To that Angry Adoptee …from an angry mother

Just a warning..this post is not edited

There is a rather angry person coming to terms with the impact adoption has had on their lives making their presence known on social media these days.  This person is emoting and expressing all of their feelings in the only way they know how at the moment and as a result they are ruffling a lot of feathers in the adoption community.

First of all ..I have to admit I get it. I get the anger..I get the need to emote and express because if I step outside the adoption situation with my own child and peer into my own window ..holy mother of all things unjust damn I get it. Letting it out is cathartic and freeing and scary all at the same time..maybe that is why I can manage to express just tiny bits at a time..if I let it all go, maybe I will be as angry as this person and that is not somewhere I want to be.  Next ..I understand this person is expressing things that lurk in the minds of many of the adoptees I know personally in my real life outside of social media ..and many of them say they have never had the courage to let their true feelings be known to anyone..because you know adoptees are supposed to be grateful eternally since without adoption they would have been left to die in a dumpster (insert sarcasm). I sent this person’s blog to my son ..I doubt he is ready to go there yet..he still is in a place where he is trying to please everyone but himself and when his anger rises up ..he can’t emote at the woman who adopted him, she would gut him and leave him for dead emotionally as quickly as she would look at him..and tell him it is for his own good. SO his anger gets directed at me and honestly ..that’s ok with me..if that is what he needs then bring it on (but it does sting not going to lie).  However, that being said what this person /blogger says often times crosses a lot of lines and their choice of words such as relinquisher for mothers who have lost a child to adoption, or saying they “spread their legs’ …fragility is another favorite..all these words appear to be their way of projecting the pain and feelings they have for their own situation onto every mother in the adoption community. While they are entitled to their hurt and their anger they are not entitled to speak for every situation as they like to do. They don;t get to decide whose story of loss and pain is valid and whose is not. Another thing this person likes to say adoption is not about mothers..sorry but it is about mothers and it is about the adopters and it is about adoptees all in vastly different ways. I do agree that the adoptee voice is the one stifled and infanticised and needs listening to especially by women considering an adoption plan and by HAPs and APs but it is not the only voice we need to hear. In case you are wondering.. I am not abusing you …I am pushing back at what you have to say. To stop adoption you have to reach the mothers first because unless a woman feels worthy enough to parent and supported she will be vulnerable to adoption vultures and there will be one more amongst your crib mates and I for one would rather save the mother before the adoption happens.

Speaking of name calling…I am guilty of referring to hopeful adopters , adoptive parents and the woman who adopted my son as adoptoraptors, infertiles and for my son’s female adopter c**tzilla is a favorite but also adoptomonster and she devil have come up often…and I will let you in a on secret it takes a lot to get me to use the dirty “c” word ..nope won’t go there and the adopter can get me there. I see these people as the ones who are willing to swoop in and take advantage of a woman in a crisis situation and willing to infiltrate the most intimate relationship of a mother and child in order to achieve their fantasy of parenting a newborn. I do not have a problem slinging insults their way however  It stings to see the term “relinquisher” ..but I agree if you boil adoption down to its core there are 4 groups of people involved, the adopters, the relinquisher, the baby broker and the person whose whole life is changed with the stroke of a pen ..the adoptee. Relinquisher is harsh and it is not necessary..but it makes me think are my qualifiers for the adopters fair as well? Oh and bitter birth bitches is such a nice term…how would you like it if I called you a whiny , miserable birth child? You would scream you don;t know my pain and lash out again.and you would be right and that is why i would not sink that however have no problem sinking as low as you can go.

Fragility is another word this blogger and activist likes to throw around a lot lately..they direct it at adopters and birth mothers..but I want to throw it back at them ..this person has a lot of fragility in them as well. They like to lash out and use derogatory names and say harsh things such as ‘they spread their legs”..they also like to post their blog and warn people to “tread lightly” i.e. it is ok for them to speak their peace and put their words out publicly but don’t anyone dare to disagree or push back.  They say they turn off comments or get pissed off with the ones who they offend because they don’t want to be abused..that is the risk you take when you have a public blog and post it on multiple sites on social media. I ask this blogger do you own your fragility? Where is the post where you talk about deflecting your shit? I will not tell your story because it is not my place to do so..but I have read your blog and my heart broke for you in many instances however  there are things you need to own as well and you know what they are.  By the way I have walked in similar shoes to you in some regards so I say this not as someone who is unaware and is just being harsh.

