"How Can I Grow?"

How can I grow

If I have no roots?

I am a limb and

I have been grafted

From an oak tree onto

A flowering peach.

I shall bear no fruit

But I am expected to bloom.

I am expected to give birth

to beautiful, golden peaches.

Having lived on a tree

with which I share no roots,

I am living by the rules set

forth for this tree.

I do not breathe or move

That I do not wonder if I

Shall wrong this tree.

I have found that in the

Spring I am expected to bloom.

I do not bloom.

I would like to be myself, to

grow straight and strong,

As my heart is pulling; but

I am expected to be filled

with golden fruit.

What will I do? I must do what

My feelings direct me to do.

I am an oak. I am not sure

what kind of oak, but I am

an oak. I can feel it in my

heart and in my soul.

I must search and find out what

kind of oak I am.

I must find out

what is to become of me.

I am expected to bear golden fruit.

I will never be able to do such a thing.

But I can become a beautiful chair

or a table grand.

Author: Molly Apperson

A beautiful adoptee friend.

Oh, The Places You'll Go

My first introduction to "adoption poetry" was a framed version of an old classic,
"Chosen Child".

It hung on my Mother's bedroom wall right next to an ever-growing collage of my school pictures as I grew up. I never understood why I hated that wall. It felt as if when I entered that room I needed to avoid eye-contact with that wall, those pictures, and that poem. But I couldn't understand why.

I thought I hated myself and my pictures, but now I realize it was the poem.

The poem had alot of contradictory statements which is confusing to an adopted child.

The first stance says "I had to tell you, Dearest Heart, that you are not my own" ~ it goes on to explain how much she wanted and desired a baby and how we were brought together through adoption ~ then the last stance of the poem states that I am "her's, and her's alone".

 

Now how can that be?

How can I not be her own, and also hers alone? It didn't make sense.

Yet that is just one example of many "double-messages" adoptees grapple with in a life-time.

Think about it ~ according to the adoption industry, in order to increase the number of available children for adoption (the commodity) we (adoptees) get mixed-messages. 
We are "unwanted", "crisis'", "abandoned", "orphans"; yet "chosen", "special", "lucky", "gifts".

Our mother's are told they are "incapable", yet "heroic".

Our very identities are "amended" in order to fulfill a role, and we're expected to cut ourselves off completely (the message of "sealed records") from our very identity, heritage, and family-line.  

Adoption is a legal contract that tries to do the impossible ~ "as if born to" can never replace the reality of profound loss for an adoptee, yet we are asked to live a life-time of splitting ourselves off from our very core.

 We become masters at people-pleasing and compliance because we receive the message that adoption has made us "worthy".
 It cleansed us of being a "bastard" or "orphan" (even if only on paper).

Our original identities are "sealed", and therefore, somehow defines us in shame.

So we work extremely hard to earn our place in a world where everything about us had to be "amended" in order to be accepted.

 

 What a heavy burden for any child, any human.

As a young child I was the master home-made card maker. I would make elaborate cards for my Mom proclaiming she was the BEST Mother in the world.

I think it was my way of trying desperately to ease the insecurity in both of us.

With the words of "The Chosen Child" poem always looming, I can now understand that insecurity.

Years after my reunion with my first family, I went to an art class which turned out to be a life-defining experience. We were asked to read the Dr. Seuss book, "Oh, the Places You'll Go" and then compose a poem, and create a companion pastel drawing.

I had never taken art before and felt like because I had no talent that my pastel would be embarrassing at the least, but decided to try...

A few hours later, feeling like time was literally standing still, I brought myself back into the real world a different person.

 

A person who had finally given myself permission to grieve and shed tears over my adoption.

 

I had always heard that art was good for the soul; that it somehow unlocked the right (more feeling) side of the brain, and by the time I pulled myself away from this project I was a true believer.

I vowed to take more art classes, set up a studio, and dive into this new found passion.

Several years later here I sit without going one step further into that dream...

I'm just thankful for the amazing experience of that class, that teacher, and the healing that flowed through it.

"Oh, The Places You'll Go"
by Baby Girl Lowe living life as Samantha Franklin

You'll wake up one day and find yourself floating
on rivers of Golden Tears....
In deep scars of black and purple, too
Flowing from your hidden view
Amidst eyes of blue.

Encircling your heart is crimson red...
Blood of the fathers you never knew.
Enshrined....
Finally you'll find the real 'you'

Deeply hidden in the sea of blue
Your only chance now is to ride the hues
Grief unlocks the colors of life....
You'll find your "purple" deep inside...
after the ride.

So close your eyes, and feel the depth
You'll find you're not alone...
Surrounded by the throng, the unseen tears...
Hold on.

We must visit the eyes of our forefathers...
The pain of our unknown
Connect with the blood with whom we found life
Love through the tears of our own.

