Additionally, and slightly more profound for me, is that I actually married a man that kept me closeted as well. I was not conscious of this of course but it became painfully obvious when I started to tip toe out of the birthmother closet and he rushed to put me back in. This too was my own doing. I did not want to deal openly with my own horrors so I sought loved ones who helped me keep the door closed.
That's me. Exactly. I didn't even know it until I read these words.
When I read the above blog post comment, it was a HUGE ah-ha moment for me. I am scared to death to fully come out of that closet in real life. I am scared about my relationships that are built on the lies of denial. Scared to open my heart, only to be hurt. I am allowing the people in my life who are not comfortable with my coming out of the closet to keep me there.
For the last year or so, I have been slowly creeping back into that closet. Slowly closing my heart off again. Scared to completely open up my heart to my son because I worry that he doesn't want or need it. Scared to open up to my family (specifically my husband and in-laws ~ who are more like parents to me than my own) because I fear that they won't understand it, or worse ~ that they don't care to understand.
When my son and I first reunited 20 months ago, I wanted to stand on the highest hills and scream to the world that my son was alive and well. That I had four, not three children. It felt so freeing to be able to talk about him, to acknowledge my true identity, not the lies I had been living for almost 30 years.
Then I started getting the mixed reactions from people. People that said they were happy for me, yet uncomfortable talking about my son. The people that told me what a wonderful thing I had done. The people that responded to my deep desire to meet Christopher in person by telling me that I had to remember that I gave him up, that I had to honor that. The people that were confused by me calling him my son, since I didn't raise him.
I hate the lies adoption is based on. I hate that I am 47 years old, yet in so many ways I am still that stupid 15 year old. I hate that I am scared to do what I know I must do in order to claim my sanity. In order to heal from all that adoption has brought into my life. From all that adoption has taken from my life.