Posted: March 1, 2010 at 3:53 pm
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.
Posted: February 17, 2010 at 2:06 pm | Tags: death
I had forgotten how deeply grief cuts. I had forgotten how one compounds another. I had forgotten how grief sometimes feels immobilizing and then, in the same breath, makes you want to take on the world, change how things work or how things are perceived.
It’s been one month since Grandpa died. Today I’m calling the florist and rescheduling the rest of our week as my husband’s Uncle died yesterday morning. Most of the time I’m on a sort of auto-pilot, unaware of my surroundings or, at the very least, protecting myself from the totality of it all. I allowed myself one breakdown yesterday, late in the morning, after the initial shock had worn off. I threw the shock guard back up; feeling fully is too raw right now. I don’t really want to feel right now. I need the auto-pilot function. The denial stage of grief exists for a reason.
All of this makes me think about my grieving process regarding Munchkin’s placement. I was in the denial, auto-pilot function for quite some time. Speaking for myself and not all birth mothers, I simply needed to be there for awhile. There were times when I did take that shock guard down, allowed myself to cry or rant or generally fall apart but, really, I stayed in a bubble that year. If I hadn’t attended her first birthday party, I might have stayed there for a longer period of time. I’m glad I did. The process of feeling, sorting through everything and finding my own path let me live a much fuller life than I lived that first year.
I was discussing adoption grief and death grief with another person attached to adoption the other day. She asked me, “Are they similar?” My answer is that I simply don’t know and I really can’t compare. I hadn’t yet experienced true death grief prior to placing and it’s been six and a half years since I first felt the tidal wave of grief associated with relinquishment. I know that the loss I felt after I placed the Munchkin was all-consuming. There were days when I didn’t eat, drink or really move. I had awful thoughts of harming myself when I allowed myself to peek outside the heavy cloak of denial. But years have passed regarding that grief in my life. The physical feeling of the panic that accompanies grief has faded. I don’t feel it twist my stomach. It doesn’t keep me up at night any longer. It is a part of my life. The newer grief of these recent losses does twist my stomach. I can’t sleep. I have no appetite. The physical aspects of grief are here, eating at me even though I’m trying to ignore their presence.
The problem with me, in my situation, comparing adoption and death grief is that, blessedly, I get to see the Munchkin. I will never see my Grandpa again. They are apples and oranges. I’m trying to find two vastly different things that weigh so much on the human heart and mind to compare them to and, really, I can’t. They are their own unique fruits of comparison. I can only say that, for me, the similarities and differences are too hard to compare and contrast with so much time having gone by. I can say that each has affected me on a core level. I have been changed by both experiences.
Someday I hope that my stomach stops twisting and turning and that I can sleep properly. For now, I am reliving the stages of grief, seemingly over and over. I accept that this is what needs to happen right now. Mostly.
Posted: February 10, 2010 at 4:05 pm
As I continue to branch out and do new things, I continue to meet new people. As I continue to do more things, my schedule gets kind of hectic. As my schedule gets more hectic, I care less about who knows what and how I’m supposed to be ashamed, according to society, about the existence of my daughter.
Over lunch the other day, I mentioned that I’d be in Columbus on Thursday working on the book I’m writing with Dawn. My lunch mate had not yet heard of my book and asked the topic. I paused, ever so briefly, before launching into the “I relinquished my firstborn for adoption and Dawn is an adoptive mother and, really, our timelines are quite similar, so, at first we were going to write a memoir but the industry is saturated, so we changed to a book that discusses how openness is changing the adoption world for the good and the not-so-grand.” Yes, that is a run-on sentence but it’s how I talk when I’m nervous. That was likely said all in one breath while fiddling with my silverware and avoiding eye contact. I looked up afterward and she said, “That sounds interesting.” Without sarcasm or irony or judgment. She didn’t probe or ask questions about my adoption journey. We just continued on with conversation.
I’m left wondering why I fear the process of telling my story to new people so much. I know the answer, of course, is because some people are truly judgmental. There’s still a stigma and a shame attached to what I have done, the path I have walked. More over, even some of my sisters in birth motherhood claim that I should be private and selective in who I tell, verging on the line of secretive.
I’m not good at secrets, people. Especially my own.
I don’t want to wear a “HEY! I’M A BIRTH MOTHER” shirt. I don’t think it’s the first thing that I need to tell people about myself. It’s not the biggest hat I wear but it is an important part of who I am and why I have done certain things in and with my life. Like mothering in general, really, it shapes future decisions. While I’d like new people to know that I’m a writer, a photographer, a wife and a mother, I am seeing less of a problem with them also knowing that I’m a birth mother.
Then again, my oldest son will hit elementary school in a year and a half and my tune may very well change. There are small-minded individuals everywhere, of course, and I have found that no one is as judgmental as a mom (or group of moms) who wants to be accepted. Which seems counterproductive, don’t you think? The last time I shared my birth mother role with a group of mom’s at a playgroup, I was shortly thereafter shunned. I’m not looking forward to dealing with that again… ever again. But, whatever the case, this recent experience has been a confidence booster that I think I needed.
