Adoptee remembrance day 2020

Add 2020 to any statement and you’re ready for the dumpster fire.

The whole year really, a dumpster fire. And as I was already a few months into therapy dealing, finally, with the adoptee Primal Wound issues, as my therapist put it – well, you’re already in a dumpster fire, now a dumpster inside a dumpster fire.

Remembrance. Of the person I should have been? Of how it would have been if I’d been held by my mother, if I didn’t go through life with a trauma chemical bath for brain chemistry? If my fight or flight wasn’t always on to some degree? I’m trying to remember who my authentic self is…

And the people pleaser, look out for everyone else’s feelings over your own? I certainly remember that. I didn’t ask many questions about what my parents knew, it upset Mom so bad even the mention of it. I never want anyone to stay mad or dislike me. Why on earth do I even care?

So now I’m at that age, 55 to be exact, where I stand looking back and forward and around from a unique viewpoint.

I’m the care taker of my Adoptive Dad who has advanced Alzheimer’s, with the help of his younger sister. This slow ascent to hell, when he’s so lost, is very difficult.

I live near my found-with-DNA in 2016 birthdad and his wife, my half sister, and it’s awesome. Some restoration. I love them. But it also hits me how much different life would have been. I love them, and I’m very grateful for their love and support. It’s hard to believe sometimes. And then when we disagree, like during this election season and he’s trying to yell me into his way of thinking – there’s only a little part of me that worries he won’t love me. Or my son when we argue. Part of me is very afraid of losing people.

I’m also a new grandmother, and my Facebook feed is filled with a lot of my HS friends who also are new grandparents. Looking at that baby, who is 25% of my DNA, I can’t even fathom how anyone could just hand her over to strangers. Yes I understand all the reasons, and the shame, and the blackmail that was my birth mom’s story – but still. Looking at her. How on earth? This has really pushed my buttons too, and so grateful she has a mom who is able to be there for her every need.

I’m trying to keep hope alive that I might have one more chance at a real relationship with an equal, from a more healthy state, yet be OK if that doesn’t materialize. It’s not like I haven’t had 6 good shots in my life. Does that make 7th time’s a charm? I don’t know. But hope for the future does still play here. 3rd act, the best act.

So when someone needs to explore this aspect of their story, don’t minimalize. Don’t tell them to “get over it” Don’t tell us how lucky we are, our parents “saved” us. Yes, my parents were good people, loved me, yes. But that still doesn’t negate the fact that MY FAMILY the people I’m like, I lost them. I lost who I was. It’s that I’m willing to look at this Adoptee Remembrance Day.

This isn’t a fairy tale. It’s real life. Adoptees are 4x’s more likely to commit suicide. We fail more often at relationships. We’re more likely to abuse substances. It’s not an answer for everything, of course. But recognize that we’ve been suppressing a LOT, our whole lives. Sorry, not sorry, it makes you uncomfortable to have me talk about it. Owning it is the only way to take back the power of it.

Remember, we might be adults now. But back there, way back, before we have words, is a child who didn’t have any choice in any of the things that happened to them. Go easy, and listen.

#dumpsterfire2020 #adopteevoices