2

Green

I came across an interesting quote. I don’t know if it’s 100% true but I think it has basis in truth.

Jealousy is nothing more than fear of abandonment.
-Unknown

Wow.

I wonder if, perhaps, that’s why we see so much jealousy, back and forth, between adoptive and birth parents. I know I’ve felt a twinge here and there over the years when D got to experience something with the Munchkin that, had I parented, I would have experienced myself. Those little thoughts that poke at my brain and push the “what if” button. Not proactive thoughts, mostly reactive. Having read this quote, I’d really like to explore the concept of whether those jealous thoughts were just based on abandonment issues as attached to relinquishment. Maybe. Possibly.

I’ve seen adoptive parents become jealous of birth parents, too. Are they simply afraid that their child will abandon them for their birth family? It’s an interesting concept. Is that why some adoptive parents are hesitant to help their child in the search process? My mind is swirling with any time I’ve ever felt jealous. I don’t think it’s a foolproof quote but I think there’s some truth to it.

Jealous of my high school into college boyfriend’s new friend that was a girl? Total fear that he would leave me for her. (Which he said he didn’t. But he married her. So… I’m just saying! Great guy though. Great girl, too!) Jealous of my brother? Felt totally usurped after being an only child for eight years and was afraid my parents loved him more. (They say they love us equally. I trust them. Now.) And those are just two examples. So, yes, I can see some truth to it.

I don’t know how it plays out when you factor in material things though. I don’t see how being jealous of someone’s house/car/clothes/job/culinary ability stems back to fear of abandonment. I mean, I’m totally jealous that Ivory can sew really, really awesome things. (Though I’m re-teaching myself, folks! Kind of.) I don’t think that means that I fear my husband will leave me if I screw up the hem on his pants. I wonder then if this quote applies only to jealousy between people and relationships and not physical(ish) things.

Whatever the case, I rarely (rarely) find myself feeling jealous as of late. The truth is that, yes, D gets to experience some great things with the Munchkin. But I also have my own relationship with her. Maybe it’s learning not to compare apples and oranges? Maybe. I do occasionally get jealous about this one lady’s awesomely toned body at the gym but, if anything, that only makes me work harder and sweat more. Mostly. Every now and then it makes me want to eat an entire pizza but that’s probably a separate issue. I also am jealous of a co-worker’s really awesome camera… until I realized that most of my money goes to caring for my really awesome children and then my priorities straighten themselves and all is well again.

I’m going to try and keep this quote in my mind the next time a jealous thought pops in my head and see if I can stem it back to something of this nature. It’s all just very interesting.

3

Maybe That’s Where My Peace Came From

If you remember the Me who started writing this blog, you may have noticed a lack of… put-em-up, throw-em-down, fisticuff-type writing over the past year and a half. Which is strange, really, when you think about it because some of that year and a half weren’t especially easy. I had angry moments, of course, but they always passed quickly. I’ve never quite been able to put my finger on it.

I’m just about to finish Kristin Chenoweth’s book, A Little Bit Wicked. I’m pages from the bright pink covered end. And while the book initially sent me to a place I didn’t particularly want to be, I have loved almost every page of the book. She appeals to the musical theater dork in me, the “too liberal” Christian in me and the short girl in me. (Though, to be fair, she’s shorter than me. And very blonde. Very.) I came across this quote just now and despite having only fourteen pages left to read, I had to put the book down and write. (That’s when you know it is a good book.)

She wrote:

Life requires peace. Peace requires balance. And balance requires a certain amount of get-over-yourself.

Can I get a big old Amen from someone? Anyone? Amen.

I don’t know what exactly changed within me or even when over the course of the past two years. I haven’t lost the urge to fight; I’m still as feisty as ever. Just as my loving, patient (very, very patient) Husband. I’ll fight when I know the time is right or the cause is particularly worthy. Perhaps my screening method for said causes has been beefed up. Or, perhaps, I just don’t have the same wealth of time.

And, really, I think that’s what it comes down to in the end. Parenting, itself, requires a certain amount of get-over-yourself. Earlier this week, my oldest son finally turned on me and said, “I don’t love you, mommy.” Fine. Whatever. I still love him. He was just ticked off because I took away his playroom privileges for the rest of the day. I know, right? Mother Dearest and all that jazz. Sue me, kid. I dare you. And, sure, it stung. (Though, to be fair, he said it a month and a half ago to his daddy first at which point in time I thought, “Oh, I’m so glad he didn’t say it to me, first!”) But I got over myself. Anger makes people say and do things they wouldn’t normally do, three and a half year old cheeky-faced boys included. I got over myself and he loves me today just fine even though I have declared it a no-TV Saturday. (I swear, I’m the meanest mother alive.)