 

tears
fall softly

as snowflakes
whispering your name
drift gently home

 

   ears bend low

listening
for the melody of your song

 

  heart melts 
 giving drink 

eyes
longing 
for your glance
   

 

 

 little bird beckons
outside my window

will I cross this icy sea alone

 

 

written 2/28/15

Samantha Franklin

  ~ watching the falling snow ~

on the 35th anniversary of my mother's death

Home

I stare at myself in pictures throughout a lifetime wondering who I am and where I belong.  Not here.  I am with people I call "family" but I am alone.  In a world of strangers.  

I feel no connection.  Nothing.  My soul in constant reach.  Unable to make contact.  

My people are across the sea.  In another time and place.  

Those around me fade into the background as I gaze into the distance.  

Always searching the horizon for something I know not of.  

Humanity in my bones.  They ache.  As a stranger in a foreign land.  

I wait.  For what.  I do not know.  

My son, please land somewhere grand.  God give us a home. 

Ties that Bind

                              © Photographer: Limcheng-en | Agency: Dreamstime.com

                                                        (Originally published on 4/13/11)

Don't stealthily move back the boundary lines
or cheat orphans out of their property (identity),
For they have a powerful Advocate
who will go to bat for them.

(Proverbs 23:10-11, Message Bible)

Memories buried deep within my soul

Hidden from everyday existence;

To protect the mask I hold

Tightly gripped by shaking hands

That hurt and ache like frozen death.

Cover my face ~ the facade.

No life or love or personality;

the soul inside me tried to flee.

The terror of nothingness came

the day they "sealed" my name.

Lost: One "dead" baby at the courthouse;

Certificate of Live Birth "sealed" around it's neck

Tightly riveted to a desk of "this is best".

Found: One imitation life living "the lie"

Created the day they made her "sign".

Gone in a moment

Wake up to reveal

Amended reality

In courts to fulfill.

A shell of existence;

Underground hiding.

Scared to come out ~ revealing

The ties that bind.

The corpse baby comes to life

No tears it cries, it's dead inside;

Just rescued "bastard"

With no real name.

Legitimize me with

These ties that bind;

Undo the lies. 

Resurrection Power

Make me real ~ I plead.

Deal?

“What is the price of five sparrows...
two copper coins?

Yet God does not forget a single one. 
 So don’t be afraid...the very hairs on your head are all numbered.
 
You are more valuable to God
than a whole flock of sparrows."
Luke 12:6-7

(originally written in '09) 

Rushing out the door this morning to get my son to school, my hands were full.
It's been a rough few weeks and his separation anxiety looms.

Just like every other morning, I tucked my son into his car seat,
 and turned to lock the front door
(our driveway goes right up to the door,
where he never loses sight of me)...

when panic set in 

Terrified that he would be left alone,
my son grabbed on to me for dear life; 
 completely overcome by fear. 

 

Realizing he couldn't hear a word I was saying,
I finally just settled into his grasp, 
letting him know I wasn't going anywhere.
He calmed down enough to finally get his words out,
and this is what he screamed...

 

"Don't go...DEAL?"

 

"Deal!", I passionately reassured him.
With this, his little body finally relaxed.

 

Falling into the front seat of the car completely exhausted and in tears
...it hit me.

What a beautiful gift.

My precious son is teaching me...
to take the time
even when I feel rushed,
to really listen 
to my own needs and those I love...
no matter how long it takes.
 

Suddenly I felt a wave of comfort...
a flood of peace which had eluded me for weeks.

God's compassion towards us is even greater
than the overwhelming love we feel for our own children.   

When my son struggles, the last thing I feel is anger;
knowing he needs most my gentleness, closeness and mercy.
But how often I'm afraid that God is mad at me
for not being able to fully trust or surrender...
even when I truly want to. 

It breaks our hearts when we see our children suffer...
How much more must our Creator desire to deliver us.  

My Father gently reassures that even when I'm panicked
and not functioning at the level I wish I could...

when I'm fearful or living in numbness,
that He loves me and understands my needs.     

 

Lord, thank you for your mercy and love.
For teaching me so gently.
 

Thank you for holding me
 when I need your calming reassurance..."Deal?"

The Living Doll: Dedicated to Veronica

© Photographer: Vladvitek | Agency: Dreamstime.com

 

Original article posted on 9/24/13

Reposting today in honor of Veronica Brown's Birthday. 

We love you, sweet Veronica

 

"When I dig up your dry bones from exile, I'll breathe My life into you and you'll live. Then I'll lead you straight back to your land and you'll realize that I am your God." Ezekial 37:12-14

I have struggled with muscle & joint pain, and think that it may be related to the emotional journey I have taken as an adoptee. 

I was laying in bed this morning, still in shock, that an entire nation watched last night as an innocent four year old girl was taken unnecessarily from her family. 

 

Any society that legally sanctions an unregulated profit-driven adoption industry over a child's best interest is sick and inhumane. 

Then the thought came to me.  These pains feel like the pains of transformation.

I've grown up a plastic doll, frozen in my adopted role.  

Expected emotions and expressions ~ a painted on smile. 
Oh, the places we go.

My realness was surrendered as a baby...crying, pleading. 
The cries carried with them the life I had shared with she who gave me life  ~ flying into the universe in search. 
I slowly morphed into the doll I became. The one who laughed and talked and danced her little heart out.

