November 6, 2013 § 13 Comments
I have a lot of ideas floating around about what to write, too many actually. There’s so many things pertaining to my son, stuff I want to tell him and that I wish I could share with him. I hope I get around to writing some of that down. I also need to write someday about my sick obsession with baby stuff, and with having future little ones. Oh, and how people in the online childfree community are militant assholes. On second thought, that is probably all the space I should waste writing about those people.
Even though I have a blog and I write about adoption, a part of me dislikes the whole adoption blog thing. I keep considering deleting it all and never coming back. The other part of me, of course, is grateful for the communities, the good friends, the information and knowledge, and knowing I’m not crazy or alone. But I fear that the proliferation of adoption-related forums, blogs, and websites, including communities like Open Adoption Bloggers and Birthmom Buds, all serve to normalize the experience of giving a child up for adoption. To show off how much better it is now, and how open, and how different from the past. I happen to disagree.
I signed up for that OAB interview project and then withdrew from it because there are so many adoptive parents, waiting adoptive parents, and first parent apologists whose blogs I find way too triggering. I don’t need a reason to read any more of those. Most of the folks on there wouldn’t care for what I write as well.
Around the same time, I trimmed up my blog reading list–I don’t always mind reading adoptive parent blogs and points of view that I disagree with, but there are days when it’s too much and I can’t take someone else’s polemics. I often cannot tell if it’s one of those days or not until I’m actually reading, and then feel furious for several days straight. So, fewer blogs for me to read.
This November, I will be preserving additional sanity, and food in my stomach, by staying far away from mainstream media stories about adoption. A lot of bloggers I respect have written about why the adoption focus is misplaced. I also concur with this blogger that true adoption awareness would not be centered on promoting adoption, but on highlighting the numerous tragedies and the need for reforms. Furthermore I agree with Daniel that to achieve better awareness, the adoption discussion should not linger on the personal: anecdotes, emotions, opinions.
However, emotional discussions of adoption are not without merit.
The myth of Juno is relentless. By which I mean that we all want to believe giving up a baby is easy or even pleasant, that first mothers “move on,” and that knowing you made a “good” “decision” will make all the loss worth it. There is no malice on people’s faces when I tell them how I feel, sometimes exasperation and inconvenience, but mostly shock and utter bewilderment that giving up my baby was the least bit hard for me. I never knew it was hard, either. Where do we all pick up the same twisted beliefs? It never does occur to anyone that losing one’s child to adoption will result in suffering beyond imagination, and not for a few weeks, for months upon years, for a lifetime. Less than a week after my son was born, while I was still icing milk-engorged breasts, my no longer best friend said to me, “I never thought you’d be sad about it.” I have many more examples of thoughtless comments, but that one says it all.
So this month, as we all cast our adoption awareness wishes into a lifeless pond, my wish is to destroy the Juno Myth. We need to listen to our common sense, which tells us that, with few exceptions, mothers love their babies fiercely and want to raise them. I’m no different than anyone else. I wish people understood that–only so that my son will never grow up thinking that I don’t care, that I don’t love him more than life itself, that I didn’t want to keep him, that he is not a part of my family and my heart, because he always will be, no matter what happens, forever.
November 5, 2013 § 6 Comments
I’ve neglected my little writing space here for too long and it needs to stop! I’m glad that I’ve at least been making an effort to live my life and not mope around on-line. But I literally have 7 or 8 drafts saved right now.
Sometimes I think this blog has served its cathartic purpose and I don’t need it anymore, which is wishful thinking more than anything else. If there was a limit to how many times you could feel the same strong emotion about the same person or the same situation, that might be true. I have said most of what is worth saying. But all the repetition in the world couldn’t wear me out. I love my little
baby toddler boy, and I never stop missing him. Waking up, going to sleep, and everything in between is tinged with self-hatred, anger, betrayal, and loneliness. At least I get marginally better at mastering the grief and keeping busy in the winter.
The sadness seems to be seasonal. My son was born in August. Last year, as with this year, the more sensitive, immediate pain went into hibernation once the weather cooled, around October. I’m still depressed as fuck, and I pretty much always am. But it’s easier to think about it less, or to stay emotionally removed when I do think about it. The difference is hard to describe. But I know that, come April, the sadness will become a lot heavier.
The monthly holidays that come around in the winter definitely hit hard. I suppose I should be glad I don’t have to deal with the double whammy of seasonal adoption grief AND the winter holidays. I do get a small pang that I don’t get to take my son to place flowers on the graves of loved ones on Memorial Day, as is my family’s custom, or barbecue on the fourth of July. I hate Mother’s Day, though I still view the day as a simple appreciation of my own mom. Excluding my son’s birthday, spring/summer holidays are mostly painless compared to the endless procession of Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas, and then my stupid fucking birthday in January. I’ll be 25, which deserves another fuck word thrown in there.
Halloween has been rough for a while, because it was always my favorite holiday, and it’s sad to grow up and not be a kid anymore. I used to have the best Halloweens. This year, some friends and I went out dancing at a club, and I wore a sexy Pikachu costume. Before we left to meet up, I had a hysterical crying fit that took a long time for David to talk me down. It was pathetic and not pretty. I just have so much freedom, and I have so much guilt over it. I hate myself every time I go to a party or out dancing or anywhere with the purpose of mindless youthful fun. I never actually have fun. I know I don’t deserve it. And I know that what I really want on Halloween is to dress up my son and do something lame and corny with him. I don’t know what 14-month-olds do for Halloween–eating candy sounds like a bad idea, but maybe a pumpkin patch or a corn maze? Whatever it is, I wish I was doing it with him.
My adoption pain seems to come out of hibernation in April, when the weather warms up. I found out I was pregnant while I was around six months along, at the end of April in 2012. In late May, I went to the wretched adoption agency, believed all their lies, and a week later, picked out C and L. The rest of the summer felt like a blur of pregnancy: doctor appointments, growing belly, fatigue, aches, cravings, insomnia, vivid dreams, kicks and punches, discomfort, crying, sleeping, wearing the same 3 maternity outfits, feelings of shame and embarrassment in public, and ignoring the bonding that was taking place, even while he poked me and I poked him back. I had the most intense thoughts and feelings about my son who was growing inside of me. I loved him so much, but I couldn’t recognize it or understand what was happening. I disconnected from everything. I would tell myself over and over he wasn’t for me and I would hurt everybody if I changed my mind. All throughout spring and summer this year, I felt like I was experiencing that all over again. The darkness and confusion and crying every day and the sensation of spiraling out of control, and being so totally alone. It was hard to think about anything besides my son, wishing for one more chance to go back and do it differently, so that it could be the three of us going out to the park and playing in the warm weather. Instead I relive my past agony, this time knowing I can’t do anything to change what happened.
There’s not much I can do now, except enjoy the winter hibernation, stay busy and productive, and try to be stronger for the next April – August stretch.