Relinquishment cut me deep

It’s hard to brace yourself for your Mama rejecting you. That’s a big pill. And religion relinquishment and separation from her causes a deep cut into the very identity you come from. For me, it totally cut me deep. It cut me in two. I could not forget where I came from because it’s part of my DNA, and yet I could not forget, and yet with a new Mama, I had much to learn and catch up on. Mama Jean and I didn’t have a 9 month meet and greet.

Relinquishment is the energy I was born into. And I grew up unsure of what I could

Hold onto. Would Mama Jean do me the same as Mama? Would Mama Jean see me like Mama? Would she see through all the baby fat and rolls and see the demon my own Mama saw in me? Would she be able to love me? Beyond what Mama saw? And could she hold on to me? Because I wasn’t sure I could hold onto her. I was to scared of being rejected again.

Relinquishment cut very deep into my identity. It shaped my whole world. And Mama Jean had her work cut out for her by the woman who I came from. I now had a whole inside me, that my own Mama cut out and took away. And yet the seeds planted the nine months we shared grew despite her absence. I tried to be like Mama Jean, but my body defied me. It was like Linda, possessed me and I had no choice.

I never knew how strong the DNA was h til we met and I saw who I came from. And it blew me away and totally disrupted what I knew, a fresh and anew. And I felt so guilty. Guilty that I could be like Mama Jean. That I came from a Mama who could do this to me. What kind of Mama could I even be? But Mama Jean had faith in me. Faith I could see growing like a counter seed to my Mamas seeds.

It’s like those seed grew together. Two trees within me inner twined. Mama Jean worked tirelessly to plant good seeds and weed out the bad seeds with her love and commitment to me, the seed that came from another. She put herself in harms way to carve away and cut the poison out of me. That’s huge. For me.

There are many things I don’t understand. But one thing I do is unconditional love. Because Mama Jeans loaded with it. God must have filled her full of it because she like a fountain of love that I drink from. And I know, that that’s God Love in her. She may not know the scriptures and may not quote them, but she expresses God’s love without a word. Her deeds have cut a groove within me. Her love has made me wonder.

Many of her actions have caused my pain to hurt. And she saw that. She saw my hurt and tried again and again and again. I guess that where I get this undying ability to keep trying with my own Mama. I do want her to see what Mama Jean did for her child. And it hurts that Mama fails to respond. She fails to see Mama Jean in me and only sees her mistake.

I know Mama Jean prayed I. Her own way for me. With every step and every deed. She prayed a prayer of works in my life. She worked tirelessly and never backed down. She keeps showing up and giving me her brand of love. And I guess I got used to it. I guess I wanted to share it with Mama. But Mama can’t see. She’s blind to the truth of what she did so long ago and has told herself another story.

Mama Jean helped Mama back in the 60’s. Mama got a hall pass because Mama Jean took me on. And Mama didn’t have to deal with what she made, nor with what God had made within her. And I don’t see that it made Mama stronger. Because she can’t even get me. Denial serves no one. Lies are always found out. And things down in ignorance will always be learned. Mama now knows the affect she had on me. She now knows I never forgot who’s I was and whom I came from.

And relinquishment made a cut deep in my identity. I had to go on without my history and heritage. I struggled to learn the history of my new family while dealing with grief no one wanted to see. We do that. We just paint o er it instead of digging it out and dressing it. That’s all we knew. But we have learned more about identity and the human psyche. And digging deep is what’s needed to ex sponge what once was and turn it into what is.

I kept my two identities separate. I held my DNA patterns within and yet they got out anyway. And many of my actions were dismaying to me. Mama Jean and I are so different and yet the same. We are two people who needed love and yet from two different worlds that met. Mama Jean seemed to have a different brand of faith than Mama. And I was the unwilling at times student. But teach me she did. Her love demanded my attention. Her love covered Mamas cut and helped me go on to grow up.

When God called me home to Mama, I was scared. But I trusted. My body knew it would not be easy. And I would have to hold Mama Jeans hand while I witnessed it all again. It has riveted me and made me cry and wrench with an old pain as I witnessed my family of origins go on as if I wasn’t there. I’ve had to look at what I came from to see what my struggle really was. And Mama Jean did not back off. She did not block me. She has listened to me talk about the other woman in my life for my whole life. Standing in the wings of my play, loving me.

And it was high Time I extradited that. It was time for me to deal with Mama. It’s was time to test Mama Jeans faith out. Would I be strong enough? Yes. Could I face this? Yes. And would Mama Jean still love me? Yes. She did. And yes she does. More so, now because she knows what I did and went through for her as well. I held on back. I clung at times back. And she came through for me and Mama.

