How do you create a relationship?

How do you create a relationship with your family? Well? First step is to try to relate.

How do you relate?

  • Well? Let’s have a look at the word. Below.
  • relate

     verb

    re·late |  \ ri-ˈlāt   \
    related; relating

    Definition of relate

    transitive verb

    1: to give an account of : TELL
    2: to show or establish logical or causal connection between
    This blog is my attempt to relate to people, I am related to, who due to being Adopted, basically trafficked, and raised by a very strange woman, I struggle to find ways of relating too. People who I would have had many things to relate to becomes a job, as I work to build a bridge between us.
    56 years gone. And they don’t even give me much of a thought. 56 years I’ve thought of them and what could be.
    I’m realizing now that I’ve had relational issues. And really never learned how to relate? In normal ways. Hidden much of the time due to illness. Shhhh’d, told to play the quiet game, and denied help, for lack of anyone I could trust. Marked as odd and weird. Neglected by a stranger who did not know how to nurture me like I needed.
    Growing up I spent a lot of time alone. As I look back and remember all the reactions of people towards me and remember the faces I’ve read to figure it all out, I can see how much I was denied. And how much it affected me.
    For me, relating was to say what was acceptable, to be pleasant, and people will like me. And I did that for years with some success. But beyond the surface shows of relating, I anted more. Always. My more was Mamas eyes to look into. Her smile that showed me I was valuable.
    Now, that Mama Jean knows how I feel and felt back growing up? Now that I am no longer in her mind hers alone? She wants really not much relating with her. I sit and try to talk to her and get to know the woman and not just the stories she tells everyone, she’s a blank face, facing me with her ear. I can see now why when my second husband didn’t look at me? It upset me to know end as she pays me no attention at all and acts like I am digging her eye out when I ask her a questions. Like, ” why do you like murder mysteries? She watches a lot of law and order. When I ask her about herself, she says, I just do. Now, to know her is to k ow that growing up? She peeled my eyes out all day asking me questions incessantly boring into my brain, which I found very intrusive and irritating. Much like how my Mama feels now when I ask her things. Mama, now acts much like Mama Jean. So sad to see a perfectly good Mama act like I am an intruder. But. I am now, thanks to her.

    I remember going to visit her and looking around? Curious to see her home, or not been up to see her in a long while? And have roamed her house in my mind many times. I never know when I will be back? So I want to remember everything about her and her nest.

    But? She gets a bit upset? Asks me,” what are you doing? Why did you go in there?” Being labels adopted sucks. Orphans don’t get a good rep. We are the ones who put strychnine in the wells, right? That’s what folks tell themselves and adopted kids are no differently treated. We must earn all trusts growing up. People look at us and wonder who our parents really are. What behaviors are laying in wait to come Pouncing out. So disturbing. People wonder why I am disturbed.

    Being labeled adopted disturbed me. Growing up with strangers who did not get me nor understand me or truly have my interests in mind. If it did not suit Mama Jean? Well? It wasn’t important. She used her medical history when I was at the doctor and never considered that mine might not be hers? Strange. I was mashed into the box she wanted and pulled out when I was to perform. If I did not perform right? There was hell to pay. She could be quiet cruel.

    And don’t tell on her or even try. I learned that one early. She would make me look like the odor and tear down my reputations. Remember. I’m just an orphan. And she did not have a high opinion of my parents and made that clear. By the way she treated me and by the way she did not treat me precious. As long as I forgot about her mean ways and acted like all was ok, as long as I did not have a mind of my own? All was good for her. And for me it was not hurtful, just restrictive. And I never really learned how to think on my own with her peeking my brain out and trying to reroute my mind all day to think like her.

    Yeah. I grew angry. And when I got older had outbursts of anger and rage. I wanted to be me and not who she thought I was. Because like I said, she told herself I was hers. But her body knew I wasn’t. That’s where adoption really fucks us all. The mind can not state what is, and the body tells what the mind can not say. She reacted to me. Controlled me. What I wore. What I ate. Even if it made me sick. She never checked why it made me sick? Which hurts me to think about my little self needing my big self so bad. But I had to grow up to do that.

    I had to learn what and how to care for myself. But she wanted me to live for her. Like a doll. She still does. She tried. I give her that. And I am as compassionate as I can be. Moving my feelings around and telling myself. As unto god and Mama I do this.It that’s no way to live. I worried about her mental state all day. And tried to be a kid. I got to do that until I was 9. And then the divorce. No more playing outside. Chaos.

    I wonder where Mama thinks I learned how to relate? And why she has not put it together? What irritates her in me? Is Mama Jeans loving scares on my mind and my strange behaviors picked up while in her lovely care. Such a wonderful thing to realize at 56. She fucked me up so bad? My Mama doesn’t even see herself in me? Damn it is right Mama.

    Being Adopted is not easy. When all you want is to go home. And home becomes heaven when your Mama doesn’t want you. I prayed a thousand times for God to come get me. And take me home. Some day. This pain in my heart won’t ease. And my needs never have gotten met. My need for Mama was denied. Over and over again. I wondered why she hated me so growing up? Why was I so bad? How had I been bad and what could I do to be better?

    My new Mama didn’t seem to think I was good either? Where and when will I fit in? Relating wasn’t on the list of things to teach Belinda. Because all I wanted was home. I checked out in many ways like abused children do. I had imaginary friends. Which was a coping mechanism when I was lonely and feeling dejected after not following my lines correctly for Mama Jean. Much like dumbo the elegant. But no one broke me out of the circus I was living in.

    SO I did the best I could. Which? Wasn’t good enjoyable for either of my Mamas who have never met or spoken to each other. Just lovely. I would like to sue the United state of America for abusing me. I now know how damaged I am. After finally looking long and hard into my Mamas face and actions towards me. Finally the truth from the woman I came from who says she not my Mama and yet has shown me by her actions beyond her mind.

    I can see the fear in her eyes as she looks at me. It’s the same fear I have felt many times at the hand of this woman I call Mama Jean. Yeah. I’d know that look anywhere. I’ve seen it many times on my own face. mama Jean slimed me good. She marked me good. And she hides it well. Her actions towards me. My kids have no idea what their Mama went through. I blocked it out for years. But I can’t anymore.

    All I can do is work on myself. I seem to be stuck in overdrive and my mind goes a million miles a minute due to trauma. Fight or flight is a way of life now. As I try to slow down and mother myself now. At long last. I can love me for me. And if my Mamas don’t like it? Tough. It’s there loss. And a waste of a good person. Adoption ruined me. That’s what Mama says. I’m ruined. No hope. Such a great thing to come out of a christians mouth and actions.

    So excuse me family for struggling to relate. I’ve been through quite a bit. I tried hard to not let it show. But it all bleed through the mask I painted on me to hide what she did to me. She turned me into some freaky carny flake head bullshit show. I apologize for disturbing you. Too. I thought you would help me. But I was wrong. Way wrong. I was wrong the day I was conceived. I wish Mama would have succeeded at killing me.

    Cuz going home to her ain’t home. I have no home. No heritage. Just a bunch of people I know who I am related to and can’t relate too.

    This is what adoption gave me. Strangers who I am not related to, that struggled to relate to me. And family relations with no relationships.

    They. Don’t need me. And I needed them.

    people call me crazy. They don’t know why.

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    psychecafe

    I am an Adapted, artist, Mother, a soul, a human, singer, writer, activist, minister and deprogrammer and reprogrammer of minds. And I am here because we need to change how you see it, a lot of things that is. For us Adoptees who have lived in the dark. We were cut off from our families. And that is sad people.

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