Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Queen of Denial

I worry that one day my son may find this blog.  I don't want to hurt him, and some of my story could very well do that.  I don't want to burden him with my garbage.  I worry that some of what I want to say, when read by him (or any adoptee for that matter), could seem heartless.  I am sickened myself by some of the things I felt & did.  It was hard to forgive myself, but I realize that the way I dealt with the loss of my son, I did out of self preservation.  I was so young, coping with something an adult would find difficult, all by myself.  My choice for adoption was truly to save my son.  To save him from the life I was living.  I knew that the choice for adoption was not the right choice for me, I was making the choice for him.  What I believed at the time was the only choice ~ and nobody bothered to tell me any different.

I knew, as soon as I found out I was pregnant, that I would have to give my baby up.  I knew I would never be his mother.  So, I never allowed myself to think of myself as his mom, as I was not going to be parenting him.  I was only an egg donor & incubator.  I don't think I even fully thought of him as my son, even though he was created & grown safely and healthy in me.  He was the baby I gave up.


I still remember the horror I felt when I recently realized that I disassociated myself from my son while I was pregnant.  I kinda realized it at the time, but I thought it was something I was doing only to myself.  I didn't know I was doing it to my son.  Now that I do, it about kills me.  That I was denying myself to truly love my child, to fully know and share the strongest love & bond there is ~ of mother & child.  I knew that if I thought of him as my child, I would not be able to give him up.  I knew that if I allowed myself to fully feel the love I had for my child, I could not stand him to be raised by another.  It never entered my mind that I could be harming Christopher because of this.  It truly sickens me that I did that ~ to him & to me.  I was so horrified & adamant that my son not be raised in a hateful home as I was.  In that, I denied him the most precious home he already had ~ in his mother's heart.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

My Story

My family life growing up was very ugly, my parents fought ALL the time.  My father was always angry, my mom was either happy and being creative, or off the wall mad and moody.  (As an adult I came to realize that mom was manic-depressive.)  A few things I learned an early age: To avoid confrontation at all costs.  That I never did anything right.  That I was stupid.  

When I was 15, all my friends had been having sex, I hadn't even had a real boyfriend yet.  One of my best friends, E, was being molested by a 20 year old that moved in next door to us in love with an older guy, and one day when we were going to all be hanging out, E's molester boyfriend brought a new friend along, someone that had just moved to town.  He was cute, and oh-so-funny.  He made me laugh, he made me feel like I was pretty, he gave me the attention that I didn't know I craved.  One night I let things go way too far.  I knew it was a mistake, so I made sure to avoid ever being alone with him again.  Before I discovered I was pregnant, the guys had decided they were going to go see what they could find in Colorado.  I was glad they were leaving, as it solved my problem of staying away from him & not giving in to my teenage hormones again.  Little did I know, I should have asked a little bit more about him, as he was the father to the baby I didn't know I was pregnant with yet.  I knew his name.  I knew he was a year or two younger than my friend's molester boyfriend.  I had no idea where or how to find him, knew nothing about his family or even where he grew up.  

I could not, would not, raise an innocent baby/child in the ugly life I had at home, and I knew that there was no way I could move out, take care of a baby, and continue in school.  I also wanted my baby to have a mom AND a dad that loved him.  I knew from the beginning that the only chance my baby had at a happy life, to have the happy family life that I did not, was for me to give him up for adoption.  Nobody seemed to care that the only reason I was choosing adoption was because of my home life.  Nobody cared to rescue me in order to keep a mother & her child together.  Nobody tried to tell me that I could get help if I wanted to parent my child.  Nobody told me that adoption was not something you never got over.  I was easy prey.  After all, I myself believed I was unfit to parent my own child.  I had proved to my dad just how stupid I was.  

In 1979, girls were not allowed to attend the public high school if they were pregnant.  It was still the era of "don't talk about the baby, just get back to your life and forget it ever happened".  It was still expected that if an unmarried girl got pregnant she would give the child up.  Only the "bad girls" kept their babies.  Girls who didn't want the best for their children.  So, to prove I was really a good girl ~ not a slut, I was a good "birthmommy".  (I don't like the b word)  I believed the myths, believed I would just go on with my life.  I went to the Florence Crittenton  Center for the 2nd semester of my sophomore year of high school.  This is also where I received my maternity care.  I went two weeks overdue with my son, I didn't care because I knew that once he was born, he would no longer be in my life.  After my baby was born, I was not even allowed to hold him or look at him - so that I would not change my mind about giving him up.  I was allowed one short visit with him at at the maternity home when he was 3 weeks old.  The photo on the right is from that one & only time I have ever seen my son.  

When I see that black & white photo ~ the song "In Color" by Jamey Johnson comes to mind.  

And if it looks like we were scared to death,
Like a couple of kids just trying to save each other,
You should have seen it in color.

Friday, August 27, 2010

What Am I Thinking?!

I am not a writer.  I have no long time dreams of writing, or telling my story to strangers.  No cravings for 15 minutes of fame.  I don't know what I am thinking, adding this blog to the list of talented, eloquent first moms in blog land.  

I do know that I want to be a voice "out there" to tell my truths about adoption loss & grief.  I want to be for someone else, what I did not have when I was young & facing an unexpected pregnancy.  I also want to be a voice out there for the next mom that finds herself coming out of the fog, having thoughts & ideas about her child & self that are foreign to her.  Thoughts & feelings that make her think she is going crazy.  The wonderful bloggers I have found since reuniting with my son have helped me stay sane.  Helped me stay on the roller-coaster called reunion, instead of falling off and crashing to the ground.  If my story, my blabbering, can help just one confused mom make an informed decision, can help one mom coming out of the fog ~ then I need to be out here writing.

In finding myself, I have also realized that I need to write for myself.  Adoption and reunion have turned my brain into a whirl-wind mess of thoughts & conflicting beliefs.  I spent almost 30 years living in denial, hiding my truth, my feelings & emotions, keeping my mouth shut and not talking about my son or adoption experience.  To anyone.  In almost 30 years I only told my husband (when I knew I was falling in love with him) & my doctors that I had a son in 1979.  The people in my life at that time knew about Christopher ~ but he was not talked about.  Ever.  In doing so, I lost my voice.  I lost the ability to take my thoughts out of my head & give them a voice or put them down in writing that makes sense.   I am hoping that by writing here I can get some of the thoughts swirling around to slow down & come out in sentences that make at least a little sense to others.  I need to find my words again.