Days like this
Who'd have thought I'd be grateful my family doesn't read this?
Not my husband. Dragon is... my right arm, the other half of me, everything good and real in my life. Hell, I'll probably show him this one. But I'm so glad my mother doesn't read this, because right now, she's driving me crazy.
I'm adopted. No big surprise to any number of people. And while I no longer speak to my father, until I was 13 or so I adored him. Still love my mother dearly. I never needed to know about my birth parents. Why in hell should I? I had parents I knew had chosen to take me home. I always knew I was adopted, always knew I was loved and wanted.
Well, I recently decided I want to know who my birth parents were, more for the ethnic affiliations than anything else. Comes of having a friend who's both a New Zealand citizen and an Irish citizen, and wondering if I qualify for the Irish grandparent clause too. So, I sent my mother an e-mail asking for the name of the agency I was adopted through. Not wanting to hurt her feelings or imply that I thought she'd done a lousy job of raising any of us, I prefaced it with, 'Don't panic....'
Only to be told that she'd always thought there was something wrong with the fact that I never wanted to hear about it and she always thought I should look into it. As if my being happy were wrong. As if it never occurred to her that I might be considering her feelings, might be pushing down any interest in it because I love her and didn't want to imply that she and my father hadn't been enough.
Just one more misunderstanding between us, I suppose. But over the last couple of years there have been, somehow, almost perpetual arguments and disagreements -- over religion, mine, and politics, mine, and lack of children, mine.... We no longer agree on much of anything -- sex, religion, politics, weather, anything.
It's not helping that I think she should get the hell out of my sister's life and stay out. Mom encouraged my sister when she converted to Catholicism last year, considered it a stabilizing influence. But you can't have that knife without accepting its other edge. Mom can't say, yes, do that, but then decide my sister isn't old enough or mature enough to have children....
Sorry, Mom, that's part of being Catholic. My sister is 28 and a hell of a lot more stable than Mom gives her credit for. So is my brother in law. Both of them have thought this through, financially, emotionally, time- and commitment-wise. I know. I've listened to them talk about it when they needed a sounding board.
Don't know why Mom doesn't seem to know this. But more to the point? It's none of Mom's business, nor her decision. And she needs to butt out.
What it comes down to is, I love my mother, but I don't think I know her anymore. And I'm not at all sure she wants to know me. I'm not willing to be bent out of shape into some ideal child form that I hope will appease her. Hell, maybe that's the problem -- maybe we're still 'children' to her rather than sons and daughters.
My psychologist told me a few years ago that I had one of the most formidable ego-strengths he'd ever seen in almost sixty years of practicing his vocation. Lately, dealing with my family, I need it. Because no matter what I do, or what I think, or how I feel, I'm outnumbered. Constantly.
Or maybe it's just that we're due for another of our blow ups. They only seem to happen on multiples of 16, after all, and I am 32....
I'm already not speaking to my father. (Neither are my older brother or my sister, but that's irrelevant, I suppose.) I don't feel like being an orphan this early.
This isn't fiction. I don't have to end it cleanly, do I? Good thing. This one isn't clean, and all it's leaving me with is a bunch of loose ends and emotional land mines just... waiting.
I wish Dragon would come home.
Not my husband. Dragon is... my right arm, the other half of me, everything good and real in my life. Hell, I'll probably show him this one. But I'm so glad my mother doesn't read this, because right now, she's driving me crazy.
I'm adopted. No big surprise to any number of people. And while I no longer speak to my father, until I was 13 or so I adored him. Still love my mother dearly. I never needed to know about my birth parents. Why in hell should I? I had parents I knew had chosen to take me home. I always knew I was adopted, always knew I was loved and wanted.
Well, I recently decided I want to know who my birth parents were, more for the ethnic affiliations than anything else. Comes of having a friend who's both a New Zealand citizen and an Irish citizen, and wondering if I qualify for the Irish grandparent clause too. So, I sent my mother an e-mail asking for the name of the agency I was adopted through. Not wanting to hurt her feelings or imply that I thought she'd done a lousy job of raising any of us, I prefaced it with, 'Don't panic....'
Only to be told that she'd always thought there was something wrong with the fact that I never wanted to hear about it and she always thought I should look into it. As if my being happy were wrong. As if it never occurred to her that I might be considering her feelings, might be pushing down any interest in it because I love her and didn't want to imply that she and my father hadn't been enough.
Just one more misunderstanding between us, I suppose. But over the last couple of years there have been, somehow, almost perpetual arguments and disagreements -- over religion, mine, and politics, mine, and lack of children, mine.... We no longer agree on much of anything -- sex, religion, politics, weather, anything.
It's not helping that I think she should get the hell out of my sister's life and stay out. Mom encouraged my sister when she converted to Catholicism last year, considered it a stabilizing influence. But you can't have that knife without accepting its other edge. Mom can't say, yes, do that, but then decide my sister isn't old enough or mature enough to have children....
Sorry, Mom, that's part of being Catholic. My sister is 28 and a hell of a lot more stable than Mom gives her credit for. So is my brother in law. Both of them have thought this through, financially, emotionally, time- and commitment-wise. I know. I've listened to them talk about it when they needed a sounding board.
Don't know why Mom doesn't seem to know this. But more to the point? It's none of Mom's business, nor her decision. And she needs to butt out.
What it comes down to is, I love my mother, but I don't think I know her anymore. And I'm not at all sure she wants to know me. I'm not willing to be bent out of shape into some ideal child form that I hope will appease her. Hell, maybe that's the problem -- maybe we're still 'children' to her rather than sons and daughters.
My psychologist told me a few years ago that I had one of the most formidable ego-strengths he'd ever seen in almost sixty years of practicing his vocation. Lately, dealing with my family, I need it. Because no matter what I do, or what I think, or how I feel, I'm outnumbered. Constantly.
Or maybe it's just that we're due for another of our blow ups. They only seem to happen on multiples of 16, after all, and I am 32....
I'm already not speaking to my father. (Neither are my older brother or my sister, but that's irrelevant, I suppose.) I don't feel like being an orphan this early.
This isn't fiction. I don't have to end it cleanly, do I? Good thing. This one isn't clean, and all it's leaving me with is a bunch of loose ends and emotional land mines just... waiting.
I wish Dragon would come home.