Until, one day, from the shadows, they returned.
  Like they knew.
As the doll aged it had begun to crack and fray;
bruised and torn by life in a real world, existing as only a doll.
Dutifully fulfilling the dreams of the girl who owned her...

Yes, the tears this worn plastic doll had once shed; the screams that proved her real in time past, but had been denied...they found their way back;
And she was taken for surprise.
Almost as if she was living another life, not hers.
She remembered and she searched.

Eventually, she found her truth, 

still merely a plastic doll.

Unbearable grief welled up and broke through the frozeness, the facade.
It felt as if her brittle arms and legs, feet and hands, head and heart might literally snap with the newfound awareness of blood coursing through her veins.

This old, hard plastic I am made of (resilient, strong, inflexible, controlled)
must adjust to being real ~ for the first time.

I am real?

The painted on smile disappears. 
I have only survived in this one state ~ my adopted self. 
Certificate of authenticity and all.  
How does a "living" doll break out of this shell I have been in my whole life?

It is so painful to stretch the joints and flesh that have stayed in one position, frozen in the mold that was used to define me,
afraid to even imagine who I really am. 
I walk stiffly...half-doll, half-person in the land of the living. 
Discovering my own humanity. 

The truth is, we aren't dolls, but we might as well be.
That is how adoption works.

I pray God's protection and grace over you, Veronica. 
That He will help you someday learn to be "real" in the midst of pain. 

Lord, please heal us.   

The Tapestry of Life

For there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open. ~ Luke 8:17 ~

I've been hesitant to write this entry, simply because there is much I would like to express ~ so many layers. I truly don't know where to start, or end.

I thank God for teaching me that He is trustworthy. Yes, even this adoptee (whose name actually means "teachable") with major trust issues. I cried out and He has answered me, in so many ways. One way He has proven His love is through the miraculous birth of my son, six years ago. He was born in January, three months early, weighing only one pound.

A year after his birth, I was reading the Bible and happened to come across the story of the Passover in Exodus.

You see, when my son was born, we believed that the healing power of God's Word could infuse life in his frail body. Just like the Hebrew children in Exodus applied the blood over their doorposts, (hence, destruction "passed over" them) we put our faith in Jesus' blood to save our son.

My son, pay attention to what I say;
turn your ear to my Words.
Do not let them out of your sight,
keep them within your heart;
for they are life to those who find them
and health to one’s whole body.

~ Proverbs 4:20-22 ~

It wasn't until a year later, and reading about this account in the book of Exodus did I notice that my son's birthday was the "14th day of the 1st month" ~ the same day the Israelites celebrated their deliverance from slavery & death. I felt like God was reassuring me (yet again) that He knew when my son would be born, and had Life for him.

My son's due date would have been April 8th. In today's calender, Jew's celebrate Passover in April. God KNEW I would need double-confirmation that it was truly Him who watched over my son's birth and deliverance. I write with overwhelming thankfulness and tears.

The day after my son's birth, I was sitting in the hospital bed with my Bible open, searching for comfort and strength. Amazingly I came across a scripture which gave just that.

"He will comfort you as a mother comforts her child".
~ Isaiah 66:13 ~

I was in despair, not being able to hold my son, feeling all those waves of relinquishment, loneliness, and abandonment wash over me ~ so distraught that my son was alone, without his mother, feeling the same emptiness I had become accustomed to, as an adoptee. BUT GOD spoke to me through that scripture.

He is able to comfort us just like our own mother would have, could have, should have. His comfort could fill that need for me, and for my son.

Adoptees, His banner over us is LOVE, and it covers us ~ from birth, through relinquishment, adoption, and search.

I found my natural family years ago and was surprised to find out that I came from a large Jewish clan. It has been amazing to find these roots and identify, finally, with my heritage. My son's heritage. God is truly about heritage and family. Even when families were separated (look at stories like Moses & Joseph) God brought reunion, reconciliation, truth, and miracles out of the pain people experienced. We have to believe.

"The Prince of Egypt" is the story of Moses and the complexities of his adoption, search, reunion, and destiny. It is my son's favorite movie right now, so I've had the privilege of watching it many times!

Here are just a few thoughts I could relate to in Moses' journey as an adoptee.

One poignant quote was when Moses was confronted with his true identity and he fled in fear. First, he ran back to Pharaoh's palace to surround himself with the only identity & familiarity he found comfort in. It took a lot for him to slowly "wake up" to his true identity as an Israelite and realize that the life he had lived was not his complete story. A distantly familiar lullaby finally helped him realize, "I did not see because I did not wish to see."

In the midst of this emotional upheaval, Moses' burned with anger (a very real component of grief) and killed an Egyptian man (his adoptive heritage) who was attacking an Israelite (his birth heritage). He couldn't forgive himself, and so he fled from it all into the desert.

There, God sent refreshing waters to revive him as he stripped off everything he thought he knew, and he met and married Zipora, who helped him "re-join the dance" and see the tapestry of his life "Through Heaven's Eyes".

