This was the first time I could say that I owe my birth mother nothing. Nada. Zilch. I’m glad that she had me and that’s as far as it goes. I feel very liberated and incredibly good.
I should explain that I stayed at the home with my birth mother and her mother for three weeks. This is so unique that I have never heard of any other adoptee in that situation.
My father and I were enthralled by that. But really she knew she was going to give me up. I lived with a foster family until I was exactly four months old. Had to be tested. I was a “perfect” baby. I had pneumonia at thirteen months. The doctor brought an oxygen tank into my house as my parents thought I had been through enough separation–parents couldn’t stay with babies in hospitals then. That might have been when I “got” non learning verbal disorder. Then again it might have been a problem with my brain, during gestation, that wouldn’t show until later. Somebody left a trying to be clever comment saying that adversity should teach. Gee, I never thought about that.
I’m enjoying writing my 3WW each Wednesday. It’s the first completely pleasurable writing experience that I have had in a long time.
I hope to take it in directions that you can’t imagine yet. I never knew I could write fiction until I began 3WW, and never dreamed that I would be able to write something like this. It uses my very vivid imagination, and I hope, my encyplodic knowledge of James Spader films.
I write it in advance and put in the word. They do add something.
I’m also writing about selling a coop and finally coming to terms with my birth mother’s rejection of me. I’m not talking about when she gave me up for adoption, I always felt good about that. It was hard for people in the adoption movement to understand that back in the 80’s. They didn’t understand why I didn’t embrace and further reach out to a woman who didn’t like me.
It wasn’t my responsibility to make her like me. I came fully formed. It was her responsibility to meet me half way in every sense if she wanted a relationship with me and she failed to do that. She wanted me to become somebody I wasn’t and will never be. It was she who had unrealistic expectations. I’m sorry about that, but nobody can expect an adult to become your dream daughter. Or for a child to be the person you want her to be, for that matter.
My parents accepted me when I did everything possible not to be easily liked–the adolescent rebel stage. They found that to be normative. They loved me for who I was, not for who they thought I should be. I understand that it’s different for a birth mother, but I owed her nothing. I was polite, sweet and all that because I am. I tried and that’s all I could do.
I could never say that before I read Identical Strangers
Elyse and Paula were more like me than any adoptees I came across in my search. Their book had to stir up many feelings I wasn’t prepared for and did. I’m glad as I needed to finally work through that.