When you’re adopted and when you are me, life just takes on a whole new meaning.
What others find important is what you find important, but it’s just got to go through so much to get where it’s going. Meaning. My Mama has always been important. Just like everyone else Mama is, no matter what anyone tries to say, moms matter to their children.
And. Children matter to their Moms. Always wanting their child’s best. My Mama gave me away to be adopted because she felt it was for my best to grow up without her influence over me, and to live a life without the stigma of being a bastard. Many Moms have fell prey to this silly notion that Adoption removes all the shame and stigma society and the church has placed over us all about children and conception.
Growing up adopted really gave me a vantage point that game me the view of the underside of peoples minds about things. I was still treated like a bastard child in many ways although called something acceptable. It’s a really weird station in life to rock. But then again? I’m not adopted. I’m adapted. Still my Mamas daughter, just living some lie life to save the bloody queen. Ridiculous.
I’ve lived this good life Lollipop town with flare and pizzaz. Playing I am someone else’s child to entertain their grief and losses. While my own Mama lives on without her gift. In some loop of detour. I stop this train and get off.
After years of proudly being adopted. I’ve adapted to both Mamas. And it was their turn to adapted to me. All of me and not just their version of who they wanted me to be. But who I am. Now. Still giving two shits. Still showing up for them both.
I’ve inspired Many on my way home to Mama. I’m proud that. Let me ask you. Who do you think has been encouraging me to be so loving to them both? God and myself. My Mothers didn’t have a clue? I loved them both. Love doesn’t deny mistakes. Love overcomes them.