How often adoptee's wander in a wilderness of isolation because fiercely ingrained loyalty issues quench and skew our true emotions, rather than being free to live in truth & authenticity?

Moses was led by God to return to his family of birth. He didn't cower from his "Exodus", even though it would have been easier to. He couldn't deny his identity and his heritage. It was who he was. Adoptees can't deny who we are.

God will reveal the hidden things, and set our people free of sealed records, amended identities, secrecy and shame. This time must come.

He split the sea right down the middle so Moses could lead his people to freedom. Adoptee's must cross over their dichotomy of adopted self versus authenticity in much the same way.

Golden Tears

You'll wake up floating on a river of golden tears
Streaming past your hidden view
Amidst eyes of blue

Encircling your heart is crimson red
Blood of the fathers you never knew
Heart enshrined...finally to find the real 'you'

Safely hidden in this prison of blue
Your only chance now is to ride the hues
Grief unlocks the colors of life
You'll find your "purple" deep inside...after the ride

So close your eyes, and feel the depth
You'll find you're not alone
Surrounded by the throng, the unseen tears...Hold on

We must visit the eyes of our fore fathers
The pain of our unknown
Connect with the blood with whom we found life
Love through the tears of our own.


~ Samantha Franklin ~

Finding Me

© Photographer: Cammeraydave | Agency: Dreamstime.com

Today at church I got this "revelation" about adoptees. 

 We're not really able to publicly grieve or even acknowledge the pain hidden deep inside over the loss of our mother's or our original selves.

 

No, we HAVE a family ~ we're "special" & "chosen".

 

WHY WOULD WE NEED TO GRIEVE ANYTHING? 

So I got up from my seat after church (wiping away tears) and high-tailed it quickly into the restroom to "freshen" up.

 

I hurried past the rest of church society intermingling, conversing, sharing, connecting ~ and made a bee-line for the bathroom, as usual.

Didn't want them to see me completely undone emotionally.

Why? 

 

Because then I'd have to be REAL.

And what I realized is that most of society DOESN'T WANT the REAL ME.

They want the "Happy to be Adopted" me.

The one who, sure, may have a HINT of CURIOSITY, but nothing that really affects me deeply ~ because I am fulfilling the role that was written out on my amended birth certificate, my adoption decree. 

WHO I AM SUPPOSED TO BE.

Society buys into this and shrinks back from any adoptee who breaks free and dares to become REAL ~ not just the person they were legally created to be ~ but who God created them to be.

 

And embrace. Heal. Live.

But many times it has to be done alone. And in secret, like sealed records in the courthouse.

 

Adoption is like that somehow.

It creates LIES to COVER truth...true parentage, true identities, true stories, true realities.

 

Replaced by man-made truths...new parentage, new identities, new "realities".

 

New certificates. New names. New homes. New lives.

But nothing man-made lasts.

It eventually crumbles and TRUTH prevails. Even through great pain.

I'm so glad that Someone wants to know the real me.

Even if I am in a bathroom stall crying, seemingly alone.

© Photographer: Littlemacproductions | Agency: Dreamstime.com

How can I grow
if I have no roots?

I am a limb and
I have been grafted
From an oak tree onto
A flowering peach.

I shall bear no fruit
But I am expected to bloom.
I am expected to give birth
to beautiful, golden peaches.

Having lived on a tree
with which I share no roots,
I am living by the rules
Mother Earth has set
forth for this tree.

I do not breathe or move
That I do not wonder if I
Shall wrong this tree.
I have found that in the
Spring I am expected to bloom.
I do not bloom.

I would like to be myself, to
grow straight and strong,
As my heart is pulling; but
I am expected to be filled
with golden fruit.

What will I do? I must do what
My feelings direct me to do.
I am an oak. I am not sure
what kind of oak, but I am
an oak. I can feel it in my
heart and in my soul.

I must search and find out what
kind of oak I am.
I must find out
what is to become of me.

I am expected to bear golden fruit.
I will never be able to do such a thing.
But I can become a beautiful chair
or a piano grande.

Author: Martha Josephine Wilkinson-Droll, doing life as Mary Martha Apperson (Molly)
(A beautiful adoptee friend whose first mother happens to have been a concert pianist).

Lost & Found

Lost and Found
By Maren Peterson-DeGroff

She gazes down
through the plastic box,
unable to comprehend his
tiny body.
The monitor wires,
IV lines and
feeding tubes tangled over
the gently rising chest
expanding and contracting
in mechanical rhythm,
his mouth taped open--a gaping, silent cry
that freezes cold
her heart.

She is lost.
Sinking into the madness
of her grief, her guilt,
an apology
forever on her lips.

She lifts, so slowly, the door
to his high-tech womb,
her own aching,
for its emptiness.
His hands flutter and feet twitch,
she cannot interpret his
fetal dance,
a foreign language spoken
too soon.

She longs to touch him,
to erase this space between them-
her hand trembling,
settling down on this other-worldly
angelchild,
her palm enveloping his entire
torso.

She feels
fragile skin like soft tissue paper,
his back arches up, he squirms
at her touch,
and at the sound of her whispered voice
his eyelids slowly draw up,
dark eyes drawing her into
this mystery.

