My name is Stephanie Anne Brunely, Belinda Jean Arnold, and I am adopted. I am an adoptee who’s trying to bridge a gap with my Mama. And I was wondering if you could help me? You are extremely visible. And I feel that maybe an Interview with me and Mama might be a good thing.
I am already blogging this mess here. And I am showing folks what I feel and thought growing up. And it’s coming out jumbled and messy. You asked such good questions. And maybe iylana would be interested in helping us heal? I would be willing to be a part of something like that. Would you be willing to do the same?
I know. You get lots of requests like this. And who am I? Just an adoptee who wants her Mama back. Everyone wants something. But, you must ask for what you want. And so I am asking you this here. I don’t know if this will even reach you. But it’s out there. A prayer. A request. Am intention.
Mama may agree. I pray she does. So we can get this all behind us and move on into a better relationship than how we started in our beginning. I love her and do want the best for us both. People tell me to forget her. They say she’s no good. And I just can’t believe that. Can you help me turn this around? Or try?
Even if Mama doesn’t want to do it. I do. I want to tell my story so maybe others can learn fromMy trial and errors. Adoptees need closure and integration. I feel much like a black slave and yet I am white. I feel segregated from my own Mama and a slave to a way. I don’t feel it is the ultimate way. And I wish to be set free from the bondage of paper and to be who I fully am. Which is the child of two woman.
Mama Jean is my adopted Mama. And it’s not been easy for any of us. But there is love amongst this mess. Love drenched in hate. Passion. Emotions. Feelings from days gone by. And it’s time for it to go. My Mamas need closure to this old way as well. And I believe for many others if they can see it happen. They can do it for themselves. If Adoptees see me do this, hope is theirs. And we need hope that our lives were not lived in vanity. That our Mamas are proud of us for being so strong. That my Mama will see her biggest fan.
What is wrong with trying to show someone a new way? Why do people tell me I am obsessed with my own Mama? Why is it different for me than those who’s Mama keep them? I want people to understand us, and our adopted ways. And if people want to feel sorry for us and say it’s bad then why don’t they do something? Pity never changed a thing and kept it the same. I don’t need pity. I’ve had enough of that. I want action towards this end. Unity of both families.
I want Mothers United. I want healing. I want restoration. I want family values to shine. And for God to be praised for it. I want a surge of family love and care to flow through us and help us unit as humans and to lay down our old stories and lay this to rest instead of throw it and me too out with the bath water. My life matters. And it should matter to my own Mama no matter how long or how much water has past under the bridge of our lives.
What the hell is so wrong with a child that refuses to give up? What is so wrong with a daughter who was left and chose to not just accept what her Mama handed her and prayed for Gods blessing to go home and make it right between us. If this is not the way there is no way. What are we if we can not even speak about it and share what our lives have been like without each other.
I refuse to believe that my Mama just moved on and that is was easy. I refuse to stand by while my sisters do nothing for us and leave my Mama this way. Stuck in the past and unable to move forward. These things I have spoken have cut her to the quick. And people? I only spoke from within. I have only shared my feelings and emotions. How could such words penetrate her and disrupt her so much she would block me? Unless my truth is hers?
And if so. Then she needs tending and care. She should be allowed to grieve her losses as well. That’s why I speak. So my words can give her strength to speak her unspoken. If I can speak of this, so can she. And that’s a good thing. I know it hurt like hell. And she felt the pain so long it’s like an open app that keeps running. Her pain numbed by words and ideas and yet still felt by a woman that I was made from.
Her pain matters to me. Her healing matters to me. When she realizes that I am within her walls that she placed around her for protection she will come to me.
I am her angel. I am her child come home to love her.
And Oprah, that’s a story with telling and sharing. It’s a story of hope. I came home anyway.
Thanks for diving deep with me
And god bless.