My Trigger...

Ok, call me crazy, but a jug of milk triggered me this morning.
As I was getting milk for my son’s cereal this morning, I see this bright red expiry date flashing before my eyes: OCT 13
October 13th is my birthday, or as far as we all know. I don't celebrate my birthday as in having a party, or having ample people acknowledging my day, but I do have a little something at home with my children.

They want to celebrate my life, and on an intellectual level, I should want the same thing. In some way, I want to want it, but I just can't get over the trauma of that one specific day.

However, on a primal level, I don't want to celebrate and don’t see this day as a celebration. I see this day as a negative thing. I see this day as a parting of my biological connection. It is an anniversary of sorts, like a death. This day typically feels heavy, sad and leaves me withdrawn and speechless. I have many people around me who see it differently, and of course they would. I expect them to – they luckily have never walked in these shoes.

However, my birthday is a trigger – in fact the days leading up to this “anniversary” is a trigger too. How can I get over this? Or perhaps this is something I may never resolve. Perhaps that I need to resolve that I will never resolve it.

Most people associate closure to the remedy, and well, I am unsure of that. Even if I had closure, it would still be a painful day – a reminder that my biological’s left me. I suppose I will never fully get over that, but I have accepted and acknowledged it – and that is half the battle. Just have to make sure I don’t spill my milk this 13th!

Time will tell...

The fit of adoption has been talked about since the beginning of adoption. Most people struggling in their own adoption may not even recognize, or rather want to fathom the idea of disruption. Many parents claim their child as their own, through thick and thin. Others reach such a breaking point, either due to their lack of knowledge, or lack of fit. Many professionals also preach nurture vs. nature, but it is obvious that it is not that scientific. Sometimes, as raw as this may sound, it is luck of the draw.

However, the reality is, is when a parent or couple starts to use the word disruption, then it typically takes no time at all to go through with the steps.

I had a very trying and emotional conversation with a lovely lady this morning regarding her adoption. From day one she has struggled (again, she notes she made many errors for the ease of her child's attachment and has many regrets), but nonetheless, stands here today with no hope and then she used the word "disruption".

Could it be that she is completely "done" and wants to place her child in a more "suitable" home? Or will this settle down and time will tell all? Perhaps more time will do more damage, and alas, that is the tricky part with the fit of adoption and disruption. It is a delicate balance with no infinite answer.

Like most families in international adoption, this woman suffers alone and feels stuck in her own world. She can't tell her family of her struggles. They don't understand attachment and believe that this child should be perfectly behaved because she lives in a nice home and has love. It is not that easy. Love does not fix this, nor does a nice home. Her family believes that her child should be happy, and should be a perfect child. The child has love and a nice home. The child has not acted perfect (what child does?), and so she feels shameful and like a failure.

No matter what she will decide upon, it will not be easy. The child stays, the parents change, learn and give more and perhaps nothing will change. The child will suffer. The child goes to another home, the child will suffer regardless of the fit.

For as long as adoption exists, disruption will always happen. It is a sad, but necessary reality.

To believe or not to believe - that is my dilemna!

Photo credit: "The Rape of the Daughters of Leucippus" - Paul Rubens, 1681

Yesterday afternoon I found myself sitting in a beautiful home in West Vancouver, overlooking the harbour and waiting for my blueprint to be read through my spirit guide with the aid of a lovely woman who apparently has the unique ability to see, hear and feel spirits. I was anxious to see this process through, but also taking this experience as a novelty I was relaxed and open to anything this woman might say.
Or so I thought.

(Coles Notes version: Spirit medium and psychic artist as well as spiritual counsellor with the unique ability to see into people and read their blueprint or life-path. By simply tuning in to your energy she can tell you some of what has happened, is happening, and may happen on your path).

Sounds interesting, right? At 3:05pm I waited for my life blueprint to unfold through her eyes with the aid of my spirit guide. I didn’t know what to expect. She closed her eyes and moves like she is trying to see or find something.

“Genealogy!” She says, over and over. “Does this mean something to you?”

The conversation turned quickly to my blueprint. Apparently, I have great gaps in my print. Large grey gaps to be exact.

She goes on to tell me that she can’t find my connection. She can’t find my parents. She tells me my blueprint is mysterious. So, of course I tell her that I was abandoned shortly after my birth. She gets excited and starts talking more with the spirit world. She then told me some “facts”.

- My biological mother’s family comes from Nova Scotia.
- Her family moved to Ontario.
- Her family life was abusive and she ran away at 15.
- She came out west and got involved with the wrong people.
- At the age of 15, she was violently raped and conceived me.

She goes on to tell me that my biological mother did not know what to do, so abandoning me was the best thing to do. She tells me that she is dead and is in the spirit world. She has dirty blonde hair.

Ok, let’s back up. Hearing that you are conceived by a violent rape is not an easy thing to hear, whether it is true or not. With that said, I don’t whole heartedly believe it is true; however it sure has made my wheels churn in my head. What “if” it was true?

As morbid as this may seem, I have toiled with this idea before. I call this a process of accepting my twenty truths. Perhaps I will never know what the real truth is, but like I have said, this possibility has crossed my mind several times. Since my story is so mysterious, and I have accepted that I may never know my truths. I have gone on to explore the possibilities – I have felt the need to accept and acknowledge any of these truths as a possible truth. I suppose it is my way of exploring, or seeking self-preservation for when or “if” I ever find out the actual truth.

I think that most can easily point fingers to the obvious sensationalism and shock factor and dismiss this as airy fairy. I too am in that group.

Either way, having someone tell you that you are in fact a product of a violent rape is a very hard and hurtful experience. Essentially, she told me that my being was based on something violent; barbaric and un-natural. It is very confusing, damaging and toxic to hear of.
Last night I went to bed, tossed and turned and told myself to forget about this news for just that moment. Go to sleep, get some rest.

I woke up this morning and told myself; I need to decide what to believe.