Lj Idol Week 21 - Bridge
Growing up, there was a piece of me that always felt less than. A piece of me that knew so much was missing. I was born to a woman incapable of being a mother, a woman so caught up in her own demons she failed to realize how screwed up the children she had bore would become without her around. I spent 26 years believing I was someone impossible to love. I searched for that love in the arms of too many strange boys, at the bottom of too many ice cream cartons. A million mistakes made through the years.
I was 6 months old when my birth mother left me in a foster home, two before my father's family gained legal custody of me. My father's mother became the only one I knew, and I called her mom. She, however, spent my life referring to me as her granddaughter, a blow I may still not have recovered from. There's a complicated world that exists between mothers and daughters, maybe even more so between those daughters who have been adopted or taken in. We see in our parents the disappointments, the failures we knew we posses. Mothers see their insecurities glaring back at them through identical eyes, daughters feel pressure to be smart and beautiful, to gain approval that sometimes never comes.
I often felt like my mother hated me, though as an adult I know this wasn't the truth. But as a child, and especially into my teen years as I understood more and more how I came to be, there was what felt like a mutual dislike radiating between us. Looking back, I can see that it was not hatred, but fear, that she showered on me. Fear that I would end up like the woman who birthed me, fear that I would become an addict like my father. She knew no other way than to hold on too tightly, to criticize a little too freely, to try and make me see all the potential I had.
I, of course, rejected it at every turn. I felt suffocated, felt beaten down, hated her for allowing my parents to leave me, hated her for allowing my uncle to abuse me. I couldn't understand that what I really hated was being terrified all of the time, of thinking I would never find love, find acceptance, find peace. I never hated her, I hated my circumstances, myself. I fought against all she asked of me, left home too young and made stupid choices with long lasting impacts.
As a child, I always believed that someday I would find my birth mother. I hated her, but craved her love at the same time. I imagined a reunion like Sally Jessy would have- emotions and tears, I'm sorry and I love you. I wrote a million over the years, threw each one away, I wanted my birth mother to find me, to explain herself, to say she missed me. I needed a reason, a concrete explanation for why I wasn't enough. It never happened.
Instead, a few years ago, after having tried many times before to find her on the internet, I thought to myself, "One last shot. One more time I will try to look her up, and if I don't find her now, it was never meant to be." I found two women on facebook with the same name, I sent them both the same message, about who I was, and who I believed her to be. I gave information about my father, my age, and that if she wasn't the woman I was searching for, I was sorry to bother her.
Not five minutes later, the first woman wrote me back: 'I'm not the woman you are looking for, but I wish you the best of luck". I felt defeated, until another five minutes passed and I got this in my inbox:
yes i am the woman you are looking for. i cant believe that you found me because i have also been trying to find you. i do want very much to talk with you and hope that get right back to me as soon as you get this. i know there are a lot of questions that you have and will answer any that you ask. i will be here at the computer waiting for you to contact me back. ask me whatever you want and i will answer you the best way i can. roseann
We began to email back and forth, and spent hours that night speaking on yahoo messenger. I wasn't ready to speak with her over the phone, I was angry, and unhappy with answers to my questions, unhappy how she blamed both my father and his mother for things. My rational was, he's not here to defend himself, and regardless he had been in my life for as long as he was alive.
The next morning, two phone calls. One from my grandmother, Roseann's mother, and one from my aunt Toni, her sister. I spoke with them both for what felt like hours. We cried. We laughed. We couldn't believe it. My grandmother lived in Vegas with another aunt, and my brother. My brother whom I knew I had, and was dying to meet. My aunt Toni lived in Norther NJ, about two hours from where I was. She asked when we could meet, and I don't know how it happened, but that very same weekend my exhusband and I were driving to New Jersey to meet a family I didn't know I had had three days before.
I was terrified. Nervous. I may have shook the whole way there. I was almost unable to make myself go into the front door, felt like I was going to be sick numerous times. And then? Then I went through that door, and I crossed over from a life of incomplete into a family that loved me and held me and made me feel so secure. We talked for hours, my aunts and cousins and I. We cried and looked at photographs, we kissed and held hands. Not for one moment did I feel as though I didn't belong there, not for one moment did I question my choice. They embraced me, and filled me, and simply loved me. I was enough.