This blogger has said mothers had 40 weeks to “get their shit together and figure things out”.SO you have a magic ball and are involved in every circumstance.? You are privy to every state and know all the resources available and offered to women? If so then great you go into every community, especially the deeply religious ones and you tell that to women in crisis pregnancies who truly have no place to turn to. I do agree with you that mothers today, women in crisis pregnancies deep in 2017 who are not drug addicted, who are not fearing for their own safety and the safety of their abusers and who simply need a support system and a hand up to get them through a temporary crisis have more information, they have more access to resources, they have the internet, they can find support in communities..they can read the words of adoptees and the mothers who came before them ..many of whom tell them to stop and think before they walk down the adoption road. They have resources that women even 20 years ago had no idea about, yes that is something we agree upon. However, many of these women are jacked up on hormones and buy the lies the adopters and the agencies feed them about how it is all different now, the agencies roll out their special birth mothers who talk about how wonderful adoption is and how they will always be supported …how they have choices and control..a lot of them buy into choose life for your baby argument..a lot them are smug in their decisions before their babies are born. You choose to abuse them when they are coming out the fog ..just like you are coming out the fog ..and realizing wait this is a nightmare..and you compound their pain by calling them relinquishers and say you spread your legs. Your friends and defenders say you are in pain and coming out of the fog and people should tread lightly with you and see through your lens…how about you extend the same courtesy to these mothers? Some of these women had no choice ..some did ..maybe they are ready to own their shit like you want them to and then they read your words and they crawl back into the hole.  You don;t have to stop writing or stop expressing your pain but if you want to lash out expect that you will ahve push back. Also stop calling others perpetual victims when your words come across as you wanting to be the supreme are not. You are according your words someone who has faced the worst in life but you are not alone in that journey either there are others who have walked a crappy road too and faced heartaches and they are not tossing bombs.

SO let me tell you blogger a little bit about me..I am a kept child from the BSE. My mother had an affair with a married man who tried to get her to have an illegal abortion (yes i am that old) and when she did not ..she saw me as a way to get him to leave his wife and other daughter. You see I was supposed to be a boy..the old Italian lady took a ring and held it over my mother’s belly and the ring said I was a boy..she had a name for me all picked out Michael Anthony (my father’s name was Tony) but apparently I screwed up and was born a girl..a very much unwanted girl and so my father stayed with his wife and my half sister and still screwed around with my mother. My mother did not even have a name for me when I was born so the decision was whatever the most common name was in the nursery for the baby girls was I would be given ..I got stuck with one of the most popular names of the late 60s.  I was so wanted and loved (not)

My mother almost lost me to adoption .. the nuns came in and brought the social worker with them because a 32 year old single woman with no job in their opinion had no business raising a aunt lied and said my mtoher was indeed married , my father she told them was serving in Vietnam and paid the hospital bill in home with my mother is where I went.  Then by 6 months I also went home with several foster families and eventually to my aunt until my mother decided she wanted to play mommy again. That scene would be on rinse and repeat for many years..Between the age of 4 and 5 I assume is when my father broke things off for good with my mother..because that was when she was suicidal and tried to kill herself and take me along with her. My aunt once again came to the rescue and took me to live with her until mommy dearest straightened her shit out once again. Well until the court said I had to go back.

See the thing is my mother never really straightened her shit out..she was very content letting me go to foster homes where i was abused, she was great at leaving me with my aunt where I was loved by her but always felt like I did not belong and my cousins definitely never let me live down that I was illegitimate and a charity case in their home. My mother ever frustrated by her circumstances and having me as a reminder of why my father left..well she she beat the living daylights out of me ..I still have the visible and invisible scars to prove it. My father I met once in my life..he wanted nothing to do with me ..never allowed me to have his name..and never so much as sent a birthday card or a few bucks while I was going hungry. My mother was content living in a one bedroom apartment in the projects on welfare which she called her check and left a lot of the bill paying and cooking to me at a very young age. She spent her money on the what mattered most because you know the cigarettes were more important to buy than food was. My mother loved to tell me I was a piece of shit just like my father and that I needed to be grateful to her for my very existence. I had a lot to be grateful for..i was hungry, I lived below a dangerous schizophrenic who screamed at all hours of the day and night, people abandoned cars in the alley outside the bedroom I shared with my mother and set them on fire often causing fires in our house or the glass on the window to shatter over me when I slept..I got beat up, robbed, assaulted and yet I know how it feels to just want to be home with my mother. My mother? She died from lung cancer when I was 16 years old and no one in my family wanted me at all. My father did not show up at the wake or funeral, the aunt who drew the short straw got stuck with me and the rest abandoned me until I turned 18. In spite of all that I am grateful I was not adopted and I understand that life which I only glanced over is why I am resilient and independent as an adult today. I refused to be a victim then and I refuse to be a victim now.

