didn’t. And I went home disappointed in myself.
I texted with another friend about what I should do and we came up empty handed.
So I just decided to email them both. I didn’t think. I just typed. A flurry of fingers and emotions and doubts and hopes that it wouldn’t change how they thought about me — because we know that sometimes it does. Even the best, most loving people can have long-standing emotional thoughts and feelings about birth parents. I knew my friends were loving people, but I didn’t know their past, their feelings on adoption at all. I hit send before I could think about it.
And it all went fine. It usually does. I get worked up for no reason at all. You would think I’d get used to it; eight years of telling and re-telling and explaining and cringing and anxiety. You would think it would just be old hat. But it’s not. And I don’t think it will be. Most people don’t really have to admit their biggest failure to their friends until there is a certain comfort level, a certain understanding of who you are and what you’ve been through. But for me to get to know people, they have to know about my daughter and so I have to put it all out there, lay myself bare, early on. Otherwise, I’ll just be keeping people at an arm’s length. And I do that with some people. But these people were worth it.
It’s been a relief to not stumble over things when we’re talking about birth stories. Do I say that my water broke with my first when I already previously said that I was induced with BigBrother? It’s hard to keep non-lies straight when you haven’t told people yet. It’s so much easier to just say her name, to talk about my daughter’s mom, to just be myself.
Today I am thankful for friends who love me even though I’m loud — and have a fake job and come across as snobby at first when I’m just too scared out of my mind to actually talk. I feel really blessed.