A scare remains. To remind me of many things. And so I teach you what I learned and struggle through. Not for pity. Not for fame. But for Love. It’s not easy being adopted. Nor is it easy to adopt someone else’s mistake. Woman speak ill of the children God makes within them and think the child within can’t feel and hear it. And that’s not true. I heard it all and it had a profound affect on me. And Mama Jean, well she was the clean up crew. And she matters very much to me. She’s my rock and my stream.

My story is hard to read. It’s fragmented, misses pierces, and yet is a twisted love story between to woman and a child. Mama Jean may not be where I came from, but she is home at last within me. I’ve thrown out Mamas lies told in her own ignorance, to make more room for Mama JeAn. I will not say I am totally hers. For that is a lie. But I am the child from Linda she made her own.

Thanks for diving at all with me.

God bless.

I know what you’ve done. And now you know…

I know what you’ve done. In prayer and dead. For me the child you gave to God. I know YOU PRAYED ME through. I know you stressed from afar. I know you moneyed in private. And cried alone at times. I know your heart.

And I wanted you to read and see what those things brought me through. Your light lead me out. My body longed for you. My mind and spirit never left you. And I felt every prayer and intention. That’s the illustration. Look what a Mamas fervent prayer did! And Mama Jean too. But I needed you to know what you did for me even though I had to walk this road without you.

Yes. I knew you were my invisible angel always calling God about me. Thank you. 💋

Mama. I’m ok. Just different.

I just wanted to let you know, what I have been through, for you. I will be ok and am ok. I am just very different than you maybe expected or much more than you expected? Or? My favorite, your damn proud of me. I am strong. Thanks to you.

Take care. I have to do some things. I miss you bunches. God’s calling me and I must follow the call. Pray for me will ya? 💋

Don’t let the girls drive you to Crazy.

I just can’t believe.

I am 54 years young. And what I am really spun about is that My Mama, wasn’t even waiting for me…… I found my way home. And she was more annoyed and angry. I thought I guess that she would be proud of such a feat? I guess I should not have thought at all. Because I was so wrong.

Yeah. It hurts a lot these days as I face the truth of her silence again. As the lack of sound coming from he is deafening. And my spirit mourns our loss alone. She’s not dead, But might as well be. I lived I. A bubble of Mama Jeans protection for years. And I knew what she told me was not my truth. It’s the trush I now face that is my truth with my Mama, not what Mama Jean tried to feed me.

I am grown and now feast on the truth from my Mamas table. As she feeds me silence, I grow strong in my resolve to change it for another. My stories plain as day, right in my face. My Mama does not see a blessing when she looks or thinks of me. Now. Please. Don’t be sorry for me. Pity has never help a soul. What I need is o accept it. I need to accept this is where she and I are. And always have been.

As I sit her outside smoking a menthol cigarette, I ask myself why, I ask God why, again. Why does it matter so much? Why does nothing matter but her? What is the point? And my heart longs. For her. My Mama and I don’t know how to get her back. And yet I am driven to keep trying, keep knocking down the weeds In Our way, alone. My kids don’t care. My friends don’t care. They have their Mamas and don’t even know how I feel. Why can’t I let this go?

And all I feel is an alarm going off inside, over and over it calls me home. Home to Mama.

That’s. How it is for me. An adoptee who just wants to go home and be accepted for who she has become.

Lord, help me. Help me. Please. Help me find the words. That will make her see me for who I am. Help her see. Please.

Thanks for diving deep with me today.

And god bless.

When I first started to break down.

When I first started to break down and realized that I had a choice. To stay with the Old program as instructed by adoption, or forge a new road for me, Mama Jean, and Mama. I chose to forge anew. Which meant tearing down all that I knew. And it also meant to tell my truth to show why.

When I first started to breakdown. My mind was the first to go. It was like my whole system said to me, stop. Stop lying. Stop lying to yourself that it doesn’t matter and that it’s ok like it was was the first thing. It was as if my mind just started to shut down. I remember trying to push forward like I always did, and stuff it. But my body and mind had teamed up on me.

I remember trying to sing at funerals. I am a singer. And doing funerals is a blessing to me. I feel singing folks to the other side is a ministry. God gave me a voice and people seemed to like to hear me. I feel God anointed my voice. And when I couldn’t even get up on time to get to a funeral I quit doing them. I remember having to send an apology letter to a woman I had agreed to sing for, due to the fact that I didn’t wake up in time and missed the whole thing. That was so horrific for me. Because it had never happened and I was embarrassed that I seemed to not be able to function like usual.