I know what it is like to find out you are pregnant at 18..I made the decision to have 1 night of fun after my senior prom at a party..and I drank vodka for the first time.  8 weeks later my boyfriend had just left for officer training at Quantico and I was sick as a dog..turns out you guessed it ..I was pregnant despite him being careful and my not remembering if I did or did not say yes. I was all set to have an abortion and the mother of a friend said “you are not going to kill your baby are you”..well that was the end of that. So I pretended not to be pregnant..except that I did go to the doctors once a month..the rest of the time I was in college and studying hard. I had my son and I was determined to keep him ..and then a “friend” at school came to me with an offer of support that seemed amazing (was too young and stupid to beware of trojans bearing gifts) see between graduation and finding out I was pregnant my aunt kicked me out of my house..I was homeless except for living in the dorm..and the wait list for public housing was 2 -5 years ..18 months for emergency situations and I was couch surfing during long breaks and holidays but no one wanted to help with the baby. This friend’s mom would take care of my son while I finished college and I could spend as much time with him as needed …they wanted to help. They were lovely people and showered me with love and attention ..and wow what a great mother this woman was..I needed her to care for me..and she pretended to for some time. SLowly but surely she isolated me form my friends and what little family I had and when my aunt (whose address I used for getting AFDC and medicaid) called and said she cashed my check and I once again had no money this woman said no worries. I also carried the stigma of turning into my mother..I was terrified of my child living the same life I lived. Living in the projects, being hungry, being abused..being ridiculed..foster homes. I did not want to allow my boyfriend to drop out of school and become a cop to support us because I was being told left and right I spread my legs and got myself into this predicament. I was a whore (who had just graduated second in her graduating class and never did anything that stupid prior to this) and I was dooming this boy to a life of hell.

I went from a  having woman willing to help to a situation where I was being told to allow her to adopt or she would call social services and say I abandoned my child. If I signed she would make sure I would see him and have a relationship with him, if I did not sign she would make sure he was adopted anyhow…I lived in the system and I would not allow my son to go through that..and at age 19 I allowed her to adopt. She was great until the ink was dry. Oh and she had a come to jesus experience when he turned 8 and was born again as an evangelical Christian and heaped that abuse upon my son. She cut me out of his life because I was not “christian” but was Catholic and I was going to hell. Such a wonderful Christ following woman she became ..and not only did she slam the adoption shut..she started to lie to him and tell him she did not remember my name and lots of other wonderful fairytales all while playing mommy to the way she had 3 bio daughters, tied her tubes and wanted a boy. She was facing 40 + years with a husband she really does not love and my son it turns out was the cure. He actually told me that they plotted out how they were going to get him from me from the moment they found out I was pregnant and it was a boy ..if he was a girl they never would have helped…and they set this whole plan in motion. There was some evil shit that happened

I know I signed ..I know I did what I did as a young kid int he 80s who only knew that adoption was amazing..who often wished I had been adopted vs the life I was stuck living..who knew 3 adoptees who told me often that my mother was stuck with me but they were chosen and more loved. I know there was no internet or access to other mothers. I know I did it…but you call me a relinquisher and talk about fragility…and I say don’t project your story on me. My mother is responsible for all the evils I faced as child as is my father. That father by the way died in 2010 ..I am getting to know him via stories people posted on his obituary., I reached out to him in my 20s because I found him based on his name and profession and he never responded. I reacher out to my sister..and .his daughter/my sister has slammed the door in my face and wants nothing to do with me. She won;t even give me a little information like how he died ..I had to stalk a woman who wrote a story on his obituary like a crazy person to find out it was alzheimer’s..something I should kind of sort of know but my sister does not deem me worthy enough to know.