She is lost now in love,
and is forever found.Too much ecstacy,
too much desire to sweep him
up into her arms
and she chokes on
the grief and the love,
surrenduring to the joy that he lives, he lives,
her sunflower, her son!

© Maren Peterson DeGroff 1999


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Maren Peterson DeGroff lives in Albuquerque NM with her husband Dave and son Gabriel. She works as a child and family advocate.

Hold Me

© Photographer: Volare2004 | Agency: Dreamstime.com

Isaiah 4:5-6
"Over all His glory will be a canopy of Love. It will be a shelter and shade from the heat of the day, and a refuge and hiding place."

My heart cries out into the abyss of night
The darkness surrounds and I am alone
Then my Father comes close to watch and to hear...
As I lay unprotected, born desperate and torn
He covered me up with His blanket of kindness
And unselfish Love.

You were watching the day I was born
Gently watching, you cradled my form
And on that day, your Father's heart swelled
As you watched and adored.

I am your child, I feel safe in your Arms
Gently rocking, and keeping me warm.
I'm secure in the palm of your Hand.
Father hold me ~ I'm yours.

by Peach

Found & Lost

(In memory of my nMother, Norma Carol, I would like to thank the Found & Lost On-line Support Group, started by a wonderful First Mother who searched and found that her son had passed away before she found him. I found my nMother 10 years after she passed away from breast cancer. She had been also been searching for me, but died thinking she had a son due to inaccurate information given to her after giving birth (1968), by the hospital staff and adoption attorney. No "mutual consent" registry would have been successful for us, because our information would have never "matched". I thank God that I found my nfamily and have known them now for many years. I thank God for groups like "Found & Lost Support" which reach out and offer support to those who have been affected by adoption and find a grave at the end of their search. You can "click" on the title of this post to go directly to this great website resource.)

ALL MY LIFE

All my life, I dreamed a dream
That was reachable, or so it seemed
I wanted so badly to meet my mother
Even though I was raised by another

In my mothers arms, I wanted to be
I knew she would set me free
For I knew that in her loving arms
She would always keep me safe from harm

But on that day back in June
My heartstrings played a different tune
I knew then it could never be
I wished then, that everyone could see

The pain in my heart that was so strong
That dream I dreamed for so long
Was gone now without a trace
I knew I would never see her face

I felt then that I would never be the same
Please, at least, could you tell me her name?
A name that was like a beautiful song
That name I had longed to hear for so long

A face I saw in the mirror everyday
I would never look at myself the same way
I see her chin, her cheeks, her hair
To finally see yourself, nothing can compare

I wanted to feel her loving embrace
Just once I wanted her to touch my face
As I'm sure she did many years ago
When she had to let her baby girl go

The pain she must have felt through the years
I wish I had been there to dry her tears
I know she is with me in everything I do
I hope she knows she is in my heart too

So I will go on and live everyday
Too the fullest I can because she paved the way
Because one day we will be together
And this time it will be forever

In loving Memory of my Mother

© ALL MY LIFE by Pamula Sumpter
an adoptee and member of Found and Lost Support

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Adoption/ My Psyche/ My Journey
By Pam Hewitt
http://www.foundandlostsupport.com/theadopteeperspective.html

Minnosota Adoptee born 1/31/67

It's only been in the last few years that I've begun thinking about how being adopted might have impacted me psychologically. I've always been shy and quiet, I had a small group of friends while I was growing up but still, I tended to be a loner. I remember my a-mom suggesting I see a therapist when I was about thirteen years old. I thought she was just trying to cure me of my shyness; I didn't see how talking to a therapist could help. The truth is I was afraid to go, going would be admitting something was wrong with me. Since she left the decision up to me, I decided I was fine and didn't pursue it. Thinking back, I wonder if she saw something in me, (a loneliness perhaps?), which prompted her to make the suggestion in the first place?

I've always known I was adopted but it never really meant much to me when I was younger. In my parents' eyes I was one hundred percent theirs and that's how they treated me. My being adopted wasn't a secret but it wasn't something we talked about much. It was just a part of me that I tucked away in the back of my psyche, unaware it would come crashing out of me later on in life. Whenever people asked me if I wanted to search for my "real" parents I said, "No." Back then I didn't have a desire to search, it didn't seem to matter but the truth was I knew, deep down, that someday I would.

Once I became an adult I was reminded about being adopted every time I needed to fill out my medical history at the doctors. I would simply tell them, "I don't know. I was adopted." However, the possible genetic predispositions I could have to diseases like diabetes, heart disease and cancer started to concern me.

When I was about eighteen years old my a-mom took me to the bank and handed me some papers she kept in her safety deposit box. These papers contained information about my birth and adoption, including my amended birth certificate with my true identity stripped away. There was also a type written page, prepared by the adoption agency, with a little information about my biological mother and father. This was the first time I had something tangible to remind me of the fact that I was different.

