Dorothy Got to Go Home after her nightmare. But that was just a fairytale

I guess the stories we tell each other are just stories. Because I am Dorothy and when God lead me back home, I was not welcomed, not all of me at least. I was not surrounded by uncles and my Mother, like Dorothy was after the tornado. Nope. She only wanted a candy coated version, like Disney I guess, but minus the reunion. But Dorothy went through quite a bit, and her family listened. They wanted to know, and did not run away or block her. They surrounded her with love and wanted to hear. They calmed her anxiety. Wiped her tears and had tears of joy that she returned and was ok after such a storm, that could have killed her.

I guess my Mama writes different stories. She gave her baby away and they lived happily every after, The End. Not. Maybe in her dreams, but not what I experienced. And I know, I am telling the same old story different ways, but that is how many people see it differently. I must explain it so people can picture it, and feel what it was like so we don’t go back there anymore. So we protect children rights to be with their family, the family God sent them too. For balance is important here on earth, even with children. Suffer the children to come unto me. Why does God have to take us up? When God send us to families? To Mothers? God is not demented, we are. WE are the ones with the free wills, and the ones who can say, not my will but thine be done?

There is no yellow brick road back to Mama’s house, with cookies and emotional bandages for my wounds. She can only take care of herself. And fill her home with useless stuff. No walks in nature with her, no weekends away with her, no nurture with her, not even my sisters really get that, much. She lost it, I feel when she gave me away. She just lost it. And I have faith, yes, but my faith is thin these days. My heart hurts these days for a world with Mothers like this and a world that makes it ok.

I have felt the sting of her rebuke at birth, before for that matter. I was there, listening within her. My mind blocked it, but my body remembered and showed it to me. Beyond my own delusions. I have lived a long time without her. Yes, I have. But I guess the child within wanted to try one last time to beat on that dead heart of hers and see if my mama would come back to life.

I am just feeling discouraged. I’ll go to bed and tomorrow I’ll feel better. I wish to forget. Maybe God will erase my mind and body while I sleep so I don’t have to feel it anymore. It would feel so nice to feel special, and happy again. This has really been a downer, looking at her shit on me. I value my reputation and she got me all wrong. I am a good person raised by a stranger she does not know. So how can she get me at all? She has not read about adoptees and there issues, how can she understand like that?

I know one thing she does not take constructive criticism well, but what do you expect from an only child. I am an only child, but Mama Jean did not let me be selfish and taught me to think of others. I have taken it a bit far, trying to do it right to make her proud. But its time for me to let my Mamas shit go. That is lame. And I just want to feel better. Looking at her and how she treats me, is so hard. It is hared to hear how she treats my sisters too. They don’t deserve that. They deserve a Mama full of love, not some control freak who has to have it her way or the highway. I played it her way, I had no choice.

But now it is time for my way, Gods way.


Motherhood, a sovereign call to arms

I may not be the best Mother on earth. True. But what I want to say is this, I showed up when my bodily phone rang. I showed up and welcomed the children this universe sent to me and I did the best this Adoptee could do. When you consider all the tales I was told about who I was and what being adopted meant, I did ok.

It is not my job to tell my children how to live, but to teach them, train them to be the best they can be. To help form them. To rebuke them when needed, to comfort them when I could, and to show them they are not alone, ever. To speak to them and put words of hope and training so they could be the best they could be. For that, I showed up.

And its not easy being a Mother, no. It is not the gravy job of wall street, with accolades, bonuses for performance, and pats of the backs of my colleagues. It is a lonely job with not many frills as we wipe the poopy butts and clean up vomit. It is not a glory job, while we work to train our kids to be tough and yet kind. It is not the job of the century where we make it to the front of forbes magazine for making it through the month on little pay. But I showed up anyway.

