33 years ago my mother gave birth. If what I have been told is accurate, she is 49 years old now. I don’t know if she held me, or even saw my face, before I was placed with a foster home until my adoption was finalized.
As I age and grow into my own parenthood, I think about her more and more. Right here on this blog I had a revelation: what if my first mother didn’t have a choice? Is it possible that she still hurts? Has missed being in my life, wonders about where and who I am?
I stumbled upon a book on our last library trip called, “Being Adopted: The Lifelong Search for Self.” This book is pretty old, published in 1992, so almost 20 years old. But I have found myself nodding my head over and over again.
To protect myself, I have buried my feelings about being adopted. Told the easy lies, maintained the ambivelent posture. In truth, I hurt. Is this the source of so much self-doubt? My unfounded fear of abandonment by everyone, including my husband, that I have only recently gotten out from under? The (mild) social anxiety and fear of rejection?
I contemplate finding my first mother more now than I ever have. I want to meet her and give her a hug. Who knows what would happen after that, would she use me for money? Ask me to cosign a loan? Would she slam the door in my face? I don’t know. Is it worth the risk? I think so.
Is she crafty? Do I wear her face like my daughter wears mine? Do I have siblings? Do they know about me?
I can barely scratch the surface of this, it’s overwhelming to think about after so much time spent denying it’s effect on me. Once I give in to questions, they come flowing out of my brain. This library book has opened Pandora’s box for me, and it’s the only book for adoptees they have. I am hungry to read more, to learn the stories of other adoptees, their reunions, their searches, their coping mechanisms. To see my experience reflected in others.