To My children, may they always know that I bless the day they came to me….

mom poem

Being a Mom is a hard job. And I get it. My Mama’s are all upset, because I speak freely about the highs and lows of being an Adopted person. Growing up with so many things removed, and what was put in its place, that was so foreign to me. I have shown my side, as I experienced it all. I do not do this to berate my Mothers, but to educate them in the ways of Adoption, from my viewpoint.

Trauma to me is disruption. Trauma to me is being left in the dark about who I came from and who my people are. Trauma to me is to have to live a life as someone who is not my flesh and blood. To be forced to live as they wish and not having even the say so in my own destiny. I have felt very controlled. And it has taken me years to identify why.

Growing up as a child trying to fill some other child’s shoes is hard. Mama Jean raised me as her own, and I am not hers. Fact. This is not said to be hurtful, but to accept what truly is. What is reality? Reality is that I am the child from another gene pool, another realm, and another way. My family of origin is very Christian, and we take our walk with God very seriously. Mama Jean does not go to church, nor does she pray with me. I have tried to share my faith with her, and she would have none of it.

I have loved her, and yet she is still unsatisfied with my love. Both my Mama’s seem to hate me being honest. And that makes me sad that they want to squash me. Me. The child from all of this that they did and do. My children, have not had children. And until you walk this Motherhood road for real? You just don’t get it. Its hard, and without all the info, its even harder.

My children has helped me more than they know. They ground me into myself, as they mirror to me what no one else can see. I struggle, yes. But I  have not given up. I keep going. I feel at times that I am disable in some way. Its like all my puzzle pieces are scattered and I struggle to get them together. I struggle to work it out with two woman who are very strong willed and set in their ways.

Mama doesn’t drink, so I have held hope for her. And that my cry will finally be heard. That she will see, me, at long last, and not our past. I have thrown our past out with the water the baby was bathed in, but I the baby am still here, waiting. Waiting, for Mama.

Who wouldn’t want their Mama? I have just left a relationship that pushed all my buttons, and I ended up pushing all of Mama’s too. Which shows I am from her. I did not want to believe that my truth was much like hers, and yet the words I spoke hit her dead on. That is exceptional, and extraordinary. And a healthy move for someone who is seeking truth.

If Mama can’t face the truths I had to face without her, then I need to help her get over it. I need to walk her through it, and hold her hand during the viewing and reading of it. I don’t do this to hurt her, she is already hurt so very much. Deeper than  my sisters even know, her pain runs deep. I child knows, but my sisters are blind to it, because they have been desensitize by it, its an old hat, and they are used to it. That is codependency in action.

My family may be beyond repair, this is true. But I don’t give up. Because for me, family doesn’t not give up. I don’t give up on Mama Jean, and she put me through my paces. Which is a kind this to say. I don’t wish to be mean, but honest. We have struggled, she is not my Mother. I know who my Mother is, her smell, her way, her faith, everything.

Being forced to act like someone you are not is not easy. And I fell short many times and should not have even had to perpetrate another at all. I should have been celebrated for the child I am. My life right now is a low as I have ever been. I am down. And crying for help from the one person, I have always cried for, Mama. She doesn’t believe this. And yet it is true. I was always her child, place with another.

What child in her right mind would forget her own flesh and blood? What child would forget where her own flesh and nature came from? Is not who I am now the combination of two woman’s work? Ultimately I am the combination of Gods work within Adoptions rules set up by man. Man is the one who deemed me unworthy to be raised my my own Mama, because Man did not support her in keeping me. Man thought it best to remove me. Well, I am grown, and I would like to say, Man was wrong. Dont take my Mama from me! God gave me to her, for a reason, and I intent to find our way. What does she need to teach me? Obviously I am missing some lessons if Mamas not happy with me, or is it me teaching her? Maybe both are teaching. I like to think of Mama being a good teacher.

And Adoptions kind of got some curse. Its like I observe my Mothers behavior, and see that they both are mad. That Adoption sold them a empty bill of sale. Adoption did not deliver to either of them what they wanted. I guess Mama wanted to forget I ever was. She hid my birth, she buried me deep. But she forgot, she did not kill me. And I do have the right to find her, and that God blessed me, and helped me find her. God knows every thing. And my finding her was God. It was miraculous, and a journey of unfolding.

We are still who we are. Mama Jean is who she is, Mama is who she is, and I am who I am, within this triad. but now, we all see what truly is beyond what they thought it was, what they told themselves was going on here with me. To blame me for not bonding with my Adopted Mama is insane. I bonded to her, but not like I am bonded to Mama. That is not my fault, nor my Mama’s, its just a fact. Adoptions changes your home, family, name, history, but not who you truly are in the end. In the end, we are still our Mothers children.

I told my sister, Liz, when I first made contact, “I feel like I have been at the babysitter for my whole life, and I just want to come home.” I need to own that statement. I did feel like that. I was a girl in a strange family, not like mine. Everyone spoke differently, and I didn’t make sense to them. Maybe, Adoption had an affect on my language area of the brain? I don’t know? I have never truly been seen for Adoption adjustment issues, or had no grief counseling at all. No one saw a need for me to grieve the loss of a woman, they thought, I was unaware of.

It makes me think of little Chelsie Lynn, when she was born. The nurses took her to the nursery to let me rest from having such a hard time with her birth. And she cried, and cried, I couldn’t sleep. Not that I really wanted to. So, with hemorrhoids from pushing so hard, I waddled down to the nursery. The nurses told me she was ok, and yet I knew, she needed me, she needed my heart beat. And so I pushed her little bassinet to my room, and I put her on my chest. And she went to sleep. And that girl loved Mama’s chest to go to sleep on growing up, and I took it from her when I married again. So blinded, I could not see. I needed her as much as she needed me.

I have become very clear about my feelings about things. I have looked at not only myself, but my leaders. I have faced my own fear of rejection, by daring to speak my unspeakable anyway. To face the fear of Mama’s rejection again was huge for me. To be able to stand up for myself is key to my own evolution as well as my children’s evolution.

There were many actions, and are still actions, or behaviors that I work to change in myself. And Mama was at the top of the list. She’s were I came from, if I want to understand myself, I must work to understand her. But the thing is, she can’t talk about it. She gets all jammed up when I ask, and says very little. But I study her actions, or lack of actions. They say a lot that words can’t express.

I know we all wanted to do better. But we can only do as good as Adoption rules allow us. And kids go without so much. So much. That it makes it so very hard for us to make sense of so many things with so many things missing from our picture. I want to resolve this. And honest is the first thing, no lies, no edits, no backing down, or walking away. That is how I roll, now.


Thanks for diving deep with me today.

God bless

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