Motherhood is a journey of the soul, that calls those who show up to dig deeper. It calls us to dig our heels in and love like no other, with grit and with guts. Motherhood is a soveirgn call to arms, the arms that rock the children of the future. And that is why I speak of my struggles as an adoptee. For we must look at what adoption does to our future, when we choose to not show up for our jobs given to us by our willingness to conceive. Our willingness to open our wombs to be penetrated by a man, and launch that rocket that grows into an arrow. As we bare our children in pain, we birth the future.

Is adoption the real way? Is it addressing our societal programming and changing it? I think not. And I write here to show my pain and struggle so that you, can see for yourself what it did to me.

My Mother did not show up, she used her free will card. And another took her place, with little to nothing to go on, she raised me as best she could, considering she did not even meet the one who I was made from, considering the fact that she did not have an owners manual. I commend Mama Jean for her courage to do such a thing for me, and for my Bio Mom as well.

It irks me that after 24+ years the woman who’s life was bettered by my absence has not even sent a thank you card to Mama Jean. It makes me weap for a world so ungrateful for a woman like Mama Jean, who did not hesitate to take me on. Who tirelessly tended the child another woman threw away. Like trash. She went home after giving birth to me and cleaned her bathroom and thought that was all that was required of her.

I think it very telling that he room she cleaned was the bathroom, were we shit, and piss and clean ourselves. I think it say a lot about what she thought about me. Did her act of cleaning do the job? Hell no, for today she is still full of dirty thoughts about me. Her actions screaming so loudly and yet she can not hear. I speak for those children today that lie in a crib, reeling from the change that just took place, wonder inside without words, what kind of place is this,and where is my Mother, her face and voice and smell not seen hear or experienced. And that, that is what I want to change.

A Mother is a calling that should not be taken lightly, nor should it be aborted, or can it be adopted away. As I have seen in her eyes, I see a woman who has become numb to her calling. Her mind numb to the voice of me that come from the cells that live within her.

Woman, take your womb seriously. Woman teach your daughters to do the same. Teach them not to just give there bodies to any man, teach boys to respect the woman body. Teach, teach teach this away. We can educate ourselves out of this mess called adoption, so wrapped in such beautiful paper, and yet stinking like shit just the same. To not show up, is to not trust the universe that sent that precious child growing within you.

Children are the future. And if we just kill that future or reroute the future, what does that say about us? What does it say about our faith in a God so many churches preach from. We damn the future to do such a thing. And I charge every woman reading this to take it seriously. For the future is our only hope, those children with the gifts taken from our own Dna are the hope we seek. Do not throw hope to the wind.


Thank you for diving deep with me today.

Loosing your mind is a good thing



IMG_7826Loosing your mind is a good things. And here is why? The mind, the mammalian mind, is limited, it is like a hard drive, a storage unit to help us live, but there is a world wide hard drive, like the internet, God has all the info we need. So loosing your mind, letting what you think about it go, telling your truth, leaves room for God to work in our lives. When we identify our own thinking, our own short fallings, our own crazy, confused and painful experiences and the thoughts that went with that, we transcend those very things. Its like it busts it up, it breaks you free.

When we realize that we don’t have all the info, and when we understand that this world is so complex, and that it has intelligence, beyond what our little minds can think. WE have connected to the vine, and will begin to see things start moving, especially shit, shit we have held onto for years. I believe God called me to air my shit on this blog, to show folks the way to get real, is to let go of what we thought about it, tell the pain about it, and be vulnerable, because we are vulnerable. To act like we have it all together is psychosis.

Definition of psychosis
plural psychosesplay \-ˌsēz\
: a serious mental illness (such as schizophrenia ) characterized by defective or lost contact with reality often with hallucinations or delusions

Now I would say, Now, as I look at myself, I was psychotic before I spoke my truth. I had been cut off from reality as it truly was. I had lived years without my Mother. And I had told myself lots of lovely things to pass my time. Like she really wanted me back, was one of them. I told myself she cared for me and wanted, needed to have me back. Not knowing her story of why she obviously was acting like she did not, when I came back to knock on her door. I can see now, that that was my truth, until I saw my Mothers truth. And it has taken me 24+ years to come awake to it. I did not want to believe it. But it stares me straighten my soul now, I look at it, and I choose to love it. For I know God is there. But I will not say I like it. No, I do not like it.