And no matter what I did, somehow, my joy was being taken from me about singing. And it scared me. What was wrong with me? And I went to doctor after doctor to figure it out. But no one could find a thing. Except cysts on my liver, like my Daddy died from. That scared me so bad. It was like my body was saying, cough it up. All that you stuffed. Cough it all up. My body had hanged up on my strong mind that had kept me going, as if to say, its time to clear this all out. It’s time to lighten the load.

I was not happy about this. No. I was not. I am a strong willed woman and have pushed through life for years without even grieving a loss like loosing your Mama. And yet? I knew. My body was right. My appetite stopped. It’s was like my body was saying, “ I need closure about this and it’s time to grieve” it was like my body said to me, “you must recognize this loss even if no one else gets it, because you do”, “ now stop lying about it and tell the truth or else. What the else is? I don’t want to know. But I will not take my precious research to the grave like Mama. No. Not for prides sake. For pride goeth before a fall.

So break it down is where I went, so God could build me up again. To be humble is to be grounded. My original truth grounded me to a lie and I am not that at all.

An Adoptees story. Very telling of the struggle for clarity in the world of fairytales.

Dear Adoption, You Tried to Forget My Mother

Dear Adoption, Contributor

8 hours ago

Dear Adoption, You Tried to Forget My Mother

When I was in kindergarten you tried to made me forget her for the first time. I asked my mom where the woman was who carried me in her belly. That day my mom told me it was not her. “That woman was a drug addict and is most likely dead by now.“ I sat on the floor silently next to my mom. It was on that day, I realized, being an adoptee began to shape my daily life.

It was the legal lie on my birth certificate which started it. Stating my adoptive mother gave birth to me on the first day of October. My mom never gave birth to me or any child. That was the reason I was brought from a far away place to central Europe to live with a white, german couple. But that lie is still on paper. My existence and my presence is proof I am not physically related to them, but my own birth certificate denies that fact. The name of my mother was erased and was supposed to be forgotten forever.

My parents decided to make things “easier” and forget about her too. They had what they needed to make a family: her child, a falsedocument, and endless love. Just like they were told. Like you, Adoption, told them.

So I was to celebrate my birthdays without acknowledging that someone else gave birth to me; without hearing my mothers voice, or seeing her face. We celebrated without anyone even slightly considering she was the one who gave us a reason to celebrate.

I never heard the story of how I was conceived. I never heard the story of how I was born. I never heard the story of where my parents met. I never heard the reasons why they where gone.

But there is one story told to me repeatedly… The story of how I grew in the hearts of my adoptive parents. “You never grew in my belly, but you grew in my heart with the strength of that endless love I have for you.” So I grew from a fetus to a baby in a heart. That sounds unhealthy to me. Is this really what we are to believe? Do we really need the story of my life to be a fairytale? Am I not a human being anymore? As far as I am concerned I have a belly button. And the more you all forget about the existence of my mother, the more I hold onto her in silence.

My Birthday was coming up again. It was around my early twenties. I decided to sneak and steal my adoption papers. I was looking for names that were never heard spoken out loud; to find the truth about where I was from, who I was before I was “The Adopted Child”. I wanted to know. My hands were sweaty, my heart was racing. I was psyched and ready for some truth. But all I found was lacking documents, crossed out names, falsified birthdates and a foreign language. There it was again: your fairytale, Adoption. All my papers from my early existence looked like the first draft of a story someone expressively worked on; crossing out words, working new words in, and trying it all over again. The file felt like a heavy and dusty story book in my hands.

On that day I promised myself I will be skeptical of everything in those papers; as long as I will not see my mothers face again, hear her voice telling me her version of my story, hear her validating, what you Adoption made us all believe about her.

Dear Adoption, I will not forget my mother. All my existence lies in her. And I will not allow you to forget her either. I will show you her face.  I will show all the faces of those mothers you deny. And this will change your appearance for ever.

Yennifer has recently launched a campaign on Kickstarter; No Mother, No Child is a photography project in which she will take photographs of the Colombian mothers whose children were adopted internationally and tell their unique stories to make good on her promise. Follow up on her project on Facebook and Instagram.

Yennifer Villa was adopted from Colombia in the early 90’s. She was raised in Germany. Yennifer studied economics, sustainability and design. She is a Cologne based photographer, activist and international adoptee ambassador.

Categories: International Adoptee

Tags: Adopted, Adoptee, Adoptee Movement, Adoption, Adoptive Mother, Adoptive Parents, Biological Mother, Birth Mother, Dear Adoption, Grief, International Adoption, Loss, Mother