When I was about thirty years old I discovered there were organizations that could help reunite loved ones who have been separated by adoption. In addition, there were numerous web sites where you could enter your search criteria such as birth dates, city, state; I entered my information on a few registries and eventually started searching online. I spent many hours online looking through these registries and posting my own information hoping there would be a match. However, for these registries to make a match both parties must be looking.

I became intrigued by all I was learning, which made me think about contacting the adoption agency that handled my adoption. I wanted to know if any members of my birth family had inquired about me; they said no one had inquired into my file. So, I signed a release form allowing the agency to share my information should someone come looking for me. Plus, for a small fee, they sent me my updated Non-Identifying ID information. Non-Identifying ID is information they are legally allow to release about your biological mother and/or father, however it doesn't contain any information that could identify who they are or where they live.

This time I learned something new; I found out that my biological grandmother died when she was thirty-nine years old. The cause of death was listed as, unknown; I later found out she committed suicide. I also found out she left home when she was sixteen years old and was estranged from her family plus it listed information about her siblings and step-siblings. I'm amazed by all I've learned and for the first time it began to sink in....there were real people out there, somewhere, who were related to me. Around the same time I saw a girl who bore a striking resemblance to me, I felt compelled to stop her but of course I didn't and the opportunity passed. I found myself searching crowds for women with red hair (we both have red hair), who looked to be about the same age as my b-mom; whenever I saw someone I'd start to wonder if it could be her. I knew the odds of actually finding her that way were next to impossible but the thought still crossed my mind.

My online research led me to a Yahoo group dedicated to those in the adoption triad who were searching in Minnesota. I learned a lot from them about how to conduct a search; one thing I learned was I didn't have enough information to work with, plus the agency told me that my birth parents weren't from MN, so now I didn't know where to begin and my search lost it's momentum.

Then, a few years ago I decided to call the agency again, this time I wanted to find out how much it would cost for them to do a search & outreach for me; I was told it would be about $500, with no guarantees. Also, they warned me that if they found her she may refuse contact. I had to give all of this some heavy consideration; that was quite a bit of money to plunk down with no guarantee I'd have any more information than I already had.

I began to explore my reasons for wanting to search. One thing I knew was my birth mother wanted the pregnancy to be a secret. Was mere curiosity enough to disrupt her life? What if she rejected me? What if she was some looney-toon that would turn around and disrupt my life? How would my adoptive parents feel? Needless to say, I chose to put searching on the back burner.

I continued to be involved in the Reuniting MN group, which was also affiliated with a group that was trying to get MN legislation changed allowing adult adoptee's access to their original birth certificates. I decided to wait, to see if the legislation passed, if it did I'd begin to search again. However it didn't pass because of strong opposition from the adoption agencies.

I attended several legislative hearings on the subject to lend my support and for the first time I found myself surrounded by other adoptee's and birth mothers. Finally, I felt like I fit in somewhere. Proposing the bill into legislation was further delayed, the next proposal was scheduled for 2007. If it passed it wouldn't go into effect until 2008, however, there was no way of knowing if it would pass and I didn't want to wait that long.

Now, I'm immersed in this process and I found myself thinking about my adoption more frequently. I started to read books on the subject from the perspectives of all members of the triad, as well as psychologists who had done extensive research on the effects of adoption. I was most interested in reading about how other adoptee's felt and was happy to see my feelings being discribed on the pages before me; I realized I wasn't alone.

I learned that I have many things in common with other adoptee's, for example, I'm introverted, a loner, a people-pleaser, I have trouble with intimacy and relationships. I feel anonymous, disconnected from the world. I felt like I was "dropped from outer space," opposed to being born. I feel incomplete and live with a vague sense of longing. I'm ill at ease with others, driven to excel and I'm a perfectionist; all characteristics that seem to have a common thread among adoptee's.

I tend to observe rather than interact. Sometimes when I'm out in public I feel invisible or just partially materialized, so it surprises me if the focus suddenly turns to me, I realize I can be seen and heard by others. I take comfort in being alone and over the years I've built an invisible wall around myself. Therefore, I don't have many close friends; I need to get over my fears of rejection and reach out to people more but I think my inability to make friends is probably more of a personality flaw than something caused by being adopted.

Dwelling on my adoption was making me depressed. I started to think I was in the midst of a real identity crisis so, I contacted the agency again. They sent me the forms that would give them permission to attempt contact on my behalf but again I hesitated. I wasn't ready. At this point I told myself to stop dwelling on being adopted, but still, I continued to have unsettling feelings. I began to think that none of us were getting any younger. I knew if I waited too long it might be too late. Suddenly, one day in November 2006 I knew the time had arrived, I had to take a leap of faith. So, I signed the papers and put them in the mail before I could change my mind; I have not had a single regret since.

On Nov. 16, 2006 my social worker called to tell me she had some bad news, at first I thought she was going to tell me my b-mom had refused contact. Instead, she told me that my b-mom had passed away in 1990 of lung cancer, she was only forty-three years old. This was something I hadn't dared to contemplate but it didn't come as a complete surprise either...in my heart I knew she was already gone.