What kind of daughter would not want her Mother? Like that is kind of a normal, Children want their Mothers, and Mothers have to do a lot to make a daughter cut them off. But I am long suffering, and I came to love her, and I am not off course at all. I do love her. I love her enough to bust her chops and show her who I really am. That I am a spirit, the same spirit that is within her. And I still do not know how I came to be. She did elude to the fact that she hit my father over the head with a flashlight after conceiving me in the back of a car. And that kind of sounds like she was not completely on board with he experience. I do not know if he pushed himself onto her, I hope not. But by the way she acts, it kind of makes me think he did. That maybe she got in over her head with him. I have been told of how he was, and I can see that. It hurts my heart to think that is the way I came to be. Cuz no one wants a child conceived like that, and it make me sad to think so.

But, these are still stories I tell myself, until she tells me the truth. And I am swirling around and around, trying to ground myself without it. I do not know why it matters so much, but it does. And seeing that your Mothers struggles with you, is not a fun place to go. It is not like Disneyland at all, more like being black, being judged for your skin, for your fathers actions. It is a prejudice that is not really on the radar these days, but its there, running in the background of life. Woman throwing away their babies because of their fathers. I can say this, my children, are my children. And no man will make me walk away from them. I may let them walk away from me and my choices, but I always have them inside my hearts. I can not help some of the things I have done, believe me, if I could, I would have avoided many of them. But many I would avoid, were the very things that brought them into my life, so, it gets tricky, trying to be God.

But these minds of ours, so strong, can get us into trouble. But trouble is why Jesus came, right? All have fallen short. And grace is for the taking, grace means we are all learning, all coming of age, all transcending our missed marks. This world is a spiritual class room. It is a place we forget that we are pieces of God, and get our head into the game, and then take them out again, and give those minds to God, for expansion, for edification, for connection. I feel like God ride within, observing, and that at some point, God within, gets ahold of us. And when we submit to that God within, begins to teach us. As we accept that we are the trinity, we can see, God is all and all is God. We see God everywhere and we see that we all have a sovereign duty to speak the truths we know, so that folks can learn and grow. Truth is subjective to the one who experienced it, and everyones truth is different.

My truth was very different from my Mothers truth of me. And my truth of her, was very different than my truth of her. But does that mean we must  just throw in the towel? Especially as christians, can we just block folks? Is that in the bible? Block your brother or sister? No, it is not there. So we must go forward and listen to the spirit within, and set the flesh down and let spirit have a talk to it. Connections is what’s going on her, getting past the packages we travel in, these earthen vessels, carry very precious cargo. When we realize that, we see God in everyone, just that some are at different stages than others, and our truth is like a ladder, or a hand, reaching out, to pull them up or over across the abyss that is between us.

Corinth 13:12 KJ For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; but then shall I know, even as also I am known.

It speaks before this of putting away childish t things. Stories that are not grounded in truth are childish. Or more like child like. We play pretend. But when the truth of a matter such as mine, comes barreling down the smoking gun of your Mothers truth, it takes the breath away, it makes you stagger for a bit from the blow. One day as it hit me, she had said something to me on the phone. That she was not wanting me, that my truth was not hers. That statement, those words stabbed at my truth like a hot knife, it was like molten lava over me, it was white hot truth. It began to sink in, she did not feel the same as me. And It would take me days to process what she had said, as it sunk into my head. That day after I had called her, we were still talking at the time, but I think this kind of stopped it. She saw my truth as well. She saw that I had held hope for her.  And that I had hoped and believed she did truly want me back in her life. A few days later I fell apart on the bathroom floor, sobbing uncontrollably. I rocked myself or comfort as it sunk in, that I was wrong. I wonder if she did the same? or was her heart to hard by now? Had her truth hardened her heart beyond God repair? Now, To know me, is to know this is not behavior that I engage in often. I was dealing with the truth like no other, white hot truth, hard truth. From the lips of the woman I loved. Was as hard as a sledged hammer to the brain. It was like she took my blanket of comfort from my very hands that day. She stole my precious dream, the one I told myself or comfort, away in one felled swoop. And my breath was gone, as I was crumpled on the floor of the bathroom trying got grapple alone with it all.

