My entire childhood was plagued with this anger I didn’t quite understand at the time. Even now that I am in my early twenties, I still can’t fully understand it, nor can I fully accept it. As a child I just knew that this part of myself made me different and because of that, I knew what the word ‘shame’ meant at a young age. I’m sure I am not alone in talking about that struggle to fit into this mold that was made for us the moment we were born. The word ‘different’ was like a disease as real as cooties were. For a really long time I let this part of me poison the way I saw the world I lived in and the way I loved the people around me. I strongly felt this betrayal and from that betrayal came this sadness that became the lens I used to see the world in. I understand this much now though, it was a really flawed way of making sense of everything and I regret letting it take over my life in the way that it did.
I feel like I was robbed of my childhood even though, in the grand scheme of things, it was a really great childhood. I hate that I could not enjoy it because of you. You, who gave me away when I was just a baby and disappeared like you were just dropping off a package on a stranger’s doorstep. No contact information left, so many questions unanswered. There it is. I am adopted. It seems silly right? The fact that I let this piece of information control my life, that I let her, who wanted nothing to do with me, control my entire life. Well I agree with you. The only thing I grasped onto was the fact that she abandoned me and from there this whole web of feelings unraveled: unwanted, flawed, not good enough. I remember always having the assumption that there must be something wrong with me. I only had access to little information about my biological mother:
- She already had five other children
- She had an affair and she didn’t want her husband to find out
- She was too poor to raise another child
To me they were just excuses. I was young, I couldn’t even begin to understand. I grasped onto the ‘abandoned’ part of it all like I was drowning and this piece of information was the only thing that would save me. Little did I know it was doing the drowning. It was a slab of concrete tied around my ankles. On the other hand, I only knew one thing about my biological father. He doesn’t even know I exist. It took me twenty-two years to even begin to really try and accept this part of me. This is part of that process, this reflection piece (although it is coming off as more of a rant and for the I apologize). It was only until last year I was ready to understand and to let go of the anger associated with my adoption, so I thought. You see, life does this funny thing when everything seem to finally settle, it throws you another curve ball that completely knocks you off your feet. Mine came in the form of a Facebook message…