I didn't tell my mom at first, I was scared of how she would react. I knew she wouldn't be mad, and I was right. She put on a cool front, a brave face, though I knew deep down she was as terrified as I was. Terrified that I would love them more, maybe. Terrified I would speak ill of her, perhaps. She had nothing to worry about though, only praise was spoken of her from my lips, praise and thanks. In the years since, she and I have grown even closer, have formed a bond I wouldn't be able to put into words. She loved me when no one else would. She raised me, fed me, clothed me. She housed my child and I when we had no where else to turn. She tells me constantly how capable I am, how intelligent. She is no longer my enemy, she is my allay, my friend.
I flew to Vegas that summer and met my other aunt, my brother, my grandmother. I spent a week learning about the family I been thrust into, learned that they were just as complicated and fucked up as my own. And then, after my marriage ended, after I had been a part of my birth mother's family for quite some time, I finally met her in person.
There were no tears. There was no emotion. Not from my end at least. She was a woman, nothing more, nothing less. She was flawed, and she made me sad, but for her, not for myself. I have another brother and a sister that I have never met. She continued to have children she did not take care of. She is selfish. She is juvenile. She was all of the fears my mother had held for me personified, and I finally understood why so much pressure was placed on me through my life. I wanted to find Roseann, to confront her and to have her love me. Instead, after meeting her in person, I only wanted her to find some peace within herself, because I found so much inside of me.
I'm not whole, by any means. I don't know that I ever can be, but I am closer to it. I am happier and more content than I have ever been. Finding that side of my family allowed me to realize that I was never ME who was not enough, that it was never my problem. I am capable of love, amazing love, and I am able to express it and hold on to it, not run from it as I had always previously done. I found the true love of my life after finding my family, I was able to embrace it fully. I found the parts of me that I never was aware of, but had always felt an acute longing for. I was able to build a bridge, from who I had been, to who I want to be, and they have helped me being that long journey. I am able to see all of the things in Roseann that I never want to be, all of the ways a parent should not act, all of feelings a grown woman should be able to let go of.
I have also finally allowed myself to understand how amazing my mom is. How truly remarkable and wonderful she is. She is not my enemy, she is my champion. She is brave, and tough, she is strong and resilient. She is who I hope to become as the years move on.
***
This week, I was partners with jacq22. Go read her entry, it's wonderful! Beautiful imagery, and wonderful story telling, and a sweet as pie woman to boot!
* edited for html fail!
I was 6 months old when my birth mother left me in a foster home, two before my father's family gained legal custody of me. My father's mother became the only one I knew, and I called her mom. She, however, spent my life referring to me as her granddaughter, a blow I may still not have recovered from. There's a complicated world that exists between mothers and daughters, maybe even more so between those daughters who have been adopted or taken in. We see in our parents the disappointments, the failures we knew we posses. Mothers see their insecurities glaring back at them through identical eyes, daughters feel pressure to be smart and beautiful, to gain approval that sometimes never comes.
I often felt like my mother hated me, though as an adult I know this wasn't the truth. But as a child, and especially into my teen years as I understood more and more how I came to be, there was what felt like a mutual dislike radiating between us. Looking back, I can see that it was not hatred, but fear, that she showered on me. Fear that I would end up like the woman who birthed me, fear that I would become an addict like my father. She knew no other way than to hold on too tightly, to criticize a little too freely, to try and make me see all the potential I had.
I, of course, rejected it at every turn. I felt suffocated, felt beaten down, hated her for allowing my parents to leave me, hated her for allowing my uncle to abuse me. I couldn't understand that what I really hated was being terrified all of the time, of thinking I would never find love, find acceptance, find peace. I never hated her, I hated my circumstances, myself. I fought against all she asked of me, left home too young and made stupid choices with long lasting impacts.
As a child, I always believed that someday I would find my birth mother. I hated her, but craved her love at the same time. I imagined a reunion like Sally Jessy would have- emotions and tears, I'm sorry and I love you. I wrote a million over the years, threw each one away, I wanted my birth mother to find me, to explain herself, to say she missed me. I needed a reason, a concrete explanation for why I wasn't enough. It never happened.
Instead, a few years ago, after having tried many times before to find her on the internet, I thought to myself, "One last shot. One more time I will try to look her up, and if I don't find her now, it was never meant to be." I found two women on facebook with the same name, I sent them both the same message, about who I was, and who I believed her to be. I gave information about my father, my age, and that if she wasn't the woman I was searching for, I was sorry to bother her.