But loosing that mind of mine was what was needed. Why? Because that was precisely what God was doing. Prying my hands from a story, and my Mothers from hers. And I feel, call us to put those hands into each others, as God instructs, we must practice our Christianity. As we throw our bottle rockets and they blow up in our faces, and the smoke billowed, we were forging some thing new, and destroying something old. I don’t think she understood that and thought I was a bit mad. And I was mad. I had thought she wanted me back and was just feeling guilty, but she did not want me back, because she did not see herself in me. And we all know she is there in me, DNA proves it, when you hear me and her together, it is so surreal, it is so crazy. I leave her house and it sounds like she has possessed me and speaks from my mouth. I would say it is comforting, its like she is in the car with me. And that is really all a daughter wants from a Mother. Her time and her care. Right? Why should I be any different?

The stories we tell ourselves are comfortable. We fashion them to comfort us. But, the do not serve when comfort keep us in the comfort zone. God calls us higher, always. God calls our souls to dig deeper. And God was calling me to love her deeper than I had, past her truth. For beyond her truth and beyond my truth is Gods truth about it. And Mama Jean was a person too, a part of this situation now and had been since the day Mama Linda signed me over to her care. And this was just childish to not proceed to allow Gods love to be seen through us both. I had picked up many thoughts about it along my life path. And those things had to be told to Mama Linda and Mama Jean for us to adjust to what was really here. It needed to be spoken, so we could shed that story and embrace a new one. One of restoration.  It is not easy. But when you get the call, its best to obey. Even when your Mothers are comfortable with the story as it is.

I hope my story helps you understand. It is complex, yes. And there are many sides to this story. So it gets kind of confusing and that is precisely what I am trying to show you, my life is so complicated, with so many folks to learn so you can understand why I am the way I am.


Thank you for your time. Thank  you for coming here and reading my story and my babbling. I hope my truth gives you strength as you face  your own truth. I hope you find the comfort you need in the truth and that you will muster the courage to speak it. Your voice is one voice, but you are here for a reason, don’t take your pearls to the grave, share them for all to learn.

Thank you for diving deep with me today.

God bless.


I have let go

After a full year of processing and expressing penned up emotions held for 50+ years, I am letting go of my Bio Mom. Letting go means I am not going to email her, or bother her any longer. I am nervous, yes, cuz this body is strong and wants what it wants. But what I have seen in this year is this. My bio moms does not have any affection for me as a person, nor as a daughter. And that my Mom does. My Mama Jean that is. And it hard being adopted and maneuvering though all what folks say bout it? Yes, But what I saw was Mama Jean, steadfast and unmovable in her love and acceptance of me as her child, confused and trying to figure it out. I believe she has always known that, deep within, without words. AS I spoke the truths I was ashamed I had, I saw a bit of relief on her to finally have me say it out loud, for she could feel it. And she knows how much I love her, yes she does.

My Mama Linda, is the vessel God made me from. And Mama Jean was the one who wanted me, not Linda. She did not. And I must accept that. And in accepting that, I am no longer able to even consider her a Mom. For she is not. Sounds cold, maybe? To some? But it sounds practical to me. And my mind needs some rest from all that I toiled about before I told my truth, the truth all over this blog. And now that I have aired it all out. I see, Mama Linda blocked me, Mama Jean embraced me. That is huge….

And if truth can give me that? It was worth speaking it to obtain it. My mind is coming into an understanding of my Mama Jean and the fortitude it took to take me on, go through a messy divorce, deal with her best friend Andrea Gray, taking up with her husband and dealing with a town that shunned her for lack of understanding.  How she held onto me, despite the many suiters who would tell her to let me go. How she always was there for me, even when I was my meanest and most confused. I have a new appreciations for my Mother after letting this cat out of her bag. And for that I am grateful.