My social worker asked if I'd like to continue looking for other blood relatives; I told her I absolutely would. This meant she'd have to call my b-mom's husband back, however, she still couldn't tell him why she was calling, so, I feared he might react unfavorably and not give out any more information. Fortunately, he did share the name of my biological aunt; the agency called her next. As it turns out my b-mom didn't tell anyone about my birth, still, my aunt was open to having contact with me. I suppose I was a connection for her, maybe I was a way to bring her sister back to life.

I've subsequently had a face-to-face meeting with my aunt, my b-mom's husband, and my only sibling, a half-brother. This experience has finally put me on the road to becoming a whole person and it has facilitated some healing for my biological family as well.

Pam is a member of Found and Lost Support

An Awakening

© Photographer: Gerardomoreno | Agency: Dreamstime.com
Thank you, Nicole, for posting these wonderful sentiments......some of the BEST words of WISDOM I've heard in a LONG time.

Reposting them here 'cause they are just THAT good! (With a few tweaks I'm learning from my own journey)...Everyone has their journey, their own truth ~ and I'm so thankful for friends in Blogsphere from whom I'm learning so much. Blessings!

"An Awakening"

A time comes in your life when you finally get it...
When in the midst of all your fears and insanity
you stop in your tracks and somewhere the
voice inside your head cries out....ENOUGH!!

Enough fighting and crying or struggling to hold on.
And, like a child quieting down after a blind tantrum,
your sobs begin to subside, you stutter once or twice,
you blink back your tears
and through a mantle of wet lashes you begin to look
at the world through new eyes.

THIS is your awakening...

You realize that it's time to stop hoping and waiting
for something to change, or for happiness, safety and security
to come galloping over the next horizon.
You come to terms that the fact that he is not Prince Charming
and you are not Cinderella and that in the real world there aren't always fairy tale endings
(or beginnings for that matter)
and that any guarantee of "happily ever after"
must begin with you,
and in the process...
a sense of serenity is born of acceptance.

You awaken to the fact that you are not perfect,
and that not everyone will always love, appreciate or approve
of who or what you are...and that's OK.
(They are entitled to their own views and opinions.)

And you learn the importance of loving and championing yourself,
and in the process...
a sense of newly found confidence is born of self-approval.

You stop bitching and blaming other people for the things they did
to you (or didn't do for you)
and you learn that the only thing you can really count on
is the unexpected.
You learn that people don't always say what they mean or
mean what they say, and that not everyone will always be there for you,
and that it's not always about you.

You stop judging and pointing fingers,
and you begin to accept people as they are,
and to overlook their shortcomings and human frailties
and, in the process
a sense of peace and contentment is born of forgiveness.

You realize that much of the way you view yourself,
and the world around you,
is a result of all the messages and opinions
that have been ingrained into your psyche.
And you begin to sift through all the conditioning you've been fed
about how you should behave,
how you should look,
how much you shouldn't weigh,
what you should wear,
where you should shop,
what you should drive,
how and where you should live,
what you should do for a living,
who you should marry,
what you should expect of a marriage,
the importance of having and raising children,
or what you owe your parents.

You learn to open up to new worlds and different points of view.
And you begin reassessing and redefining who you are
and what you really stand for.
You learn the difference between wanting and needing,
and you begin to discard the doctrines and values you've outgrown,
or should never have bought into to begin with,
and in the process..
you learn to go with your instincts.

You learn that it is truly in giving that we receive.
And that there is power and glory in creating and contributing,
and you stop maneuvering through life merely as a "consumer"
looking for your next fix.
You learn that principles such as honesty and integrity
are not the outdated ideals of a bygone era,
but the mortar that holds together the foundation
upon which you must build a life.
You learn that you don't know everything,
it's not your job to save the world,
and that you can't teach a pig to sing.

You learn to distinguish between guilt and responsibility,
and the importance of setting boundaries and learning to say NO!

Then you learn about love.
Romantic love and familial love.
How to love, how much to give in love.
When to stop giving, and when to walk away.
You learn not to project your needs or your feelings onto a relationship.

You learn that you will not be more beautiful,
more intelligent, more lovable, or important
because of the man or woman on your arm
or that child that bears your name.
You learn to look at relationships as they really are
and not as you would have them to be.
You stop trying to control people, situations, and outcomes.
You learn that just as people grow and change, so it is with love...
and you learn that you don't have the right to demand love on your terms...
just to make you happy.
And, you learn that alone does not mean lonely...

And you look in the mirror and come to terms with the fact that
you will never be a size 5 or a perfect 10
and you stop trying to compete with the image inside your head
and agonizing over how you "stack up."

You also stop working so hard at putting your feelings aside,
smoothing things over, and ignoring your needs.

You come to the realization that you deserve to be treated with love,
kindness, sensitivity, and respect, and you will NOT settle for less.
And you allow only the hands of a lover who cherishes you,
to glorify you with his or her touch...
and in the process you internalize the meaning of self-respect.
And you learn that your body really is your temple.
You begin eating a balanced diet,
drinking more water, and taking more time to exercise.