SO to wrap this word salad up..I get you are pissed ..but don;t dump your bullshit on me or anyone it for the people who deserve it..the people who hurt you. I have walked a shitty path in life and made decisions I regret but my anger is directed..first at myself..and next at my mother and father who failed me …The mother and father who denied me access to who I am.I did not even know what nationality I am until recently. It took a fucking DNA test at age 44 to confirm my paternity ..oh and I am someone who is denied the long form of my birth certificate because us bastard children born in the 60s were not allowed to have any information other than my name, date of birth, mother’s name and who delivered me..i don;t even get to know how much I weighed or what fucking time I was born. DO NOT lump me in to your narrative..I think you have a strong voice and I think you need to think about who it is you are pissed at. As for my son..we found one another and I allow him to dictate how much or how little of a relationship we have. He allows the female adopter to control his time here when he visits and that is his choice. I see clearly how adoption has screwed with his life and he prefers to try to please everyone but himself ..i don’t need him to please me..I need him to be honest with himself and to stand up to me or his adopters or anyone else

I can see clearly now …

My “come to Jesus” moment regarding why adoption is a part of my life came to light about 3 weeks ago in a funeral home of all places. Ironic…or fate? Ironic maybe because many mothers of adoption loss liken their experience with adoption to a living death..a sentiment I agree with.  Was it fate? I like to think so because in short amount of time the reasons, the whys and the hows came flooding back as if the Hoover Dam burst right then and there and drowned me alive.

Let me back up this up a little and explain so maybe it makes sense to you and quite possibly to me as well.  A death occurred in my extended family, I happened to find out about it via a post on social media ..I guess that is the new etiquette rule is not official unless someone posts something on Facebook. Going against my better judgement I attended the wake knowing full well that being around my family is akin to walking into a forest of hungry bears and wolves wearing nothing more that a raw meat dress. However I am always a believer that family is family no matter what and a small act of kindness at your lowest point is always appreciated..I would hope that some day the gesture if and when required is reciprocated but I honestly doubt that would happen. The moral of the story is that I went to show support and I walked away asking myself….WHY?   I have been in therapy for 15 years therapist has told me I owe my family absolutely nothing and yet I feel that tether and the obligation to pay respects no matter what (again WHY WHY WHY)

You might be thinking what does attending a wake have to do with my journey into adoption..allow me to set the scene. I walked into the funeral home along with my daughter, whom I bribed to go with me by promising dinner out afterwards at her favorite burger joint . I found myself armed with a false security that my family tends to behave when she is with me and hence the reason I stopped so low to beg her to come along. Up until now I was able to shield my children from the reality of what my family is like by keeping them far far away and only exposing them during happier times or in short spurts. This tactic seemed to work and also allowed me to remain kind when I spoke about my aunts and cousins…however the time arrived and my poor girl was sucked down the rabbit hole while trying to pay her respects for one lost.

Sitting front and center and holding court was my 87 year old Aunt. Most 87 year olds have mellowed out and can be cute and funny..not my aunt, she is just as miserable at 87 as she was at 57..although when she was 57 I did not see it quite that way. i walked over to where my aunt was perched on her chair, said hello and attempted to make enough small talk to keep the conversation light and drama free. We talked about how good she looks..she really really does, 87 with barely a wrinkle on her face..a phenomenon I swear  I attribute to the fact that my aunt feasts on the souls of the children born into our family that she sucks out and keeps in a jar somewhere in her house. She told me she may be 87, but she feels like she is 20..the bitch is going to outlive me I swear.

In our brief conversation, we talked about how both her son who is my maternal first cousin and I have done the DNA tests. A very safe topic I was thrilled to talk about..however… my aunt explained that DNA was not correct..that her mother/my grandmother was actually almost full blooded native American,born in Arizona and moved to Canada (ah no..I found the grandmother’s birth certificate and she was english and Irish with some French and M’KqMaq born in New Brunswick and raised in Nova Scotia) told me some false information about my father that I was like well ok I actually found the real information out..and then says to me..what happened to you? I saw you 2 years ago at M’s funeral and you looked great, you lost a ton of looks like you gained it all back because you got fat again. If looks could have killed when I explained that a) 2 years ago I was very very sick (pericarditis and pleurisy as a result of Lupus) and b) why yes I have gained back some weight, however I am only up 2 sizes and I have been on prednisone for quite some time..she says maybe you should get sick again it was better for your waist line. Now if that does not tip the scales of insanity what happened next might just explain it all..