As the year is ended, and the moon has enter my sign of  Capricorn, I am hopeful. Mama Jean has seen my try to give a love that my Bio Mother did not earn, and she saw, that if my body could have, I would have given that to her. But now, that my truth is out, I can give it to her, for it set me free from thinking that woman cared for me. Her love can not hold a candle to Mama Jeans love, which is agape love, a love that goes beyond the physical. I am blessed to have had such a Mother. And am so grateful that now I can see that.

My prayer for you is that this messy blog will give you the courage to tell your truth, so you can get free too. Free to see who showed up as the angels they were? And how hard it is to love a child God did not make inside you. For that is true love. To love another child is Gods love, in human form, and I am blessed to have had such a love as that. And I am grateful to now see it.

I am not saying that my body will not ache for the woman who made me? yeah it will. It is by design, so I have a grief, but now that I have faced that grief, and asked it what it was a teaching me, I can now know, I will live on. Even though. A broken heart allows the light to shine through better than a closed one. I am grateful for this broken heart. And I am grateful for a woman in her 20’s who took me on, not knowing what the hell that meant, and she never backed down, thank you Mom.

Blessing to your year, as you speak your truth and own it, and set it free. The work is worth it. Its like mental house cleaning, it makes room for new ideas and perceptions to come through.

Thank you for diving deep with me.

The Magic of healing is in the mess..Faint not.


Being vulnerable is work. It is hard. We are naturally all protective of our inner world, and to expose it is so very scary. But this last year, I have expose the inner world of an adoptee. I exposed my wounds, my psychosis, my life as I grew up was rough to figure out with so many questions left unanswered for years. I could take it no more. My body wrenched from he pain that I held in for so long. I had reached capacity.. My subconscious packed with all kinds of shit I wondered and felt as a child. My body demanded a purge, it demanded that I fess up to the truth I held within for safety. Mine. Rejections makes you do strange things, and being raised as a private adoption meant that no one talked about it, least of all me. I was sure not going to go there growing up, I did not want to press my luck. My own Mama did not want me, I did not know why? But I did not want my new Mama to feel for one minute like I did, deep down.

And my body showed I was not doing well, it was very sick as a child. I spent many a day in Doctor Schapp’s office, while he tried to figure out what was going on with this little girl. Ear infections, bronchitis, rashes from what he did not know, but said he wanted to write a book about it. I had every childhood disease, and some I like so much, I did them again and again. Like the three day measles, I had them 7 times, yes, ridiculous, but my Mama Jean assures me that is correct. But I do feel grief can cause many illnesses, when a child is turned around like me. I had a very violent reaction to adoption, one that would color my world grey, and numb me for years. My head would be reeling for years, toiling, trying to figure it out. I become an observer of others lives, the ones that keep their kids. I watch everything, trying to learn how to be a good daughter to Mama Jean, and eventually Mama Linda, my biological Mom. They both are my inspirations.

Yes, Mama Linda is an inspiration to me, of course she is. People are just shocked that I write that or say that? They are puzzled by it, I should not care for her at all many think? Well, I tried that not caring stuff, and what I learned is this. You can’t do that, the body simply won’t let you and when you keep trying to do that it kind of breaks down. To try not to care about the woman who God made you from is like stupid, ignorant talk and just dumb. It shows me that many people have no idea wha it is really like to be what we call adopted. I am an orphan, yep, abandoned by the woman who I came from. straight up. Once you let that seep in, then we can go further.

Many people assume because I was so young, I had no idea that I was from another woman, but I KNOW, I was not from day one. From the day I was born and never smelled my Mother again, from he day I went home with another woman who did not act like her at all. I knew the difference and that I lost someone very special to me. For children do not judge there Mothers when born, they love them, they are where they come from. We learn to judge. And there is so much judgement I have had to listen to and refute. Yes, I had to stand up for my Mothers, both. People say many things around an orphan, that they do not to others. They seem to feel entitled to do so, like they need to correct the little girl who’s Mommy does not want her or some such nonsense. Let me correct you now.