You learn that fatigue diminishes the spirit and can create doubt and fear,
so you take more time to rest.
Just as food fuels the body,
laughter fuels our soul,
so you take more time to laugh and to play.

You learn that, for the most part,
in life you get what you believe you deserve...
and that much of life truly is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

You learn that anything worth achieving is worth working for,
and that wishing for something to happen is different
from working toward making it happen.
More importantly, you learn that in order to achieve success,
you need direction, discipline, and perseverance.
You also learn that no one can do it all alone
and that it's OK to risk asking for help.

You learn that the only thing you must truly fear
is the great robber baron of all time, FEAR itself.
You learn to step right into and through your fears,
because you know that whatever happens you can handle it,
and to give in to fear is to give away the right to live life
on your terms.

And you learn to fight for your life
and not to squander it living under a cloud of impending doom.
You learn that life isn't always fair,
you don't always get what you think you deserve,
and that sometimes bad things happen to unsuspecting, good people.
On these occasions you learn not to personalize things.
You learn that God isn't punishing you or failing to answer your prayers.
It's just life happening.

I'm also learning that God always comes through ~ NO MATTER WHAT
That He responds to my honesty, my vulnerability, and my faith, and that
faith only comes by hearing His Word.
I'm still learning the meanings of words like "restoration" and "miracles" & "trust" from experiencing them for myself.
And I'm finally believing Him & His love for me. By asking Him to teach me.
{My name actually means "Teachable" in Hebrew ~ so I'm opening myself up to that destiny, at last!}

I'm learning to deal with evil in its most primal states - fear, distrust, rejection & pride.

You learn that negative feelings such as anger, envy,
and resentment must be understood and redirected,
or they will suffocate the life out of you
and poison the universe that surrounds you.
You learn to admit when you are wrong
and to build bridges instead of walls.

You learn to be thankful
and to take comfort in many of the simple things we take for granted,
things that millions of people upon the earth can only dream about;
a full refrigerator, clean running water, a soft warm bed, a long hot shower.

Slowly, you begin to take responsibility for yourself...
and you try to make yourself a promise -- to never betray yourself
and to never settle for less than your heart's desire.
And you hang a wind chime outside your window
so you can listen to the wind.
And you make it a point to keep smiling, to keep trusting God,
and to stay open to every wonderful possibility.

Finally, with courage in your heart
and with your GOD by your side,
you take a stand, you take a deep breath,
and you begin to design the life
you want to live as best as you can.
You begin the "grandest version of the greatest vision" you have of yourself!!

Live a truly magnificent life!!

"Living Apart"

© Photographer: Cynthi | Agency: Dreamstime.com
"Living Apart"
by ThankfulPeach

They say I'll be happy
They say I'll grow...
Give me up if you love me...
"Let me go"

But what can we do
When we find they're wrong?
My hurting soul
Must write this song

That part that grieves
The numbing loss....
WAKE UP and feel -
Don't stay "a rock"

It hurts to lose
My first mother....
I won't pretend -
Though I had another

And so I search -
Looking for you...
As part of me left
The day I knew...

I wasn't going home
With my first mother

Now looking in the mirror
So many years past....I see you in me
And find myself....
At last.

by Peach

The "Primal" Wound ~ "Here I Lay"

                                  © Photographer: Qwasyx | Agency: Dreamstime.com

 

 

"Here I Lay"

 

Alone in the nursery I lay

Cries ring out like radar

Searching, searching, searching

In circles around my bed they reach

Striving to find the woman I know

Her breath, her hair, her touch

No where.

Alone in the nursery I lay

The ceiling so far away

Arms flinging, hoping to find

Nothing but emptiness I feel

Where is she? Why isn't she here?

I am lost and alone. I cannot feel.

The cries stop. There is no use

She is long gone

She or me? I do not know

Here I lay in the nursery alone.

 

by Peach

(Below is an excellent explanation an adoptee author/therapist gave regarding the "Primal Wound") ~

"What you describe is the narcissistic wound. Before the age of 5

children tend to regard all events as being caused by them or happening

because of them. So when we are taken from our birth mothers we think it's

our fault.

This is an irrational belief but because it's traumatic and overwhelms the child's ability to cope it becomes hard wired into the brain. A child's brain is sensitve to events because of the hormones and explosion of brain cells primed to react to an

event. The more powerfull the event the stronger the brain reacts to it.

Now let me insert a theory by Silvan Tomkins; memories are not linear

they are organized in accordance with the amount of affect(feeling)created by

the event. That means memories dont fade with time when they are part of

an intense emotional event like separation. That memory will be as

strong 50 years later as it is the moment it happened.

In our case this affective event manifests as the primal wound and it

doesn't go away on its own. It creates a sense of social isolation, feeling lost,

dissconnectedness, loneliness in the presence of others, emptiness, and

the big affect that you are experiencing shame. We believe that since we

are responsible for our own mother's experience of relinquishment that we are not

worthy, hence the shame. Its a perfectly normal reaction. It is created

and recorded in our minds before we can think and then when we grow up

and can think logically, we ask "what is this I feel and why do I feel it?"

--