Not five minutes later, the first woman wrote me back: 'I'm not the woman you are looking for, but I wish you the best of luck". I felt defeated, until another five minutes passed and I got this in my inbox:
yes i am the woman you are looking for. i cant believe that you found me because i have also been trying to find you. i do want very much to talk with you and hope that get right back to me as soon as you get this. i know there are a lot of questions that you have and will answer any that you ask. i will be here at the computer waiting for you to contact me back. ask me whatever you want and i will answer you the best way i can. roseann
We began to email back and forth, and spent hours that night speaking on yahoo messenger. I wasn't ready to speak with her over the phone, I was angry, and unhappy with answers to my questions, unhappy how she blamed both my father and his mother for things. My rational was, he's not here to defend himself, and regardless he had been in my life for as long as he was alive.
The next morning, two phone calls. One from my grandmother, Roseann's mother, and one from my aunt Toni, her sister. I spoke with them both for what felt like hours. We cried. We laughed. We couldn't believe it. My grandmother lived in Vegas with another aunt, and my brother. My brother whom I knew I had, and was dying to meet. My aunt Toni lived in Norther NJ, about two hours from where I was. She asked when we could meet, and I don't know how it happened, but that very same weekend my exhusband and I were driving to New Jersey to meet a family I didn't know I had had three days before.
I was terrified. Nervous. I may have shook the whole way there. I was almost unable to make myself go into the front door, felt like I was going to be sick numerous times. And then? Then I went through that door, and I crossed over from a life of incomplete into a family that loved me and held me and made me feel so secure. We talked for hours, my aunts and cousins and I. We cried and looked at photographs, we kissed and held hands. Not for one moment did I feel as though I didn't belong there, not for one moment did I question my choice. They embraced me, and filled me, and simply loved me. I was enough.
I didn't tell my mom at first, I was scared of how she would react. I knew she wouldn't be mad, and I was right. She put on a cool front, a brave face, though I knew deep down she was as terrified as I was. Terrified that I would love them more, maybe. Terrified I would speak ill of her, perhaps. She had nothing to worry about though, only praise was spoken of her from my lips, praise and thanks. In the years since, she and I have grown even closer, have formed a bond I wouldn't be able to put into words. She loved me when no one else would. She raised me, fed me, clothed me. She housed my child and I when we had no where else to turn. She tells me constantly how capable I am, how intelligent. She is no longer my enemy, she is my allay, my friend.
I flew to Vegas that summer and met my other aunt, my brother, my grandmother. I spent a week learning about the family I been thrust into, learned that they were just as complicated and fucked up as my own. And then, after my marriage ended, after I had been a part of my birth mother's family for quite some time, I finally met her in person.
There were no tears. There was no emotion. Not from my end at least. She was a woman, nothing more, nothing less. She was flawed, and she made me sad, but for her, not for myself. I have another brother and a sister that I have never met. She continued to have children she did not take care of. She is selfish. She is juvenile. She was all of the fears my mother had held for me personified, and I finally understood why so much pressure was placed on me through my life. I wanted to find Roseann, to confront her and to have her love me. Instead, after meeting her in person, I only wanted her to find some peace within herself, because I found so much inside of me.
I'm not whole, by any means. I don't know that I ever can be, but I am closer to it. I am happier and more content than I have ever been. Finding that side of my family allowed me to realize that I was never ME who was not enough, that it was never my problem. I am capable of love, amazing love, and I am able to express it and hold on to it, not run from it as I had always previously done. I found the true love of my life after finding my family, I was able to embrace it fully. I found the parts of me that I never was aware of, but had always felt an acute longing for. I was able to build a bridge, from who I had been, to who I want to be, and they have helped me being that long journey. I am able to see all of the things in Roseann that I never want to be, all of the ways a parent should not act, all of feelings a grown woman should be able to let go of.
I have also finally allowed myself to understand how amazing my mom is. How truly remarkable and wonderful she is. She is not my enemy, she is my champion. She is brave, and tough, she is strong and resilient. She is who I hope to become as the years move on.
***
This week, I was partners with jacq22. Go read her entry, it's wonderful! Beautiful imagery, and wonderful story telling, and a sweet as pie woman to boot!
* edited for html fail!