Growing up in the 60’s was like growing in the dark. So much free love and no support for the products of that love. I have listened to preachers preach about sex and drugs and yet they are no better. Addictions are only a name. And many are addicted to the way they think, like a meth head is to his fix. And folks just think they know how I felt or needed to feel. Like hello? My life, my body, my experiences and my script. Don’t judge me for the life I lived, making it up as I went, without my bio Mom to guide me? I just had to wing it, and how it felt was like shit. It tore my heart out. I just didn’t care. Why? I tried to care, but when you do good, folks get jealous, and I did not want folks to feel less than because I was a success. So I hid. I hid my feelings of grief and pain and all of it concerning her.

But there come a time when God calls you higher and the weight of it does not let you rise. So you must lay it down. And it meant so much. You loved her with your heart alone, inside. And that is an energy, grief is an energy. It is a hole, you felt when she went, that no one else can fill. I built a beautiful room for Mama Jean, she has her own place with in me. But I have an empty room with no Mama in it. Only her memories to keep me company and she lives, so you can see that I want her to come to tea and we can talk, and share, maybe even cry together for the loss we both suffered.

But healing is messy you see. For God calls us back, to look again at it. And if we hold onto old thoughts and do not speak them out loud, they are like a vibrational holding pattern that keeps us where we do not want to be. So I spoke it, all that crap I held, and it did not make sense to anyone but me. When pain and grief and whatever we hold in comes back up, its not organized, ok? It just comes up like barf. I call it emotional flu, it just comes up and has to be let out. That seems to be the hardest things for us to do these days, most people want to make sense, and to be respected and to keep it together. But falling apart means we get to rebuild it. WE get to choose again. And now we know better, so we can do better, right?

I can do better, for sure. For now I know, that how I felt and feel is important, if only just to me. I have come into my own, and stand before you as I am. A wounded person as we all are. And my wound was from this crazy world and what they say Adoption is, and from what I loss, and from a love so deep, that it calls me back to her, with Mama Jean in my hand too. Two woman raised me, one made me, the other trained me. That is a miracle. And they should meet. For they are best friends, who raises another child, and is not a friend? The world judges, I do not, I only tell how I felt. It was hard for me. So hard to figure out. What is wrong with me? That my own Mommy did not want me? What did I do? Was I bad? Am I wrong? Am I messed uP? Its a mental tailspin I want to stop. No child should have to wonder such things. Adoptions cuts children off from their cheerleaders, and we need to be connected. I don’t know if my Mothers had been friends, maybe I would not have felt so. But we must begin to try to do better. My story can help you see, what was inside of me, could be inside of your child. So, ask the hard questions, let your children express themselves. For God sake, it is their Mother. Help them to love their Mama’s like my Mama Jean did me. Somehow she got through. Her love, has helped me love my Mama Linda, I may not like it, but I do love her.

Thank you for diving deep with me.

Happy New Year 2017, make it a year of truth, so you can be set free…….

I wish for us all to be seen as the gifts we all are from God to this world.

Playing the quiet game kept me safe

Growing up as an adoptee for me, meant playing the quiet game. And now that I have stopped playing the quiet game, and I observe the reactions of those closest to me. I see why. I see that what I have to say is especially upsetting to those I thought got me, but they really got who they thought I was. And now that I have let the cat out of the bag? People are pissed, upset, dismayed, angry, want me to shut up, and wish I would go back to playing the silent game again. Those around me have bought the lie I lived, and they have a hard time accepting that I have felt like this forever, but just did not tell them for fear. I feared a rejection again, I feared not getting my needs met, I feared being alone. These are the fears I have identified so far. And God has not given me this spirit of fear, who did?