My aunt turns to my absolutely beautiful daughter and says “Your mother posts all kinds of pictures on facebook of you from your dancing..I print the pictures out and have them on my wall”. My daughter is looking at me like OKAAAY… Aunt then says to my daugher..”You look just like my sister Madeline (my mother) do you know who that is?” My daughter explains of course she knows who Madeline is (my mother died when I was 17 and of course they never knew her so I understand that she is simply a theoretical person to them that is natural) aunt goes on to say “I hated my sister Madeline. God was she ugly when she was younger and she never really got any better looking”. So my aunt is sitting there telling my child she looks just like her grandmother whom my aunt hated and thought was ugly..bitch. At this point I walk away before I explode thinking my aunt will calm down..go say hello to a cousin and my poor daughter texts..SAVE ME.

My aunt is telling my daughter that I hated my mother (who died by the way when I was 17 years old from lung cancer..I am now 48) because my mother was poor. She told my daughter that I was ashamed of the fact that I lived in the projects and I only wanted to be with my Aunt H who had money. Supposedly I am a nothing more than a gold digger who has nothing to do with them because they do not have money.  AND THAT WAS MY MOMENT..I felt small and demoralized ..I felt unsupported and hated and the worst part was my beautiful daughter was sucked down the rabbit hole the one thing I worked so hard to avoid for almost 29 years since I had my first child.

Here is the thing..I realized at 19 years old when my first born child came into this world and I was for all intents and purposes alone that I wanted nothing more than to shield him and protect him from THAT negativity and THOSE toxic people. I already felt like an absolute failure by getting pregnant in the first place and if I stayed ..if I had to raise my boy in that environment it would have destroyed the 2 of us slowly but surely.

That is how Darth Jarol entered my life..that is how I mistook what seemed like a gesture of kindness (and I think there was some kindness there on some level) how I saw stability and sanity and everything my family lacked and confused it with doing the right thing. I was protecting my baby with every fiber of my being..I was protecting him from a woman who knew I was on public assistance (something I am not proud of) trying to survive and who would wait for the mailman and cash my check and take every penny I had for my baby ..including the ability to buy diapers and say oh well i needed the cash. How was I supposed to survive in an environment like that? Actually I am not sure if I even considered was my baby supposed to survive? The dysfunction, the negativity and the toxic interactions bubbled over like witch’s brew waiting to poison anyone caught up in that horrible web. I left because I needed to get healthy and clean from them..and my baby was my biggest casualty. When Darth Jarol invited us to stay it was with the intention that I would see just how incapable I was at being a mother..and she was right at the moment …however the point is every mother whether she is 15 or 45 the first time she delivers a baby is inexperienced and incapable..motherhood is a learning curve.

If my family had been supportive and loving ..if my family was not prone to stealing and lying maybe my son would never have been lost to adoption..but FEAR …the fear of being just like them..just like my family rattled me to my bones ..being destitute and homeless scared me and there was no way I wanted to raise my son in the projects. There was no way my son was going to have to shake his backpack every day to get the roaches out and there was no way my son needed to live in an environment where the upstairs neighbor was a dangerous schizophrenic who had outbursts at 4 AM and kept the building awake and threatened him in the hallways…there was no way I wanted my son raised in a place where there were dead mice in couch cushions and maggots in the trash outside or people setting cars on fire in the alley outside your bedroom door. My son deserved better..sadly I thought Darth Jarol was the answer not me.

So 3 weeks ago all those feeling came flooding back..the positive is I know why they hate boils down to the fact they hated my mother ..the negative is I am feeling the angst and the guilt and yeah the anger of why I had to lose my beautiful baby boy..why another woman who is not his mother got to parent him and was able to cast me aside like a piece of trash once she got what she wanted. I blame myself mostly for all that happened .but in that funeral home that wake I came face to face with the grim reaper of my soul….oh and my daughter? She NEVER wants to interact with my aunt again ..she could not wait to get out of the parking lot ..her first words to me? “That woman is a **** (yes she used the dirty C word I do not approve and no I did not correct her) she said Mom that woman called me ugly and she called you a fat, ugly, gold digger we so don’t need that in our lives” ..truer words have never been spoken.