So, maybe it’s the time and energy spent parenting that have helped me get over myself. Or the time spent throwing myself into the work that I do. Or perhaps it was finding something for myself, finding my way back to the stage. Or perhaps it was finding a group of friends with which to spend some time once a week. Or perhaps it was a combination of everything.

Or perhaps it is the fact that I am no longer just a birth mother. For the longest time, I let that title, that role, define who I was in life. I would have fought to the death against anyone who tried to strip me of that title or insinuated in some way or another that I am not important to my daughter (or her family). I don’t find that need anymore; I simply pass on arguments of such nature. (Mainly, I don’t have time to indulge stupidity.) But, really, in my core, I know who I am. I know who I am to her. I know who I am to my parented sons. I know who I am to my husband, to my parents and to my friends. I’m learning again who I might be on the stage. I think I’ve learned, exceptionally well and (too often) the hard way, that getting over myself makes all of the stuff in life far more enjoyable.

Someday*, though I don’t look forward to it, the Munchkin will tell me, as my oldest son just has, that she doesn’t love me. Or that I’m not important. Or that she doesn’t want me in her life. I know, at this point in my life with everything I have been through and learned from those experiences, I will be able to handle it. It won’t feel particularly lovely, of course. I won’t wish for her to say it to me repeatedly, though she might. But I have enough peace and balance and experience getting over myself to know that she will just be processing some emotion of her own. It will be less about me and more about her finding that peace and balance and get-over-myself-ed-ness on her end. And if she wants time and space, I’ll offer it with the knowledge that she does love me and I do matter.

I don’t know how I got here or what exact number of experiences lead me to this point. (Though, I’d assume that my therapist should be thanked. Thank you.) But I’m glad to be here. I write about it not really for the general public but so that the next time I feel my peace shaken to its core, I can come back here and remind myself to get over myself.

Because there will always be a next time.

[* = like in the previously mentioned teen years. No? Yes.]

01

Challenges

In hoping to find some inspiration, I came across this quote:

Challenges make you discover things about yourself that you never really knew. They’re what make the instrument stretch-what make you go beyond the norm.

I needed to read that particular quote, especially with reference to the word instrument, as I’m dealing with a new issue. As you may know, I have a large part in my chorale’s Spring Show. The challenge isn’t even just the singing of an emotionally and musically challenging song. No, I have now been informed that my director wants me to sing the part with as little vibrato as possible. He told me that he understands this will be difficult for a trained voice but that it is what he wants. And, as such, I need to deliver.

This is my first solo with this chorale. I haven’t even put in a full season yet and I’ve somehow been given one small solo, one large solo and a duet. I’m sure some people are thinking, “She hasn’t even proven herself on stage yet! What is he thinking?” In fact, with this new change to how I must manage my voice, that’s a little bit of what I’m thinking as well. Still, I press on.

My initial reaction was, “I can’t do this.” That seems to be my initial reaction to most anything that is outside the norm of what I think I can handle or how I think something should be done. Examples include becoming pregnant when I was single and the individual challenges that have sprung up over the years with regard to our open adoption. While I have better learned how to manage an appropriate response when something new springs up, my initial thought is, “I can’t do this! AH!”

And, so, I whined and moaned at my husband when I got home from practice that evening. The next day, I attempted the song in the car with a brighter, less “warm” tone and… pulled it off… but it sure as heck wasn’t easy. Almost a week into practicing with a different tone and I’m finding it to be a struggle. But a possibility in the end.

And that brings me back to the quote.

I worked for years to get my voice to find that vibrato. To achieve it, you can’t even really be thinking about it while you’re singing. You have to relax into it, let your vocal chords do the work that they are meant to do. Training your voice not to think about being trained is a difficult process, one that took me nearly eleven years. Now I’m learning through this new challenge that my voice can do other tricks. Do I like this sound as much as my natural, hard-achieved sound? No. Do I wish I could belt this one out as I feel most comfortable? Yes. Am I figuring that I am leaning something through this process? Don’t I always?

It’s similar to how I have been pushed beyond my norm with regard to our open adoption relationship challenges over the years. Some things have not been what I would have chosen or expected. Some things I have balked out upon first word. Some things have been hard to get used to, to train my brain and heart to accept. Some things have been difficult to wrap my brain around, to figure a new way to make sense of it all. But, in the end, it works because I (and we) keep pushing ourselves beyond that norm. We have accepted and met challenges. Yes, we have all balked at times. Yes, we have made mistakes. Just like I’m sure that I’ll make a mistake at practice this week. But we keep on keeping on. Just like I continue to push the ability of my voice, we continue to push ourselves in our relationships because we know that, in the end, it is worth it.

And now ends a post that I have written mainly to assure myself that I will be able to achieve this on stage in just over two months.