Well, right now, I see, this world gave it to me the day I was given away like a puppy to a woman my Mother had not even met. And as I lay in a crib, in a house, where my Mothers voice was not, anywhere to be heard, or smelled, I panicked, without words to even tell the one person who showed up to care. And I grew up feeling like a captive to that woman. I grew up feeling like a reject on misfit island.

Sure I had all the trimmings. I had a Daddy, a Mommy, and a nice house, Nana and Papa, and a nice neighborhood, dresses, and food? Why could I not forget the woman who made me? Why was the questions I asked myself when my Adopted Mom would say things she did not realize hurt the hell out of me. I would just watch other families and wonder? Why do some woman keep their kids? Some say they are selfish. And some say it is selfless. There are many who think they know what is best? But all I know is how I feel, and felt about it all. And how confused I grew up trying to heal a hit to my psyche that no one could see.

I hid inside and studied and tried to do the best my body and confused mind could let me. I had speech problems, and by the way my kids treat me, I am very messed up. I could not see it, because my adopted Mom protected me from it. She told me many things to help me feel better about being me, and she instructed me on how to speak, and I didi the best I could, but would invariably say something someone did not like and so it went.

I stuck out. I did not look like my Adopted Mom, so that made it really clear. And we played the roles we were given as a new family. But that model is a very shaky place without truth. I do think it would have been better for my developing brain to receive truth instead of lies or omissions of truth, which is a lie as well. I have had a time trying to really accept what is, and weeding through what they said it was. It has taken me years, like 50 to wake up from this dream that was a bit of a nightmare when one must live the lies told them from strangers.

Adopted parents do not want to think of themselves as strangers. I get it, but you are. You are a stranger body to the child you raise. And your spirits connect, but that is not the only part of us. WE are mind body and spirit. And all parts need truth to be able to stand what life sends our way. I did pretty good with the truth my Adopted Mom wanted me to live. But there came a day when I could not live like that any longer. My internal life expanded beyond her understanding. And so my real truth, the one I held deep down, made its way out of my mouth. And for me, I was relieved. I was not happy with my loved ones reactions, no. Like a gay person standing there trying to explain why I felt like this, was like this, was very naked and ugly to experience. Especially from folks who say they love me and want me happy?

My bio Mom took it the worst. She was totally on her own train when my train wrecked her ride. I spoke the truth she knew deep down, because we share this wound. And unlike me who has been trying to  understand, and to change the lines we read, she did not want to know, how her actions had affected me. She simply did not care. And all I did was show her what she had chosen to forget. I find it really interesting my own child who was a surprise moved up to be with her? It is very interesting and confusing to watch my life fall apart and for my own children to turn away from me.

I was fucked up for sure, if my own kids could not look at me. And I needed to look at that truth, so I could learn and adjust. I need to know why I acted like I did and do.  I do see that I am very psychically disconnected from my gene pool and that when I go to spend time with my  Bio Mom, I do feel better. My body feel better being in her presence for sure. And as any child, I will take any attention I can, if I can not have love.

Playing the quiet game has shown me that I need lots of practice speaking in my own way and not reading or saying things my Mother taught me to stay safe. And it is an adjustment for sure. To stand on my own and not hold onto someone I thought would understand? How could they understand? I played quiet like told, so I pushed it so far down, stuffing, stuffing, stuffing, until there was no more room. And like the closet door, of my pandoras box full of things that were painful and traumatic, it just busted open and poured out, and I could not, and would not stop it.

So now I work to help folks who wish to be truthful and want to be who they are inside and want to be who they are inside and want folks to love past it. I guess I felt like an autistic person, trapped inside a body from another, trained by an indian, just trying to find the words to let me out. Well, change is messy. And so it is. But change must be, for us to learn and grow.

My prayer is that my words could validate your pain. That is is real. And that I your sister and brother here on this planet cares. I do care. I do not want another child to feel like I did. I pray we all can have the courage to speak the truths we hold inside for lack of anyone who can see or wants to see.

You matter. You are here for a reason. Lets make it better. Lets do what we need to do to expose this, so others can avoid it.

That is my prayer.